§§§§
Panic rushed through Pierre, the team’s first watcher, as he ducked back from the window. Earlier, he’d bummed money from the blond who worked on the train to stall for time, while waiting to see where the couriers would be staying.
Damn it, did our quarry see me? If he did, we’re in trouble. I’m in trouble if the big boss knows I was careless enough to be spotted.
He wasn’t ready to be dumped from the team. That meant a body bag anchored with rocks and a swim with the fishes in the Adriatic. It didn’t take much in the way of brains to decide not to share that bit of news about the window with the boss. Or even with any of his partners. They would pull off the heist and be on their way. No one needed to know what had just happened. Besides, his skills for this were necessary. There were only two of them qualified to carry off the caper.
He flipped open his cell and hit a speed dial number.
A man’s voice, heavy with suspicion, answered with a guarded, “Yes?”
Pierre said, “They’re here. Notify watcher two to follow.” He clicked off.
Chapter Five
“Hey, sleepyhead, time to rise and shine.” Alex had been happily surprised to waken to the warmth of his lover beside him. Now, he delighted in watching him stretch, yawn and run a hand first over his face—which bore the wrinkled imprint of having slept on his side—and then through his tousled hair. A tide of desire rose in him, but he sighed and squelched what it was doing to his nether parts because there was no time for sex.
“Didn’t know I was so tired.”
“Jet lag, I assume. Something we undead do not suffer from.”
Dante checked his watch. “You’re up early.”
“Dark day. Time to see more of this glorious place before you need to eat. Where do you want to go for dinner?”
“A pizzeria. New Orleans doesn’t quite get it right. Not even at the restaurant run by my compatriots.”
Alex laughed. “I am sure it does not. I doubt you can get decent gumbo here either.”
“You’re right about that. Think I’ll take a quick shower.”
When he was out and dressed, Alex asked, “You have the jewels?”
Dante patted his belt. “Wish I could lock them up somewhere, but they’re all here.”
Alex knocked on Malcolm’s bedroom door, and the vamp strode through eager to go. “Elevator this time?” he asked.
“Or we could take Dante out the window and fly him down as we flew him over Cemetery One,” Alex quipped.
Dante shivered at that memory as he stepped to the window. “It almost looks like rain. Since you two are at full strength now, I’m willing to risk the elevator.”
Leaving the palazzo through a door to a street leading away from the canal, Alex halted. He raised a hand up to stop Dante and Malcolm behind him. Closing his eyes and shutting out all distractions, he centered his attention outward as he unleashed his senses. Something had disturbed his sleep. Ever since awaking, he’d felt restless and on edge.
A block away, a thief strolled with casual, steady steps toward a woman whose large leather handbag dangled from her shoulder. She was studying the display in a shop window, unaware he was poised to grab her purse at any second and flee through the narrow labyrinth of streets.
The vampire sent a mind bolt to the snatcher, who stumbled back in shock, hands to his head. The unaware tourist crossed the street and entered a different shop. The moment for the thief to steal was lost. Hands still on his head, he disappeared.
“Good man, Nicolaides,” Malcolm said in a voice tinged with humor.
“What?” Dante asked.
“Tell you later,” Malcolm said.
Alex sensed no danger to his group so he led the way out the door and onto the narrow street.
Glancing at Dante, who was dressed in brown jeans and a crew neck sweater, Alex started to wrap an arm around the shoulders of this man who’d won his heart and accepted his ring, but unsure how that kind of closeness would be received in this country, he restrained himself. It would be foolish to call attention to the three of them, so he took his place beside Dante.
Malcolm hummed cheerfully to himself as he took up the rear.
His voice tinged with excitement, Dante said, “This way to Saint Mark’s Square. We have time to tour the basilica, and I think you’ll enjoy it. I must warn you the pigeons are a huge problem in the square. Watch out or they’ll land all over you. Crap bird turds on you.”
Alex looked back at Malcolm, and they broke into knowing smiles.
The big gray-and-white birds bothered everyone else, but as their small party approached, the strutting avians scattered, startled and fearful in the face of the undead, leaving a clear pathway for them.
“Of course,” Dante said under his breath. “How could I have forgotten?” He shook his head.
A thick knot of people had crowded around the cathedral entrance. As they worked their way forward, Alexandros stopped and studied the unbelievable edifice with its Byzantine and Gothic columns and pillars. Its ornate spires and peaks were at once strong and yet almost filigree-like along the upper ridges. Colorful mosaics, touched with gold here and there, appeared to tell stories of the saint and the history of the building.
Turning his head, he spoke to Dante. “Greece in my time was part of the Byzantine Empire. Did you know?”
Dante’s voice was rough and low. “I knew.”
“And you knew I would love this. Thank you for bringing us here.” Hands on his hips, he said, “Nothing I’ve ever seen compares to this.”
Dante said, “The bronze horses on the terrace are replicas of those stolen from Constantinople after Napoleon’s death. The real ones are inside in the museum.”
Pointing to figures along the line of the roof, Alex asked Dante what they were.
“Winged golden angels.”
“And the winged lion in the center of the peak just below the roof?”
“That’s the mascot of the Republic of Venice. You’ll see them throughout the city. It also symbolizes St. Mark, its patron saint. His relics are here.”
Alex knew all about saints and angels and relics. In typical Greek fashion, he’d been named after St. Alexander and had memories of the days before his turning when he’d attended Greek Orthodox Church services in Athens with his family. “But the apostle was martyred in Alexandria.”
Malcolm spoke up. “Islam controlled Egypt then. From what I’m seeing in those mosaics on the right, the saint’s body was stolen from Egypt and brought here. The body’s covered in blue velvet, but I’ve read they shouted ‘Pork, pork!’ as they spirited his body to a ship. That prevented the Muslims from investigating. Very clever ruse.”
“Or else a very clever story. How old is this?” Alex gestured to the cathedral.
Dante’s laugh was low and caressing. “Older than you, my lover. Built in the early ninth century. Much of it was destroyed by fire in the tenth. It was closed until the eleventh century when it was rebuilt as it is now.”
Eager to see the interior, Alex elbowed his way through the crowd for them, and soon they stood in the nave leading to the high altar.
Behind them, someone said, “The brochure says it’s laid out in the shape of a Roman cross.”
“No. The cross is Greek,” Alex said in a voice only Dante and Malcolm could hear. He leaned in to whisper to Dante, “You know how happy seeing this makes me, don’t you?”
Dante’s warm hand closed on Alex’s cold one and squeezed. “I’m so glad you insisted on being my bodyguard here.”
Gazing at the shining polychrome marble walls and floors, then up to the second level, where colorful mosaics in gold and bronze encrusted with precious stones adorned the walls and vaulted domes completely, Alex drew in a slow, deep breath as he turned, tipped his head back and stared up. “It looks like solid gold. Absolutely magnificent.”
“Wait until you see the Pala d’Oro above the high altar. It’s this way.”
Alex was
not only Greek and a courier, but a gemologist in love with the precious stones and metals in this place of worship. Byzantium genius and the cult of light drawing people to God. He was in awe as they stood before the remarkable Cloth of Gold altarpiece. It wasn’t cloth at all, but ebony, longer than he was tall and more than his height high. It was covered in gold and enamels and encrusted by thousands of stones. His gaze flew over them, thrilling as he recognized a treasure trove of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, pearls, jasper, topaz, and coralline. He realized he was seeing an object whose history made it unique on earth.
Alex’s chest tightened at the sight of the enamel of the Christós, whose arm was lifted in blessing. For a moment, he stood paralyzed with the sense the blessing was meant especially for him—Alexandros Nicolaides—as if he was not damned to hell for all eternity. Then the old doubts about having a soul crept in, and the moment was lost.
He turned away. “I hate to leave this lovely thing, but it’s crowded in here. Others need their chance to enjoy this. Time to go.”
Once in the square again, Malcolm said, “What we couriers carry pales in insignificance compared to what we just saw.”
“Ah, but we are easier prey and not so well guarded as the basilica,” Alex replied.
“Until this trip,” Dante quipped as he hooked an arm through each of those of the bodyguard vamps now on either side of him. “And I choose this pizzeria for my supper. I’m starving.”
Alex used his not unusual charm to commandeer a table for them in the crowded restaurant. If any waiting patrons felt disgruntled that his party hadn’t waited their turn, one glance into his green eyes erased their irritation and replaced it with relaxed enjoyment, as if a spell had been cast on them.
Malcolm nudged him with his shoulder and tipped his head at their server’s tight ass in black pants. As it turned out, he was also a baby-faced male beauty. Alex smoothed out the smile threatening to cross his face. The shoulder nudging was a signal they’d used before he’d fallen for Dante. This young man might have appealed to his baser sexual nature had it not been for the deep contentment he felt with Dante. He had the feeling Malcolm wasn’t really interested in hooking up with the waiter either, and that surprised him. He wondered why.
Alex pulled his chair out, then stiffened. A disturbance ruffled lightly over him. The hair on his arms rose. Hands still on his chair, he scanned their surroundings with one quick look. Nothing. His skin returned to normal and he sat.
From across the table, Malcolm, who had noticed Alex’s reaction, lifted an eyebrow in a questioning gesture.
Alex shook his head to indicate he’d detected no imminent threats.
The waiter appeared, and Dante ordered.
§§§§
Much to the annoyance of Derek, the aggressive second watcher assigned by the gang planning to rob the threesome, he had to report he’d lost them in the square after they’d left the cathedral. Fighting his way through the thick crowd to keep them in sight, he’d been accosted by a flock of pigeons. Several had landed on his arms. The one on his head had crapped on his black leather jacket before he could shoo them away. Buying the jacket had taken a month’s pay, and he’d snatched a red napkin from an outdoor dining table, cursing as he’d wiped at the cement-like excrement. Despite his best efforts at cleaning, it’d left white smears on his jacket.
He’d wadded up the napkin and thrown it on the ground in disgust.
By this time, his quarry had disappeared. He cruised past all the restaurants and shops, but they were gone. He knew his orders were to stake out the hotel, but he wasn’t going to ruin his expensive jacket. Nor did he intend to spend the evening in the filthy thing. He left for home without reporting in to his superiors.
§§§§
The doge sent a private launch to pick them up. To protect where they were staying, Alex gave a docking point for a different hotel on the opposite side of the canal. The boat arrived on time, piloted by a hulking, pox-marked vampire who introduced himself as Adamo. “The doge’s palazzo is on Lido Island,” he told them. “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes from here.” With some pride, he added, “Lido’s famous for the Venice Film Festival—the oldest of its kind in the world.”
Alex wrapped an arm around Dante’s shoulder as the boat skimmed across the lagoon, and Dante relaxed into him. Like dazzling sprites, the reflection of the lights from the islands danced on the night waters. “Reminds me of the lights of Naples when we crossed to Pompeii,” he said.
“That was a very special night,” Alex said.
His lover’s husky voice conjured up memories of molten heat and sex in public. Dante whispered, “Careful, my dick is listening.”
Alex’s laugh was soft and sensual. “Later, then. For now my lips are sealed.”
Adamo assisted them up onto the dock, and even in the darkness, Dante could see how much the sea had damaged the palazzo. Before he had a chance to feel bad for the vamp ruler, they were inside, and he was blown away by the rich elegance of the furnishings.
“I thought the place was crumbling, but there’s almost as much gold here as in the basilica,” Dante whispered to Alex.
Alex spoke in his ear. “The damage is camouflage to discourage tourists and hide what’s really inside.”
Out of respect for this leader, they’d changed out of jeans and into slacks after dinner. The room where they were led showed several living dead males and a few females in casual clothes lounging in chairs or playing poker and sipping goblets of blood. They chatted in subdued tones.
“So much for a ‘personal’ visit,” Alex said under his breath.
The coppery smell of blood floated in the room. If he hadn’t been used to Alex and Malcolm imbibing the stuff, nausea might have overwhelmed Dante. As it was, he shut it out.
The click of a rack of pool balls being struck to open a new game drew Dante’s attention to two vampires playing billiards at a richly carved table covered in burgundy felt.
The silence in the room when Adamo announced them was instantaneous. As usual, Alex took center stage with females and males alike drooling over him, but then Dante felt all eyes on him. Some licked their lips. He sensed they were thinking he was Alex’s private fountain of blood and maybe he’d be willing to share. It raised the hairs on his neck and arms.
He’d expected a replay of appearing before the vampire leaders of New Orleans and Naples, but one of the pool players—dressed in a sweatshirt, loafers, and jeans—straightened. Turning, he smiled at them. His dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail, and he appeared to be near Dante’s age. One side of his pleasant face was marked by a white scar running from temple to jaw, but there was a charisma about him that Dante felt the moment their gazes met.
Handing his cue off to an aide and wiping chalk from his fingers on a blue cloth he also gave him, he extended his arm as he walked toward them. “Ah, Alexandros. Malcolm. I’m happy to meet you.” After shaking hands, he turned to Dante. “And this must be Signor Rocco. My pleasure, I am sure.”
“Buona sera, Doge lo Greco.”
His smile widened. “Yes, I understood you are one of us.” Hard-edged laughter broke out in parts of the room. “Naturally, I meant you are Italiano.”
As laughter rippled again, a hand even harder and colder than Alex’s gripped Dante’s. Suddenly, Dante felt drawn in by this ruler’s charm. Only Dante heard him when he said, “Nice. So very warm and flexible.” He ran his fingers over the tips of Dante’s. “Calluses. I understand you play guitar, do you not?”
Dante wondered why he’d felt it necessary to check into his background, and because the leader of the New Orleans vampires had wanted him sexually, anxiety suddenly clogged his throat. Dante nodded, keeping his gaze on the handsome face to disguise his fear.
The vampire’s nostrils flared and his eyes drew to slits as he breathed in the scent of Dante’s blood. Dante’s heart revved into high gear and he stood rigid and still. The undead prince in the south and the count in New Orleans had no
t touched or smelled him. This vampire appeared so friendly that Dante wasn’t sure if he was imagining the menace he felt or if it was real. When he felt him release his hand, Dante fought to calm himself.
Addressing Alex, lo Greco opened his eyes. “Lovely. How do you maintain your control?”
Alex smiled, one corner of his mouth inching up. “How can I be his protector if I cannot protect him from me?”
Lo Greco nodded, then said, “Prince Massimo in the south was kind enough to alert me to your arrival, so I’ve assembled the aristocratic council, which lacks aristocrats these days, to consider the issue.” He waved a hand to the other living dead in the room. “Honored members, Alexandros Nicolaides—our friend from the United States—has a petition you need to hear.”
Alex stepped in front of Dante. Malcolm took up his position behind him. Sandwiched between the two powerful undead, a feeling of safety rolled through Dante despite how outnumbered they were. He drew in a slow breath and let his posture relax.
The familiar ritual began. Alex said, “Our vampire laws automatically declared me Signor Dante Rocco’s protector when evil men attacked him in Naples and I intervened. As his defender, I am bonded to his safety and obligated to fight any vampire who would harm him.”
The leader nodded. “You interpret our laws correctly. For the information of the assembly, let me add your excellent reputation as a fighter precedes you. It’s my wish that none of my flock would see fit to challenge you.” Then he faced the others. “What say you? Will we honor the protection Alexandros Nicolaides and our law extend to Signor Dante Rocco?”
Dante felt Alex and Malcolm grow taut. They hadn’t expected this. The word of the Count of New Orleans and Prince Massimo in Naples, providing they chose to obey the law, was binding on the vampires they controlled. Here the power appeared to rest in the hands of the council, not lo Greco. Dante’s Italian history lessons flashed in his memory—Venezia had once been a republic. Being doge wasn’t passed down through family bloodline or won through battle; the aristocratic council elected you to that office. What if the council refused his request?
Night Train to Venice Page 5
