Night Train to Venice

by Caroline Valdez

  Table of Contents

  Night Train to Venice

  Blurb

  Copyright Acknowledgement

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  MLR Press

  Night Train to Venice

  Night Train Series Book 3

  Carolina Valdez

  www.mlrpress.com

  Diamonds may be a collector’s best friend, but for Dante Rocco, a courier for precious stones and metals, the next delivery could mean death.

  Someone is robbing and killing couriers of precious gems and metals in Europe. Global Diamond Couriers in New Orleans assigns their human Italian, Dante, to make a major delivery in Venice. Although pickpocketing is the usual crime there, a wary Alexandros, Dante’s vampire lover, insists he and Malcolm, the other staff immortal, go along as bodyguards.

  In Rome, they board the Orient Express to Venice, and Malcolm is welcomed by Nick, a human steward whom he’d met years earlier. The hot, younger man seduces him into a whirlwind romance. But when Nick appears unannounced in their secret Venetian hotel, he’s sucked into a maelstrom of danger and deceit none of them may survive.

  Copyright Acknowledgement

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016 by Carolina Valdez

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Published by

  MLR Press, LLC

  3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

  Albion, NY 14411

  Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:

  www.mlrpress.com

  Cover Art by Winterheart Design

  Editing by Christie Nelson

  ebook format

  Issued 2016

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Christie’s: Christie’s Inc.

  Vanity Fair: Condé Nast Publications, Inc.

  Calvin Klein: Calvin Klein Inc.

  Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.

  Ralph Lauren: Ralph Lauren Corporation

  Delta Air Lines: Delta Air Lines, Inc.

  Dedication

  In appreciation for the restoration and preservation of the Orient Express—one of the most luxurious, historic trains in the world—and Venice—the most uniquely beautiful city on Earth.

  Chapter One

  Venezia, Italy

  “Bingo,” said the transatlantic voice of Marco Bugiardini’s contact at the Christie auction house in New York. “I’m pleased to tell you the item you were so interested in sold a few minutes ago.”

  “And the buyer?” Hearing the name of a wealthy Venezian collector made the Italian Marco smile. “I knew he’d outbid everyone else. His wife wants it, and he has a ring in his nose when it comes to the greedy woman.”

  Marco held the phone away from his ringing ear as laughter boomed from the other end of the line.

  “A younger woman who is eye candy for an older man? She’ll drag him to the opera to show it off, and he’ll be miserable.”

  Now, Marco’s laughter melded with his. “How you know this without ever meeting them amazes me.”

  Of course, they were both aware that, if Marco’s plan worked out, the incredible antique necklace would never reach the buyer. The courier’s insurance would reimburse the collector for the purchase price. Maybe the buyer would set a private detective on their trail, but it wouldn’t be successful. Marco’s organization was too clever for that, and they wouldn’t do business in Venice again for a long time. He’d hit other courier services in other countries.

  Serious, the contact said, “The courier has ten days to deliver once the purchase is confirmed and they’re contracted. I’ll let you know when that happens and which service Christie’s selects.”

  Good. That would give Marco time to get his men in place. “Once the package is in our possession, we’ll post the rest of your fee to your account.”

  “It’s nice doing business with you, signor.”

  Marco cut the connection. He already had a prospective buyer, one whose incredible collection had been purchased on the black market and was carefully kept under wraps.

  A shame, Marco thought, that only this buyer and I will ever see the breathtaking treasure. He sighed, hoping there would be no slip-ups this time, resulting in the death of the carrier. The less polizia attention they drew, the better.

  Chapter Two

  Ostiense Railway Station

  Rome, Italy

  Someone was robbing and killing couriers throughout the western world. Where and when they would strike next was the big unknown.

  Dante Rocco didn’t seem to be aware he’d retightened his grip, for the umpteenth time, on his carry-on—a small, black sports bag containing a minor fortune in gold, diamonds, and other precious stones. It made Malcolm Müeller, standing behind him in line to guard his back, nervous. Like a secret service agent protecting the US president, the middle-aged vampire scanned for signs of a threat. There had been none. At least not yet. Still, Malcolm wouldn’t drop his guard until this assignment was over and they were safely back in the US and Louisiana’s New Orleans once again.

  With quick efficiency, a man dressed in royal blue livery with gold braid trim and a matching cap stood behind the reception stand checking tickets and passports. Beside him, gleaming like a monogrammed silver bullet in the evening light, the train awaited its passengers. As he completed each check-in, the man waved the next person to its steps with a smile.

  Vampire Alexandros Nicolaides had his arm around Dante’s shoulder, and as Malcolm turned around again, he noticed Alex’s gentle squeeze. He and Dante looked at each other and smiled. There was a glow to those smiles, and Malcolm imagined the nostalgia they must feel. He figured the glows were because Dante and Alex had met on the night train from Rome to Naples, and here, a year later, they were traveling once again on Italian rails—as lovers and coworkers this time, no longer rivals for new business for separate diamond couriers.

  They’d risked danger in Naples and later in New Orleans. Now they were doing it again. To insure Dante’s safety when he’d left New Orleans with a major delivery and return pickup, Global Diamond Courier’s CEO had assigned the two immortals on the staff as his bodyguards.

  Watching Alex and Dante interact caused a downturn in Malcolm’s spirits. Not for the first time in recent months, he felt hollow inside because there was no one to share special memories with him. There hadn’t been for a long time, but until he’d been exposed to the feelings his friends shared, it hadn’t bothered him. These days, he felt something vital in his living death was missing, and it was beginning to get to him in a big way.

  The sound of the stamp and a small rrrip as the r
eceptionist cleared their passports and tore their roundtrip tickets apart brought Malcolm’s attention back to the task at hand.

  Presenting their documents, the pleasant man in the uniform said, “Enjoy your visit, gentlemen. We hope you’ll choose the Simplon-Orient-Express again soon.”

  Malcolm lifted one eyebrow as Alexandros dropped his arm and slid his hand over Dante’s butt. Then his feet hit the steps first, providing an advance shield for the more vulnerable human Dante. Malcolm closed in tight on Dante’s back. They boarded…and stepped into an Art Deco world of the 1920s and ‘30s where insets of Lalique glass figures in backlighted bas-relief rested between wooden panels in inviting tones.

  The chairs were upholstered in brown cut velvet. Small lamps with fluted, rose-colored shades cast a warm glow on tables in booths, and round balls of incandescent lights followed the line of the car just beneath the ceiling.

  After the bracing evening air, the car felt almost hot against Malcolm’s cool skin. It wasn’t because of the heat created by the lights, but it was the response of his cold vampire nature in the warmer environment. It felt good, and he smiled.

  “Quite a step up from the night train to Naples,” Dante whispered back to Malcolm.

  Malcolm stifled a chuckle. “I’m not familiar with that one, but leave it to Alex to choose one of the classiest historic trains in the world for our assignment.”

  “‘The train against which all other luxury trains are measured.’ Or so their ad quotes in Vanity Fair.”

  “Wanna bet Global didn’t cough up the complete cost of our tickets?”

  Dante’s smile was broad. “No bet there. It’s a given.”

  Malcolm’s house in New Orleans was more than nice, but Alexandros, who’d had several hundred years more after his turning than Malcolm in which to build his fortune, had filled his French Creole home with expensive antiques and objets d’art of other eras. It all fit his elegant style.

  This train to Venice had a history all its own, with over thirty restored vintage cars. Malcolm knew Alex would have paid the difference in fare just for the experience of riding it, and to take Dante with him would only add to his enjoyment of the ride.

  “Mister Nicolaides? Signor Rocco?” A mature steward dressed in blue-and-gold livery greeted the immortal in English and Dante in Italian. His expression was courteous.

  They nodded, and Dante replied in Italian that he spoke some English and Mr. Nicolaides French, English and Italian. “But our companion is more comfortable with English.”

  “I’m happy to speak English. My name is Raimundo and I’ll be your steward for the journey. If you’ll follow me to the sleeping car, I’ll lead you to your cabin suite.”

  Malcolm hoped the cabin was well insulated for sound because he was certain Alex and Dante would celebrate with some bed romping this evening. Again, the sense of something missing washed through him.

  A second steward in blue—as Aryan as Alexandros was not, despite his flowing blond hair—stepped up to Malcolm. His deep blue eyes danced and his lips curved as if welcoming Malcolm had made his day. Taking a cue from Raimundo, he said in English, “Herr Müeller? I will be your steward. My name is Nick. Follow me, please. Your cabin adjoins that of your fellow passengers.”

  The reserved but cheerful welcome sent warmth washing through Malcolm as he followed Nick.

  His first impression of Nick was that he could have modeled on Project Runway or for Calvin Klein or posed for photo shoots for major magazines. What he was doing on this train as a steward when he could have the world at his feet and big money in his pockets was a mystery. Malcolm almost drooled over the sudden sensations he was experiencing in the presence of this genial and striking younger man. He frowned as a memory he couldn’t quite pull up tugged in the recesses of his brain. Maybe Nick actually did model and Malcolm had seen photos of him. Then again, maybe he had a twin. Or a doppelgänger…a double. And wouldn’t that be fun?

  Raimundo led the way into the next car, where they walked on thick carpet in royal blue and scarlet along a corridor lined with rich woods with beautiful grain. He produced a key to a door decorated with a floral pattern of inlaid wood.

  “You’ll find your private lounge and sleeping cabin are connected.” He opened the door, and he, Alex and Dante disappeared inside.

  Not far down the corridor, Nick inserted a key in the lock of the adjoining cabin. Turning, he ushered Malcolm into a suite, where the carpet and upholstery matched the colors and pattern of the luxurious carpet in the corridor. It was attractive, but it was a tight fit for the two of them, and Malcolm couldn’t imagine the sizeable Alexandros in a room this tiny with Dante, who wasn’t small either. Position-wise, any sex they’d be having would have to be ingenious—a la Kama Sutra. He smoothed his wrinkled brow, amused at the thought. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this trip, despite the serious nature of its objective.

  His lounge had a small banquette sofa and footstool against one wall. His briefcase and carry-on were on a wire rack above the sofa. A small table and a lamp with a fluted rose shade were positioned beneath the wide window, which covered most of the end wall.

  Stepping through the door to the sleeping area, Nick pointed out the wardrobe. “Ordinarily, I would have unpacked for you, but since your trip is short, I have only removed your sleepwear. If you wish to have your shoes shined, a suit pressed, or something laundered, leave them in this plastic garment bag outside the door. They’ll be ready for you tomorrow morning when I bring your breakfast.”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “This”—the steward continued as he opened what looked like another wardrobe—“is your wash basin, with hot and cold running water, mirror, and towels.”

  Malcolm noted a bar of French milled soap in a closed container and a fancy glass water bottle and glass securely fastened next to the mirror. A crystal vase holding red and blue flowers was next to them.

  The double bed almost filled the area. You could barely open the wardrobes.

  “Usually the suites include bunk beds so you have more room, but Mister Nicolaides requested this bed for you.”

  Malcolm took in his surroundings and noted that was the extent of the amenities. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Nick anticipated his question. “The lavatory is at the end of the car. Not exactly like home, is it? But it does give a taste of how the wealthy traveled in those days.”

  “It does. It’s beautiful.” Knowing the cost of their accommodations, Malcolm thought it was also how the wealthy traveled these days as well.

  Nick pointed to a small hook on the wall. “In the train’s heyday, men wore their watches tucked in their waistcoats or pockets. They were attached to a chain with a small medallion which hung on the outside,” he paused. “But then, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” His wide blue eyes bored straight into Malcolm’s dark ones.

  Malcolm hadn’t traveled in this kind of luxury, but he’d worn waistcoat watches. The chain with an ornament was known as a fob. The thing was, these cars had been built in the early 1880s and the watches had fallen out of favor with men by the end of that century, over a hundred years ago. How could Nick know he was familiar with them? It made him wonder if the steward realized his paleness indicated he was one of the undead and not just seriously anemic or undergoing chemotherapy. He’d puzzle that out later.

  “I’ve heard of them,” he said, playing it safe and not giving his age away.

  “When they restored the cars, they left these hooks on the wall as a historic feature because you hung your watch by the fob here at night and could check the time first thing in the morning.” As they returned to the lounge door to the corridor, Nick said, “Press this button if you wish me to come. I’m available for anything you need during your journey.”

  Wish him to come? Available for anything he needed? Having sex on his mind already, Malcolm almost threw his head back and laughed at the interpretation one might make of those phrases. Before he could stop himself,
he folded his arms across his chest and teasingly let his eyes roam the photogenic man from head to toe, lingering in the groin area for less time than it took to inhale fully. “For anything?”

  Instead of the blush and stammer he expected, Nick looked him right in the eyes. “Anything.”

  As he handed Malcolm the key, one side of his mouth tightened a bit—as if to control a smile fighting to respond to the tease. At the door, he paused. “Dinner is at eight. That’s only a few minutes away.” He walked out, and the door closed behind him.

  Malcolm sank onto the banquette, shocked at his behavior. “Hell’s bells, what’s the matter with me? Flirting with the staff! I must have lost my mind.”

  §§§§

  No sooner had Raimundo stepped into the corridor and closed the door than Alexandros reached around Dante’s waist from behind and drew him in close. Dante let himself relax into the cool, hard body. Alex’s lips kissed Dante’s neck and lingered on his throat below his ear. “Bring back memories?”

  In the elegance of the historic carriage, in the arms of the elegant being whose lips he wanted to taste, even as the deep tone of his voice evoked images of how they’d met and what fucking incredible sex they’d shared that first night after a harrowing evening of danger, he remembered. Dante tipped his head to allow greater access to the sensitive skin of his neck, making himself vulnerable to it all. He placed his arms over those around his waist and let memory flood his senses. “Feeling nostalgic, vampire?”

  “I could hardly wait to get you in here to celebrate the anniversary of our first train ride.”

  Dante’s laugh was low and throaty. “Which you’ve chosen to celebrate in great style. It’s just like you.”

  “We deserve it.” Alexandros’s teeth scraped across the pulsing artery in Dante’s throat with the promise of what was to come and one hand massaged his belly just above his cock. He sighed. “Even after a year, your blood still calls to me.”

  Anticipation sent gooseflesh cropping up on Dante. “Eager, are you?”