by Mari Carr
“Let me finish, and then I will tell you what I think.” James looked at Sophia. “Faceup side is a lion scalp mask.”
He bagged that, trying to move more quickly now. “Stack two, coin four. Modern coin. One obol coin from the Ionian Islands. Faceup side is the lion of St. Mark, and it says Ionian State in Greek. 1819.”
Coins five and six were both smaller silver coins, most likely from a Babylonian mint, from 300–400 BCE, and so degraded he was surprised that the stack had stayed upright.
“Stack two, coin seven. Modern coin. A Vatican lira. Faceup side is…it’s badly damaged, but I think it’s Pope John Paul II.” The face of the coin was scarred and blackened.
The final two coins were both Vatican issue. One a gold zecchino, the other an oxidized coin bearing the Christogram of the Jesuits—“IHS” inside rays of light.
“That’s six catholic coins.” Sophia’s voice was tight.
“You think this has something to do with religion?” Tristan asked her.
“I hope not,” Sophia spoke softly, almost as if she feared the words.
Without thinking, James reached out and covered the hand in which she held the pen. Her head came up and she met his eyes.
Damn, but she was beautiful. It was her eyes, he decided. They were the eyes of a confident, smart woman. In another time, another place, she would have inspired men to go to war for her. No, she wasn’t just a lovely face and figure. She would have ridden at the head of her army, not necessarily a warrior, but a fearless leader, a goddess come to life who could inspire people to greatness.
And he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her with the same desperation that he wanted to get out of this godforsaken cave.
He looked away first. “Let’s finish and then we’ll talk about it.”
He started on the last stack. When they were down to the last two coins, there was a shout of alarm from behind them.
James, Sophia, and Tristan all turned, Tristan taking a step forward, placing himself squarely in front of them.
If James had been a shorter man, Tristan’s back might have blocked his view of what was happening. But he wasn’t that lucky.
Two of the white-garbed men working the crime scene had tried to pick up what seemed to be a leg. The limb came apart in their hands, falling onto the pile of no-longer-human bits. In an instant, the smell of rotting meat and putrid blood doubled.
James gagged, then pressed his fist against his mouth. Sophia turned toward him, her eyes bright with tears.
James reached out and jammed the last two coins into their respective bags, shoving them into his pockets with the others. He grabbed the large bag, holding it with both hands. Sophia took the cue and started scooping handfuls of the non-stacked coins into the bag. A few fell to the floor. He winced but didn’t comment.
Tristan stooped and picked up the fallen coins, tossing them into the bag. When the last one was in, James twirled the bag to close the top.
Tristan took both his elbow and Sophia’s and started leading them out of the cave. When Sophia turned to look at the horrific scene, Tristan moved up beside her, blocking her view.
Sophia stopped, frowning as if she were about to object.
James was barely holding on. He wouldn’t make it if he had to stand there waiting for them to hash out whose balls were bigger.
“Move, woman,” he growled.
Sophia turned toward James with surprise on her face—what he could see of it. And then the surprise turned to interest.
No, that couldn’t be right. Wishful thinking on his part.
“Come on.” Tristan put his hand under Sophia’s elbow and led her out. James was on her heels. They climbed the stone steps with more haste than grace. The instant they reached the top, James ripped off his mask, stumbled behind the van and was violently ill.
The fancy meal from the plane came back to visit, and even after that was gone, he dry heaved for a few minutes.
Tristan appeared at his side, handing him a wet wipe. James took it, cleaning his face, then accepted the proffered bottle of water, taking a big mouthful and then spitting it out. He repeated that several times before dumping the remaining water on the rock, washing away evidence of his body’s reaction to the horror.
James straightened. He still had the large bag of coins gripped in one hand, his pockets full of the smaller coins. The sun had set while they were in the cave, and the last rays of golden light painted the Italian countryside with lavender, blue, and gold.
“Are you all right?” Tristan asked.
“For now. That was…that was horrible.”
Tristan nodded grimly. “It was. What do you need?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you need in order to figure out what the coins are supposed to say?”
“Someplace quiet and clean with Wi-Fi. I need to spread them out, check details on a few.”
“You mean you couldn’t identify every single one on sight?”
James was about to shoot back a hard reply when he saw the corners of Tristan’s eyes were crinkled with a smile that didn’t touch his lips.
“Be nice, or when we get back to London, I won’t show you our secret collection of dirty coins.” James passed Tristan the bag of coins to hold while he slipped out of the protective layers of plastic-lined fabric.
“Dirty?”
“Sex. Lots of sex happening on those coins. Mostly from behind.” James wiggled his eyebrows at Tristan, then checked to make sure all the smaller coins were safely tucked in the pockets of his pants. It was far from ideal—the thin metal of the coins would heat up being held so close to his body—but the coins were far better off in his pants pocket than in the cave with the dead bodies.
“Guy on guy?” Tristan asked.
“Some, and some with girls. What do you prefer?”
“In porn coins? I’m not sure. Haven’t seen one before.”
James barked out a laugh.
Sophia came over, frowning slightly. “Andiamo. Let’s go.”
Her accent had thickened, and her face was damp, as if she’d splashed water over it. Tristan and James shared a look, their gazes meeting for a second too long to be casually appropriate.
“I’ve booked us a hotel in Rome,” Tristan told Sophia as they walked to her car. “Can you give us a lift there, or to the closest place where we can call for a car?”
“No, no, no. No time. We will go to the villa.”
“The villa?” James looked at Tristan, who shrugged.
“Yes, yes. My father owns it.”
“Wait, do you mean to say he owns that palace?” James asked.
“Villa.” She yanked open her car door and got in.
Tristan and James both jumped into their seats. Tristan’s door wasn’t fully closed before she had the car in reverse.
James waited until she managed to get the car turned around and headed out the way they’d come in. “What’s wrong, Ms. Starabba?”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “How could you ask me that? Do you not think what we saw was wrong?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t understand the sudden urgency.”
She deflated slightly. “What if their souls are not yet at rest? What if they’re waiting there, in that horrible place, for justice?”
James touched her shoulder. “Are you Catholic?”
“Of course.”
“Then have faith that they’re at rest. That they’re with their Father.”
Sophia blinked and a tear slid down her cheek. “You are right. Now is not the time to let my faith falter.”
“We’ll go to the villa.” James twisted to check with Tristan, who nodded. “We can look at the coins and see if that helps them figure out who those people were.”
“We already know who they are. Were.”
Tristan’s words were so unexpected, Sophia nearly crashed the car.
“What?” she demanded. “Who?”
“All I got is first n
ames. Christina, Lorena, and Nazario. But your brother said they’ve been missing.”
“No, no, no,” Sophia chanted. “Ah, their poor children!”
“They have kids?” Tristan asked.
James held his hand up. “Okay, hold on. First of all, Sophia, your brother was there?”
“Yes, he is in charge of the investigation.”
“Her brother is one of Rome’s security officers,” Tristan added darkly.
Oh shit.
“Oh shit.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” Tristan replied.
“Second question,” James continued. “You said they had kids. Does that mean the three bodies down there…”
“They were married, yes.” Sophia took out a bush as she rocketed back toward the villa at what had to be an unsafe speed for this terrain. “One of our trinities. Their children are all grown. All members.”
That meant they were at least eighteen. Legacy members of the Masters’ Admiralty were invited to join at age eighteen, and they had one year to accept that membership.
“Lorena was a finance officer.” Sophia maneuvered them out of the trees until they were once more on the road beside the manicured grounds. They reached the bottom of the small valley that separated the high ground where the villa stood from the high ground of the forested area and cave. The big car started up the incline. Once they were past the stables, rather than continuing along the side of the house, Sophia turned into a small paved area behind the villa. She turned off the car and they all climbed out.
They followed her to a large wooden door. On any other residence, it would have been an impressive front door, but for this grand place, it was relegated to the rear entrance.
Sophia opened the door and gestured them inside. “Benvenuti nella Villa Degli Dei.”
James’s Italian wasn’t great, but when he stepped in the back door into a grand central hall, the ceiling three stories above them arched and painted like that in the Basilica, he knew why the place was called Villa of the Gods.
“I think the furniture must come to life.” James draped one of his big, heavily muscled arms over Tristan’s shoulders. He didn’t tense at the contact—first off, it felt good, which was something he’d have to think about later. Second, Tristan was too busy gaping at the living room.
Five minutes ago, they’d stopped in here to drop off the coins, then Sophia had directed them all to different bathrooms and assigned them bedrooms. The room had transformed. The curtains lining one wall had all been pulled back. French balcony doors and tall windows showed off a panoramic view of the last moments of sunset.
The massive stone fireplace, which had been dark and cold, now held a cheerful fire, the faint scent of wood smoke mingling with the smells of food.
A round dining table had appeared. It was draped with a pale-gold cloth and set with gold candlesticks topped by fat white pillar candles. There were three place settings—the silverware gold, the plates creamy white with filigree rims. A sideboard near where the dining table had been placed had been cleared off, and silver and gold bowls and platters crowded together on the glossy wood surface, each one filled with delicious-looking dishes. The smell of the food and the wood smoke made Tristan’s mouth water.
“I have to agree,” Tristan told James. “The villa is enchanted and the furniture comes to life. And apparently cooks.”
“Enchanted? No, no, no.”
Sophia’s voice startled Tristan enough that he whipped around, placing himself between her and James, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
Sophia raised a brow. She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail and wore a long, thin sweater coat in place of the leather jacket. She looked younger than she had before, her face softer. She’d taken off her makeup.
James stepped up beside Tristan. “Sophia, are you cursed and living all alone in an enchanted palace?”
She smiled—no, not just smiled. She grinned, and he was struck again by how lovely she was.
James slapped Tristan on the back. “I just happen to have a handsome knight right here. He could break the spell.”
Tristan snorted, but some stupid romantic part of him wanted to grab Sophia and kiss her, just in case. Better safe than sorry.
As if he were the sort of knight who championed fair maidens, went on quests, and whose kisses could break spells. No. He was the bloodied soldier raised up to the status of knight, something far beyond his station, to serve the king.
“I’m just a soldier,” he said, though the words cost him something. “James is a legacy. Far more likely to be the man who’d break the spell.”
“Look at me.” James gestured to himself. “I’m the evil henchman.” He bared his teeth.
Sophia tipped her head to the side, then sighed. “You English are so strange.”
She walked past them into the room, not at all startled by the sudden appearance of the elegantly set table or feast.
“Seriously, where did all this come from?” Tristan asked.
“My father’s servants are masters of their craft.”
She ignored the table and the food, heading instead for the coffee table in front of the fire. That’s where they’d dumped the coins.
She dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Where should we start?”
James once more draped his arm over Tristan’s shoulders. “We should start with food.”
Tristan turned his head, careful not to push James away. “James, unless you’re starving, it would be best for you to look at the coins first. We need to get whatever information we have, whatever clues we’ve found, to Sophia’s brother.”
“I have a theory.” James dropped his arm from Tristan’s shoulders and his expression grew grim. “I’ll tell you while we eat.”
Sophia started to rise, bracing her hands on the table. Tristan hurried over and held out one hand, his other on the hilt of the sword to make sure it stayed out of his way as he bent forward to offer her assistance.
Sophia looked up in mild surprise, then placed her hand in his.
Tristan sucked in a breath—the skin-on-skin contact sent shivers of awareness and arousal up his arm and into his chest.
He pulled her gently to her feet. They were standing close together—close enough that when Sophia took a deep breath, her breasts brushed his chest.
Tristan took a hasty step back and gestured for Sophia to proceed him.
He stared at the carpet as he walked, fighting down the feelings Sophia’s touch had awakened.
He looked up as Sophia picked up a plate from the table and went to the buffet. James was watching them. His eyebrows were lowered over eyes that glittered with…
Tristan first thought it was anger, but no, that wasn’t it.
The expression on James’s face was one of possession and lust.
Tristan picked up the remaining two plates, passing one to James.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Tristan said sotto voce.
James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Caught that, did you?”
Tristan clapped James on the back. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who was thinking about what it would be like…” Tristan cleared his throat but didn’t finish the sentence. He’d been about to say, “between the three of us together.”
They stepped up to the buffet, then stood in a reverent moment of silence, saying thanks for the spread laid out before them.
“You know, you never answered my question.” James used a silver-embossed, cake-knife type utensil to cut himself a piece of lasagna.
“What question?” Tristan asked.
“What you prefer. Guy on guy, guy on girl.”
“Before I joined, girls only. But I’ve been expanding my tastes.”
“Prepping for your trinity. Smart.”
Tristan and James looked at each other, and their gazes met. Another shiver of awareness and arousal shook Tristan. He grunted and stabbed a piece of eggplant parmesan, putting it onto his plate. “This i
s not the time or place.” He was speaking more to himself than anyone, but beside him, James stiffened.
You’re a bloody fucking wanker.
Tristan took his plate to the table, sitting across from Sophia. James joined them a moment later, taking the seat between them.
Sophia had a small mound of angel hair pasta tossed with basil, tomato, and olive oil. The rest of her plate was filled with salad.
Tristan’s and James’s plates were piled high with pasta and meat.
“Tell us, per favore,” Sophia said.
James finished chewing what was in his mouth and swallowed, then took a sip of the poured red wine. This place had to be enchanted.
“There were twenty-seven stacked coins, divided into three piles of nine.”
“Everything in multiples of three,” Tristan said. “There is no doubt that the killer knows about the Masters’ Admiralty—they took a trinity.”
There was silence while they absorbed that, and everyone took another bite.
James cleared his throat. “Within each stack of nine coins, there were three sets of similar coins.”
“What do you mean?” Sophia asked.
“Nine coins. The first three coins in each stack had a mask on them. The coins themselves were all different—some modern, some ancient, but each depicted a mask.”
Tristan frowned. A mask. That meant something, but he couldn’t remember why the word mask was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“The first trinity of coins within the stack is a maschera. What about the next?” Sophia asked.
“Coins four, five, and six, the second trinity, are a bit trickier. Again, it was a mix of ancient and modern coins. I think the clue is the modern coin from the Ionian Islands.”
“I don’t understand,” Tristan admitted.
“In the nineteenth century, the Ionian Islands currency included an obol coin.”
“Obol. They used that name?” Sophia asked with sharp interest.
“Yes. And the other coins are all small gold and silver Greek or Roman coins.”
“They could have been obols.”
Tristan took a bite of delicious, herby sausage, hoping they would explain. No explanation was forthcoming. James and Sophia were just grinning at each other.
