The Roman

by Sylvain Reynard

  It had been a long night.

  “Language,” Julia chided him, frowning at him over the baby’s head.

  He ignored her rebuke, scrolling through a few pages on his computer.

  “What is it?” She walked toward him, but he closed the laptop with a snap.

  “Don’t look.”

  Her eyebrows crinkled. “Why not?”

  Gabriel ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Do you remember the carabinieri officer who was assigned to investigate the Uffizi robbery?”

  “Yes, what about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Julia’s hand went to Clare’s head, as if by covering her she could protect her.

  “Murdered.” Gabriel gestured to his laptop. “There are photographs of the body, all over the internet.”

  “They shouldn’t post pictures like that. Have they no respect for his family?”

  Gabriel cursed again, his hands in his hair.

  “The poor man.” Julia snuggled Clare into her shoulder. “I wonder if he had children.”

  “This is also bad for us.” Gabriel’s blue eyes blazed. “The inspector’s body was posed near the Uffizi. Someone is making a statement.”

  “You mean the robbery is connected to the murder?”

  “It’s possible. Actually, it’s more than possible. It’s likely. He was the lead investigator. Those illustrations are worth a lot of money. Perhaps he was close to finding them.”

  “What about the strange man who came to see you in Umbria? Do you think he’s involved?” Julia held Clare even more tightly, bouncing her lightly as she whimpered.

  Gabriel stood, pushing his chair aside. “I’m going to call Vitali. It’s morning there, and I’m sure he will have heard the news.”

  “Gabriel…” Julia faltered, her gaze moving from her child to her husband. “That man threatened you. Are we in danger?”

  “I’ll know more once I speak to Vitali, but it’s too much of a coincidence. I’m not taking any chances, not with you and Clare.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “After I speak with Vitali, we’re going to pack our bags and head to Logan Airport. We’re going to be on the next flight out. Once we’re out of Boston, we can decide where to go next.”

  He placed his arms around his family and kissed his wife’s temple. “We’ll be traveling west.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  THE GREAT COUNCIL CHAMBER was empty, save for the Prince and his head of security.

  Gregor approached the throne and bowed, keeping his head lowered.

  The Prince huffed impatiently. “Out with it.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord. News of the policeman’s death has been widely reported. Because the body was found as the sun was rising, witnesses were able to take photographs.”

  “I am well aware of the security services’ failure. Have you anything new to report?”

  “The human intelligence network was able to secure the body, but not before a preliminary autopsy was conducted.”

  The Prince banged his fist against the armrest. “How could they be so careless?”

  Gregor felt for his neck. “It’s a high profile case, my Lord. The autopsy was conducted immediately.”

  “You are head of security. Have you made any progress in finding the killer?”

  Gregor cleared his throat. “The security services have been speaking to the brethren. No one admits killing him, but the policeman was seen near Teatro before his death. A hooded figure was caught on videotape. He appears to have abducted the policeman.”

  The Prince leaned forward on his throne. “You have a suspect. Good. Are you sure the figure is male?”

  “Yes, my Lord. For various reasons, we used footage of Lady Aoibhe as a comparison. In size and in proportion, the figure was male. If I may be allowed to speculate, the figure put me in mind of Ibarra.”

  “Have you spoken with Aoibhe?”

  “No, my Lord. Many witnesses can attest to her presence at Teatro before and after the abduction. Since then, we have been unable to locate her.”

  The Prince’s eyes alighted on the empty chair in which Aoibhe sat during Consilium meetings. “If Ibarra is still in the city, he must be found, and quickly.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I have been hunting him personally, but he is elusive.” Gregor shuffled his feet.

  The Prince’s eagle eyes noticed Gregor’s movement. “I take it you have more to report?”

  “Yes, my Lord. La Nazione has published an article detailing the dead policeman’s investigation of the Uffizi robbery. The reporter claims to have access to the inspector’s private papers. He is demanding that the carabinieri and Interpol take up the investigation, and that they pursue the prime suspect.”

  “And who is the prime suspect?”

  “William York.”

  The Prince pinned his assistant to the spot with his glare. “How was this allowed to happen?”

  Gregor looked up at the ruler in acute distress. “Our intelligence network had no knowledge of a connection between the policeman and the reporter. It seems materials were transferred from one to the other with the instruction that they should be made public should something untimely occur.”

  William’s hands curved into fists. “We are just learning of this now? After the entire world has read about it?”

  Gregor winced. “Yes, my Lord. The article also reports that the files have been transferred to Interpol. Even if we were to deal with the reporter, the information will have been seen by numerous people.”

  “Where do we stand?”

  “Someone from the medical team leaked details of the autopsy to the press. It’s being reported that the human’s body was drained of blood prior to death and that there were bite marks on his neck.”

  The Prince lifted a gold chalice from a nearby table and threw it across the council chamber. It struck the back wall, which was hewn from stone, and shattered on impact.

  “Tell me the newspapers aren’t mentioning vampyres.”

  Gregor swallowed noisily. “I cannot tell you that, my Lord. However, they are also mentioning Satanists.”

  “If only the Satanists would claim responsibility,” the Prince muttered. “I expect the Curia is already on its way.”

  “In this respect, I can offer good news, my Lord. Word from Rome is that the Curia are merely observing, too wary of the Roman to act against his ally.”

  “That is something positive.” The Prince straightened. “Order the human intelligence network to manufacture evidence supporting an alternative scenario, one that would implicate someone other than a vampyre. Satan-worshippers are convenient enough.

  “Deal with the reporter, and identify a new suspect related to the Uffizi robbery—someone from the security staff.”

  “With what evidence, my Lord?”

  “With whatever evidence can be created in a short period of time,” the Prince growled. “The human intelligence network is supposed to be intelligent. Tell them to use their heads.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  The Prince fixed his head of security with a severe look. “The security service needs to find Ibarra and bring him to me. I shall go in pursuit of Aoibhe.

  “See that we have troops posted at our borders in case of an incursion, and contact our spies in Rome. I want to know if we can expect any reaction from the Curia.

  “Send word to the Roman as a courtesy, thanking him for our alliance and reassuring him that I am in control of the principality and all security risks will be dealt with expeditiously.” He paused. “And Gregor, take care to improve your service.”

  “Absolutely, my Lord.”

  Gregor bowed and raced from the council chamber as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

 
RAVEN WAS IN THE HALLWAY looking for William when she heard voices from behind the closed doors of his library. Without bothering to knock, she entered the room.

  Lucia and Ambrogio stood at the far end of the library, in front of William’s desk.

  William beckoned to her as he concluded his instructions. “To Geneva. But only in dire circumstances.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” The servants replied in unison.

  “You are dismissed.”

  The two humans bowed and left the library, nodding at Raven as they exited.

  She leaned on her cane as she crossed to his desk. “What’s in Geneva?”

  “The Trivium.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My bank.” William came out from behind his desk. He took her hands in his. “If you need to flee Florence, go to Via San Zanobi, number thirty-three. Ask for Sarah. She will provide you with safe passage out of the city.”

  “You’ve told me this before.” She searched his eyes. “Has something changed?”

  “A newspaper has printed the story of Batelli’s death. They mentioned my name and yours.”

  Raven was horrified. “Why?”

  “Batelli was investigating us in connection with the robbery of the Uffizi.”

  “But that’s a lie! I was interviewed, but I was never an official suspect.”

  “The newspaper is reporting what Batelli recorded in his personal papers.”

  Raven pressed a hand to her forehead. “The director of the Uffizi will see this. So will Professor Urbano. I could lose my job on the next restoration project.”

  William took hold of her arms. “I am not going to allow that to happen. Even now, my intelligence network is putting out disinformation. In a few days, the pendulum will swing in our direction.”

  Raven leaned against the desk. “I want to continue to live in my world. My job at the Uffizi is really important to me.”

  He wrapped his hand around her neck. “Understood. Just give me a few days.”

  “Someone is trying to take the principality away from you. There’s the Curia on one side and whatever vampyre interloper on the other.”

  He removed his hand and took a step back. “That’s true, but we have the support of the Roman. We have allies in Venice and Umbria. The tide will turn.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. If I’m wrong, I have already made a way for you to escape the city.”

  She gripped his hand tightly. “I won’t leave without you.”

  “You won’t have to.” William looked down at their hands. “I have an idea who the traitor is, and I am going to find him. I just need a little time.”

  “What about the Curia?”

  “The Curia doesn’t want a war with the Roman. They’ll make noises, I’m sure, but they’ll be slow to act.

  “I must show the Curia and the world that Florence is firmly in my control. It will take a couple of days.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Can you give me that?”

  “I’m not leaving you, William.” She leaned against him. “But if the city falls, and we need to flee, will you do it?”

  “Ask me when the time comes,” he whispered, pressing her head against his chest.

  Chapter Forty

  THE PRINCE OF FLORENCE stood on a rooftop in the city center, biding his time.

  He knew Ibarra was either still inside the city or close by, watching the aftermath of his public violence with glee. Aoibhe knew where he was, if she wasn’t with him.

  With practiced ease, the Prince had tracked Aoibhe over the course of the evening, following her to an abandoned building that stood a few doors down from a church. The site wasn’t close enough to completely deter other vampyres, but it was close enough to give them pause. No doubt she’d chosen the location accordingly.

  He would not be deterred.

  Aoibhe was ready to feed and had led a pretty young man into an apartment on the top floor. She liked to play with her food, which was why the Prince was waiting.

  He’d taken care to tamp down his wrath. Aoibhe had been an ally and had fought at his side. She’d given her blood to aid Raven’s sister. But she’d always been ambitious. She’d bedded down with Ibarra in hopes that he could help her overthrow the city.

  The Prince didn’t care who she fornicated with or why. He would not forgive her treason.

  When he was confident the time was ripe, he climbed down from the roof and swung his feet through the glass window, shattering it.

  Cries came from a nearby bed.

  Aoibhe was astride her lover, her red hair streaming down her naked back. Her head turned toward the Prince, her expression one of horror.

  “What the hell?” The youth grabbed Aoibhe by the hips, attempting to move her.

  Aoibhe slapped him. “Shut your mouth, if you want to live.”

  She climbed off him and stood next to the bed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Her hands went to her hips.

  “Tread lightly, Aoibhe,” the Prince whispered. “You aren’t the offended party.”

  Aoibhe lowered her arms and smiled artfully. “Your presence is always welcome, my Lord. I’m simply surprised.”

  “Get dressed.” He pulled a pile of green velvet from a nearby chair and threw it at her.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” her lover demanded.

  “Silence your pet, or I shall.” The Prince kept his angry eyes focused on Aoibhe.

  “You need to leave.” Aoibhe dismissed the man before pulling the dress over her head.

  “Why doesn’t he leave?” the man pouted, rolling onto his side.

  Aoibhe flew on top of the youth and took hold of his throat. She squeezed until the man fell unconscious.

  Then, as if nothing untoward had occurred, she slid to the side of the bed and stood, arranging her green velvet dress to best effect.

  “Pardon, my Lord.” She slipped her feet into a pair of slippers. “How can I serve you?”

  The Prince’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Where is Ibarra?”

  “I don’t know.” Aoibhe pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “He’s probably in Basque country.”

  In a move fast as lightning, the Prince retrieved a dagger from his belt and sped past Aoibhe.

  She shrieked and clutched her scalp as a sudden pain shot through her. “What are you doing?”

  The Prince was already on the other side of the room. In one hand he held a large clump of red hair. In the other, he held the weapon.

  He threw the curls to the floor and sheathed his dagger. “Next time, it will be your head. I repeat, where is Ibarra?”

  Aoibhe touched her hair and another clump fell. The Prince had sawed the long locks that hung over her left shoulder precisely in half.

  She stared down at the curls, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

  “Aoibhe!” he snapped. “Where is Ibarra?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her head slowly, as if in shock. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

  “You admit you’ve seen him.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her slender, pale throat moved as she measured his reaction.

  “Did you know he was going to hang a policeman at the Loggia dei Lanzi?”

  Her eyes met his. “No. He wants his revenge against you, but I thought he’d be caught before this. Gregor and the security team came close to capturing him more than once.”

  “He could have been caught if you’d told me where he was.”

  Aoibhe scowled. “And have you execute me? I’m not suicidal.”

  “Show me where you saw him.”

  Her left hand went to her shorn locks. “And be executed as soon as you find him? No.”

  “You betrayed me, Aoibhe.” His voice was glacial. “You
are already dead.”

  “Then find Ibarra yourself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes defiant.

  The Prince’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”

  “Our relationship has been one large negotiation. I didn’t know Ibarra was going to kill a policeman and string him up. He’s gone mad.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “You want Ibarra. I want my head. I lead you to him, you rid the city of a mad man, and I escape the sword. We both get what we want.”

  “Mercy is too great a price.”

  “It’s an exchange—his death for my life. I’ll agree to leave the city when he’s dead.” Aoibhe’s hand went to her hair again.

  The Prince noticed the slightest tremor in her hand.

  “Lead me to him.”

  “I want your word.”

  He growled his response, but she stood there, stubbornly.

  Impatient with the delay, the Prince relented. “Very well. Lead me to Ibarra, and I won’t be the one to execute you.”

  “I won’t be taken in by your sophistry. Promise me my life.”

  At this, the Prince bared his teeth and snarled.

  Obediently, Aoibhe lifted her skirts and stepped over the hair, heading for the door.

  “You’ve given me your word,” she said in a small voice.

  The Prince glared at her coldly. “How many promises to me have you kept?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Raven rose early, dressing in a pretty yellow sundress and low sandals.

  William hadn’t returned after their conversation the previous day.

  Over breakfast, Lucia informed her that his lordship was busy, but planned to return before sunset.

  After breakfast, Raven retired to the library, where she spread out her paper and charcoal and began sketching the view above her, through the enormous, domed glass ceiling. It was a bright, sunny day, and the sky was a vibrant blue. Only the smallest wisp of cloud sailed overhead.