by Belle Ami
“Alex, I want you to know I’m grateful for your role in finding concrete evidence against him. In fact, I’m going to call your mother as soon as we conclude this meeting and tell her that the Getty is indebted to you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Carl. Just make sure you get that bastard.”
Alex drove back to the Getty, determined to convince Angela to work for him. All during his meeting with Carl, his thoughts were on her. How, in such a short time, had she become so integral to his life?
He parked the car and went looking for her. He didn’t find her at her desk. When he asked the receptionist about Angela, he was alarmed to learn that she’d packed up her things and stormed out of there without a word.
Shit! Scordato.
He was tempted to storm into the asshole’s office and beat the shit out of him right then and there, but he needed to find Angela. He was worried about her. He’d asked her to wait at the Getty for him. If she quit, she might have gone home. He texted her but there was no reply. Then in a flash it hit him, he knew where she was.
Like yesterday, she sat in front of the portrait in the red room, in a somnambulistic state. He sat beside her and waited. Would she acknowledge his presence?
Her eyes were riveted on the painting. He might as well have been invisible. The light in the gallery shifted. Everything happened exactly the same as the day before. The portrait grew luminescent. The youth’s eyes opened. But instead of looking at Angela, the young man directed his gaze at him.
“We have not kept our promise,” the youth addressed him. “Don’t you see? Our beloved Fioretta is in grave danger.”
Alex didn’t answer. He shook his head, hoping he was hallucinating and not losing his mind.
“The murderers will kill again,” the young man continued. “They are driven to possess the painting. The answers lie in Florence. You must return with Fioretta… Beware… Wherever she goes, so go those two diavoli, Pazzi and Baroncelli.”
“Wait!” Alex couldn’t believe he was talking to a centuries-old painting. “How do I find these men?”
“You know who they are… Don’t fail her again. Or you will doom us for eternity…”
Alex stood and moved closer to the painting, but the young man had turned his gaze toward Angela. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Angelo mio,” he whispered. “Do not weep for me. Follow your heart and claim your destino. Time has shifted… What was before will be once more. Find the painting. Find it and know the truth.”
“Amore mio, don’t leave me.” Angela reached out toward the painting.
Crying openly now, each wrenching sob flayed Alex’s skin. Her sorrow was his sorrow, her pain was his pain. Every beat of her heart echoed within his own chest. Every fiber in his body strained to touch her. He couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. He pulled her into his arms.
Brown eyes turned forest-green gazed into his. Invisible forces drew him to her. Her lips, inches from his whispered, “You promised we would be together forever. You swore a vow before God.” Her hands moved over his chest and caressed the planes of his face, each touch branding him, possessing him. Not a cell in his body was capable of resisting her.
He’d spent his entire life being in control. He was a man of logic, a man who managed situations, sought answers, solved mysteries. When her lips locked on his it was like white lightning surging through his veins. He wanted to lay her down in the middle of that public gallery and fill her with his body, heart, and soul.
“Giuliano,” she whispered. “Mio caro sposo.”
Regaining his sanity, he pulled from her embrace. He answered her in Italian. “I am not Giuliano. I’m Alex Caine. I’m not your husband.” But hadn’t Giuliano implied that they were one and the same?
In the blink of an eye, the spell was broken.
Confusion clouded Angela’s eyes. Spellbound, he watched her moss-green eyes transfigure back to brown and then she fainted in his arms.
Lifting his hand, he cupped her beautiful face, waiting for her to wake up.
Come back to him.
He glanced back at the painting. It was Giuliano Medici who had spoken to him. Now, it was just a painting. Just a painting. He bit back a bark of laughter. He tried to analyze what had happened. Was he to believe that Angela and he had lived before, had been lovers before, had married before? The whole concept was out of this world.
He needed to do some research on Giuliano Medici. He needed to understand the rules of how reincarnation worked. Rules? I’m thinking about rules? He shook his head at his wild thoughts. He didn’t put much stock in religion. He’d seen too much destruction in the world in the name of religion. Reincarnation was another form of quackery that kept people ignorant and led them to do foolish, dangerous things.
And yet, what he saw was no dream. He was awake, in full possession of his faculties. The young man in the painting had come to life and implored him to act. To protect her. Telling him who he really was.
Jesus, is it possible that I was this man? And Angela was Fioretta?
Can this be a mystery that has been lying in wait for us for five-hundred years?
Everything about their finding each other seemed plotted, as if an invisible hand was directing the action.
So many questions unanswered. But even if our distant lives are resurfacing, what does Max’s uncle, a German soldier, and the evacuation of Florence have to do with us?
Those answers eluded him, but he knew they resided within Angela. She was the key to the mystery. He suspected the director of the Getty, Alberto Scordato, knew that, too.
“Angel, wake-up.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him in a daze before her vision cleared and she flung her arms around his neck. “Alex, I’m so happy you’re here. How did you know where to find me?”
“Remember I told you this is where I first saw you. Let’s get out of here, Angela. We have a lot to talk about and I don’t want to do it here.” He was tempted to kiss her again, but that, too, would have to wait until he got to the bottom of what had happened to her that morning. It occurred to him that every inch of the Getty had video cams for security. They were fish in a fishbowl and there was a shark circling the bowl.
Alberto took a swig of whiskey. Carl Fellows, the head of the Getty board, had called him for a meeting. That bitch Angela must have squealed. But she had no proof, just her word against his. He said/she said. He wasn’t worried. Even if those fools on the board dumped him none of it would matter once he got his hands on the da Vinci. His lips twisted into a sneer as he watched the day’s video from the red room flicker across his TV screen. He rewound it for the third time and watched it again.
He’d nearly fired Charles when he’d learned there’d been a malfunction with the cameras and there wasn’t any video footage from the day before. Luckily, he’d gotten today’s footage.
It was bizarre, to say the least. His intern, Angela, had returned to the red room and sat before the Botticelli in some kind of a trance. What he found interesting was seeing Alex Caine join her on the bench. What he couldn’t understand was what instigated Alex to ask, “Wait! How do I find these men?” What men was he talking about? And why did he approach and address the painting?
Alberto ran his fingers through his silver hair. There was no one else in the room, so who the hell was Alex talking to and why did Angela suddenly cry “Amore mio, don’t leave me.” Not to mention her weeping and Alex taking her into his arms and kissing her. It didn’t make any sense.
As he watched Angela and Alex kiss, it occurred to him that the detective and the intern getting together might work to his benefit. If the girl was the key to finding the painting, the detective might be the tool needed to actually unravel the mystery. All Scordato had to do was keep them in his sights and make his move when the time was right. Take the painting and rid himself of the dynami
c duo.
He could think of numerous possibilities for how to dispose of the two. Perhaps a lovers’ quarrel that resulted in a murder and suicide.
He couldn’t do this alone, he needed an accomplice. Someone he could trust. He needed his cousin Enrico Fortuna. Enrico’s ties to the Mafia would come in handy. He picked up his cell phone and punched in a number.
“Cugino, come stai? I have an offer to make to you.” He laughed. “An offer you can’t refuse.”
“I’m listening,” said the gravelly voice on the other end.
“No, not on the phone. Why don’t I come to Tuscany for a visit and we can discuss everything?”
“Bene. We can get some hunting in. I believe you owe me a chance to even up the score,” Enrico said with a raspy chuckle.
“When I tell you what I have in mind, believe me, you won’t be keeping score. You’ll be celebrating.”
“In that case, when are you coming?” Enrico asked?
“I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”
“Arrivederci.”
“Ciao.”
Chapter 6
Los Angeles, California
August 4, 2018
“I’m going to kill him.” Alex gripped the wheel as he drove them back to Angela’s place.
“I’m just glad to be free of him.” Angela hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Concern laced his eyes.
“I’ll feel better once we get on the plane.” Angela filled Alex in on the drive home about Scordato’s latest escapade and how she’d gotten away from him. The trouble was, she didn’t know what happened after she fled Scordato’s office up to the moment she found herself in Alex’s arms, on the bench in front of the painting of Giuliano Medici. Alex told her she must have had another blackout. “God, I have to get ahead of this?” She rubbed her forehead. “What if I black out when I’m driving or crossing a busy street?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you from hereon in. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “By the way, you’re hired.” He grinned.
She blew out a breath. “I hope I can be of value to you. I don’t want you to think I’m doing this as a way of escaping.”
“Are you kidding? I’m lucky to have you working with me on this investigation. Besides, there are so many strange coincidences here, I think it’s fate that we met.”
She glanced at him. “Do you really?”
He turned into the driveway. “There’s a reason why this is happening and it’s somehow connected to your dreams. The only way for us to figure it out is by finding that painting.”
She nodded, her eyes tearing up. If he hadn’t been with her last night and today, she didn’t know what she would have done.
Alex parked the car and escorted her to the door. When she took out her new house keys to unlock it, he stayed her hand.
“Here, hold my briefcase. I’ll go in first.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?”
“I’m not putting anything past that jerk.” Alex pulled out his gun and went inside. A few moments later he came back out and opened the door for her, taking the briefcase from her hands.
Kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag on the couch, she sighed with pleasure as her tired, bare feet hit the cool tiled floor in the kitchen. Pouring ice tea into two glasses, she strolled back to the living room, handed Alex a glass and curled up on the couch beside him.
“What about your journal?” Alex polished his tea off in mere moments and set the empty glass on the coffee table beside his briefcase and iPad. “I could break into Scordato’s place and steal it back.”
Alarm shot through her. “What if you get hurt?”
He laid his hand over hers. “I promise I won’t get hurt. I can’t promise I won’t hurt him though.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. He’s probably using it for his sick and twisted fantasies.” She shuddered and made a face.
“Now, I really want to beat the shit out of him.”
“Do you really think the board of directors will fire him?”
“They have him dead to rights.”
“Thanks to you.”
He gave her a crooked smile and scratched the five-o’clock shadow on his face. She took a sip of her tea, trying not to think about how sexy he was. She was tempted to throw caution to the wind and kiss him again. Twice we’ve kissed and I can’t remember a thing. I wish to heck I could though.
Alex glanced at his watch. “It’s still early for dinner. I’ve got some phone calls to make that’ll take a while. Why don’t I do that here and you can have a lie-down and grab a shower?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind hanging out here for a while?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be a very good knight in shining armor if I didn’t.” He stood and gave her a courtly bow, making her giggle. “Besides, I have my office right here.” He held up his iPhone and iPad. “And, I stopped at the hotel before my meeting this morning. I’ve got everything I need.”
Angela told him to help himself to anything he wanted in the kitchen. A cool shower was just what she needed to scrub away Scordato’s scummy handprints from her skin. A few refreshing minutes later, Angela slipped on one of her favorite outfits, a scooped-neck, pink-cashmere, twin-sweater set with a pair of white, skinny jeans. It felt girly and sexy and was casually elegant enough to go anywhere. A pair of gold high-heeled sandals gave it enough evening sparkle for their dinner date. She turned in front of her full-length mirror, her eye catching the flutter of the window curtain. Fioretta. What are you trying to tell me… ?
Comforted that Alex was in the next room, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on her bed. Could she make herself have another vision? Taking slow, deep breaths, she allowed her mind to drift as her body sank into the softness of the bed. Once again, a gentle breeze tickled her skin, lifting her up. She opened her eyes and found herself in a dark tunnel once more. The wind picked up, swirling around her, propelling her toward a white light, and the figure of a woman…
Florence, Italy
January 10, 1478
Fioretta Gorini shivered as a breeze tickled her skin. She glanced behind her, but a heavy curtain covered the window. She’d heard of wise women who had the second sight and could foretell the future… She crossed herself and pushed her dark thoughts away. This was a joyous day for her. The happiest day of her life. She fondled the necklace that rested just above the swell of her breasts. Set in gold and embedded with rare gems, it was a gift from Giuliano. Her lady’s maid, Katerina, tied the white, silk ribbon through her dark curls.
“My lady, you are radiant.”
“Thank you, Katerina.” Fioretta embraced her maid, happiness shining from her eyes.
“Signor Giuliano will surely be speechless.”
Fioretta blushed and smiled at the petite blonde woman who’d been her lady’s maid for as long as she could remember.
“I agree with Katerina,” a male voice declared. “You are glowing in your beauty.”
Fioretta turned and beamed at her dear friend. Leonardo had just stepped into the parlor.
“I will assist the cook on the final touches for the meal and make certain all is in order.” Katerina left the room.
“Maestro, are you sure that I’m perfect?” Fioretta pirouetted, her white velvet gown swirling around her. “I want Giuliano to be pleased when he sees me.”
Leonardo smiled. “Fioretta, sei bellissima. You are certainly an angel sent from heaven to steal the hearts of mortal men. I can assure you, Giuliano will be more than pleased. He is head over heels for you.”
She ran to Leonardo and embraced him. Standing on tiptoe, she gazed into the blue eyes of her friend. “Will he think I’m as beautiful as Simonetta or my likeness in the wedding portrait?”
&nb
sp; “Fioretta, while I am an artist, I’m unequal to the task of capturing your true beauty. Only God himself is capable of creating such perfection. Simonetta was a renowned beauty, but contrary to all accounts, it’s you and not she who captured Giuliano’s heart.” He kissed her forehead.
She took his hand. “Leonardo, before everyone arrives, I want to thank you.”
“For what, bella?”
“Had we not met in the marketplace I don’t know how I would have survived the loneliness of living in Florence. You opened your heart to an unfortunate orphan and gave me the rarest of gifts, your friendship.”
“That day was most fortunate for me. I found a friend, as well.” The fine lines around his eyes crinkled with his smile. “As I recall, we argued over a melanzane. We both reached for the same eggplant, and you, clever girl, tried your best to dissuade me from said eggplant, insisting that this specimen was a most unfortunate vegetable, and I should choose another. If my memory serves me well, you claimed that the eggplant, which neither of us let go of, was bitter and tasteless, and I countered that it was of sublime flavor. You were a very cunning girl to use such feminine wiles on me and think you could trick me.”
“You refused to give in, no matter how many times I fluttered my lashes at you.”
“Ah, yes, but it led me to register your extraordinary eye color. The scientist calculated the odds of such a color, but the artist dreamed of painting those eyes the color of green forest moss.”
She shook her finger at him. “You must admit I was brave, risking my aunt’s wrath to visit your studio without a proper chaperone. Had she found out, I would have been locked in my room for eternity.”
“Your aunt is an old crow, who hasn’t an ounce of foresight to see what a rare gem you are.”
Fioretta sighed, not wanting to think about the uncaring woman who became her guardian after her parents died. “My aunt does not believe a woman needs an education. She considers it unsuitable for women to discourse on the topics of men.”
“She’s a fool, Fioretta. I’d match your ability to reason as well as a man’s. God granted you not only beauty, but a sharp mind.”
