by Rye Brewer
Thank you, Anastagio. I owe you, as always.
I deleted the message as soon as my reply went through, then closed the browser. No sense in leaving incriminating messages lying around. My old friend was not supposed to be in contact with me or anyone else—it was only when I managed to slip away one night while Micah and the others were hunting that I’d set up an account for myself on a computer at the public library. It was then I’d first used the address Anastagio had given me years earlier, the last time he’d come through Paris.
It had been a long shot, and I’d known it at the time. What if he no longer used that address? What if he was no longer alive? But he did, and he was, and he had just illuminated me on more than one topic.
As was his specialty.
Cari was with Gage and Raze, all three of them leaning over a map which Raze had spread out over the kitchen counter. Plotting the best course to Italy. It was a bit like shooting an arrow into the air at random, however, and all of us knew it. After all, Italy was a big country. There was no indication of exactly where Cari’s father lived.
Well, as far as they were concerned. I knew something they didn’t.
I slid between Gage and Raze, scanned the map, then jabbed at it with my index finger. “Here. This is where we’re going.”
“How do you know?” Raze chuckled. “Suddenly psychic? Something you haven’t shared with us?”
I shot him a withering look, hissed, and bared my fangs teasingly; all in fun. “No. I just received word from a friend of mine. He tells me Gil Riviera lives right there, in a villa on a hillside in San Polo dei Cavalieri. Just far enough from metropolitan Rome for the sake of maintaining privacy, but close enough that a person might still take advantage of the city’s proximity.”
“Who’s this friend?” Raze asked, no longer teasing.
Was it my imagination, or was he slightly jealous?
“Just a friend of mine who lives and works in the area,” I sidestepped. What would he think if he knew I was close with an excommunicated shade who worked in Vatican City? I doubted Anastagio would appreciate my revealing his identity to a stranger, no matter how I trusted my new friend Raze.
“He lives there?” Cari whispered, touching the place where my finger had just made contact. “I wonder why.”
“You said he was involved with the government, didn’t you?” Gage slid an arm around Cari’s shoulders. “It makes sense that he would be in a big city such as Rome. Perhaps he’s an ambassador now.”
“Yes, but why would it be such a secret? Why was it so difficult for us to find him? It’s all such a mystery.” She glanced up at me, chewing her lip. “Your friend is sure?”
“He’s sure. I made certain to give him the correct name, and it hardly took him any time at all to get back to me with the information. He’s very skilled when it comes to finding people.” Likely because of his shade blood and the fact that they had been tasked with keeping safe the memories and histories of ancient cultures and diverse races. It was nothing for him to research, or even to ask questions of those within the city walls. They tended to know quite a bit about quite a lot, too.
That wasn’t all he’d told me, either. My smile faded when I remembered, when I considered the repercussions of his revelation.
Micah was not killed in Paris. He still lives. And there is a price on your head. You’re a wanted woman—not dead or alive. Simply dead.
A chill ran through me. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find out Micah had survived. It had all been such a blur, between setting my sights on killing him for all the evil he’d created and the sudden appearance of his acolytes. The vampires who’d spirited me away to another park, who’d chained me to a statue after draining me of my blood.
I hadn’t seen him fall, hadn’t seen his final moments, and, therefore, hadn’t taken for granted that he was gone forever.
Now, I knew it for certain. He was alive, and he wanted me dead.
Yes, it was high time to get out of Paris.
“I have to go to my father now.” Cari gazed up at Gage, eyes wide, searching his face for signs of understanding. My heart went out to the poor girl. She’d been ripped away from everything that had made her life her own so suddenly, she hadn’t the chance to adjust.
I related all too well.
“Now that I know where he is, I can’t possibly stay away,” she murmured, looking to Gage for understanding.
Gage ran a gentle hand over her blonde hair. “How could I refuse you? I understand what this means, how important it is. We’ll see to it that you lay eyes on him, at the very least.”
“We said we’d go, didn’t we?” Raze asked as he folded the map. “Now that we know where we’re going, there’s less reason than ever to second-guess ourselves.”
I frowned, glancing at Gage and Cari to be certain they were lost in each other as always before pulling Raze aside. “You don’t have to go, you know,” I whispered as the two of them spoke in similarly low voices. “This could be a lengthy journey, and it might mean exposing ourselves to unknown dangers.”
He blinked, frowning. “Where is this coming from? I thought it was the four of us. Why are you trying to push me out all of a sudden?”
“I’m not trying to push you out.” I refrained from touching him, though all I wished to do right then was to offer comfort because it seemed as though I was hurting him. “Believe me. I only want to help you avoid what could be a very difficult situation. You have a life here, and a comfortable one. Do you want to jeopardize that?”
“Who cares about comfort?” he whispered, looking around. “I had comfort back in America. I lived in a mansion. I had friends, or so-called friends. Where did that get me?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, not knowing much about him outside of his present life. We’d never discussed his past.
His face relaxed a bit. “If it got me anywhere, do you think I would be here?”
He had a point. My argument fell to pieces. “I suppose not.”
He stared at me with nearly unnerving intensity. “I want to go. It’s important to me.”
I wished he wouldn’t stare at me that way. I wished he wouldn’t stand so close to me. I wished he wasn’t so appealing. That was why I didn’t want him to come along, though I could hardly admit it. I didn’t care for the feelings he stirred up in me. They were a reminder of what I had felt when I first met Xavier.
Because of me, Xavier was dead. Even if I hadn’t been the one to lock him away and starve him until he’d lost his mind, it was still my fault he came to such a terrible end.
How could I take a chance like that again? How could I risk the life of another, especially with Micah still breathing?
He could be in the streets this very minute, staring up at the windows, wondering which one I’d sheltered behind. Imagining how he would kill me and anyone with me.
If that was the case, it would be best for Raze to leave the country, too.
“All right,” I relented, since there was no other choice. I had nothing more to say on the subject, anyway. I left him with the others, turning toward the balcony.
I needed fresh air, even if it wasn’t really fresh. Nothing in this neighborhood was. Nonetheless, it was better than being inside, with my thoughts bumping against each other and Raze looking at me in that intense way he had. It was both unnerving and welcome.
Which frightened me terribly.
But what did I know? I took a deep breath as I asked myself the question, leaning against the wrought iron railing and surveying the scene below. A typical evening in Paris, especially in this area. Drunks staggering about, young men wearing sweatshirts with the hoods pulled over their heads, trying to blend in as they went about their dark deeds.
And beyond, the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower. It still dazzled me after so many years.
Just as Micah had dazzled me, which was why I had to question my feelings. I’d thought I loved him, turning to him after losing Xavier. The way he’d li
ed and pretended to have nothing to do with my love’s disappearance… It made me sick with rage. But at the time, I’d only known the comfort he offered. I’d fallen under his spell long before I’d finally followed him to the deserted jail that fateful night, where he’d been visiting my poor, darling Xavier.
None of it was real. I’d told myself I loved him, lied to myself about how he could help patch up my broken heart. All of it a charade. I’d come to need him, to depend upon him. Just as he had depended upon me in the same sick, twisted way.
I was more than likely fooling myself into thinking Raze was something special. He deserved better than me.
23
Naomi
“It’s incredible,” Cari murmured as the four of us made quick work of walking through the narrow streets of the ancient town.
“What is?” Gage asked.
The two of them—holding hands as always—walked in front of Raze and me.
She motioned around us with her other hand. “All of it. To think, the oldest architecture in America dates back to—what?—six or seven hundred years later than any of this was built.”
“Perhaps even more than that,” I offered. “The first official record of the town dates back to 1081, but it might be much older by far.”
“Unreal,” she marveled, letting her hand graze the surface of a stone wall. Raze and I exchanged a smile at her naivete. There was so much more for her to learn, so many horizons for her to explore. She truly was like a little sister to me.
Then, I reminded myself to refrain from sharing those quiet little moments with Raze. No matter how natural it felt.
The moon was full, ripe, painting the edges of the billowing clouds which drifted around it, making them glow. They sailed over the majestic Monte Morra, which stood high above the rolling hills and mountains which surrounded it.
We were outside the town itself by the time we approached Gil Riviera’s villa. It gleamed like a jewel nestled into the hillside, the windows which lined its walls allowing the light from inside shine to forth. It was a beacon, an oasis in the middle of old, crumbling—albeit charming—structures around it.
A winding trail led down from the entrance, to the road carved into the very hill. A wall of mortared stone separated the estate from the road, while another such wall separated the road from the drop-off just beyond. The road itself was hardly wide enough for two cars to pass one another, and the one leading up to the house was not much wider.
It would suit a man with a complicated life. Living behind a wall, high up on the hill, with only a narrow road leading to where he made his home. Little chance of an ambush from one’s enemies when that was the case—assuming the man had enemies, which Anastagio had not revealed to me.
“I doubt we can walk through the gate,” I whispered, eyeing up the very modern automatic monstrosity. “Perhaps there’s another way in somewhere on the hillside.”
With that in mind, the four of us coursed up the hill, following the stone wall which delineated the edge of Riviera’s property. Cypress and stone pines decorated the landscape, sometimes hanging over the edge of the wall.
At the rear of the property was a second gate, much smaller than the one leading from the main road. There was an alley there, barely wide enough for a car to fit down. The four of us stood at the gate, taking in the sights just beyond.
It was beautiful, like something out of a fantasy. Lush gardens surrounded the house, the scents of which floated up to greet us. The paths around and through it were paved in gray stone which turned almost pearlescent in the moonlight.
The house itself was majestic, all three floors and three wings of it, though it wasn’t imposing. Someone had taken the time to give it a warm, homey feeling, if such a place could be considered homey. Tan stucco and terra cotta tiles on the roof, large, open seating areas under pergolas just dripping with juicy grapes and large, fragrant blossoms.
Whoever lived there was fortunate, indeed.
I glanced at Cari, whose eyes filled with tears she tried to conceal. I thought I might know what made her cry—she’d scraped by for so long, virtually on her own, while her father’s second family had lived in luxury. How many happy afternoons had been spent poolside, dipping into the clear water before lunching on the patio, all of it under the Italian sun?
“Come on,” she whispered, now determined.
“What do you expect to do?” Gage asked.
“Scale the wall, of course,” she nearly snarled.
“Wait.” I threw an arm in front of her because, once I’d finished admiring the scenery, I’d taken note of another aspect to the villa—armed guards.
“Why does he need them?” Raze muttered.
“Wouldn’t you want to remain safe if you lived in a place like this?” Gage asked. “Guards at the front gate, guards around the house. I wouldn’t take any chances with my safety, or that of my family.”
“Yes, but why does he need to be so concerned for his safety?” Raze countered, and I couldn’t help but agree.
What, indeed, did Gil Riviera do with his time?
We were about to find out.
“Oh, my God,” Cari whispered, then clamped her hands over her mouth.
The four of us watched a handsome, middle-aged man with gray-streaked blond hair striding from side of the villa closest to us. He wore what, even at a distance, was clearly an expensive suit, and a large watch glittered on his wrist. Even his shoes shone as he walked toward us.
Toward the rear of the property, away from the main road. Away from the cars parked in front of the house.
“That’s him,” she confirmed. There was so much pain and wonder and sadness in her voice.
“What’s he doing?” Gage wondered aloud, as Gil seemed to sneak away from his home. There were no guards following where he walked, which was a clue, along with the way he kept casting looks over his shoulder. Whatever he did, he didn’t want his men to know about it.
The four of us watched until we could no longer risk revealing ourselves, then pressed ourselves against the stone wall several paces from the gate, deep in shadow.
A series of high-pitched beeps told me Gil entered a code on his side of the gate before stepping through. He went straight to a sleek, low-slung sports car parked in the narrow alley and drove away without so much as a glance around him.
It was time to course again, it seemed, since none of us would be satisfied with simply letting him go about his business. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so secretive about it…
We arrived at a flashy, upscale restaurant not ten minutes later, stopping several doors down when we noticed his car coming to a stop. A valet took care of it while he walked with that same confident gait up to and through the restaurant’s doors.
“Come on.” Cari ran ahead, the three of us rushing to catch up to her.
We watched through the plate glass windows as Gil was led through a quiet, tasteful dining room to a private room in the back. Someone waited in that room; I could just make out the shape of a person sitting at a table before the door closed.
“I guess it’s safe to assume they wouldn’t let us in without a reservation, huh?” Cari whispered, sounding wistful.
“I guess there’s nothing to do now but wait,” I said, watching her closely. There was no telling what she was going through.
24
Cari
I used to be Daddy’s Girl.
One look at him, and it all came flooding back. All the good times, long before things went south. When it would never have occurred to me that my daddy was anything but a good, kind, handsome, wonderful man. My hero.
Afternoons spent on his shoulders as we trekked through the amusement park or the zoo. Trips to Disney World, weeks at the beach or in the mountains. He’d taught me how to ride a bike, how to tie my shoes. How to read, endless hours spent at my bedside every night while we went through my bedtime stories until I could read them to him rather than the other way around.
I could do no
wrong in his eyes. Not back then, anyway.
I knew about the second divorce, so it was no surprise that my Wicked Stepmother wasn’t with him—though it was surprising that a man still so handsome and clearly well-off would dine alone. Then again, he wasn’t alone, was he?
Where were the kids? I barely remembered their names, and I hated myself for it. Lisa? Gregory? Max? I certainly couldn’t remember how old any of them were.
They were my brothers and sister, for God’s sake—even if he had never seen it that way. I could’ve tried harder. I should’ve tried harder.
Regret gripped my heart until it hurt.
It had been my fault, too. Not only theirs—though neither of my parents were completely innocent. Mom had been fine with my deciding to live with her, just as she’d later been fine with my moving out when she got remarried, too.
All I’d had left at that point was Dad’s Aunt Delores. I’d lived with her and been happy all through high school—until she died two weeks before graduation. A heart attack in her sleep.
I had found the pearl necklace she had bought for a graduation present weeks later, while I was cleaning out her bedroom. I’d cried the whole afternoon, never more alone than at that moment.
When all the dust settled, I’d decided to go out on my own. Forget my absentee parents, forget everything. Aunt Delores had left me a little money, enough for an apartment and to support myself until I found a job. I had even been taking online college courses when I’d crossed paths with Gage.
All of that was so far away, far enough that I would never get any of it back.
And my father was in a restaurant across from where I waited for him to exit, but he might as well have been a million miles away.
After all, there was no chance of revealing myself to him. No way.
We didn’t say much to each other, any of us, as we waited. I was too busy brooding, reliving the past with all its mistakes. Wondering if Dad ever regretted letting me slip away from him. And I got the feeling that my friends were afraid to speak to me, like I might crack if handled too carelessly.
