by Monica Burns
It was almost as if someone were trying to expose the Collegium’s presence in the Church. He tightened his jaw at the thought. What if Gabriel had been trying to do that? No. Gabriel might have been difficult at times, but the boy had been fanatically loyal to the Collegium. He would never have done anything to harm his family. His reason for living. Nicostratus’s gaze focused on Prior Verdi again.
“What else does Angotti’s woman know?”
“About the assassination or Angotti’s connection to the Collegium . . . or you, Excellency?”
Verdi’s unflappable manner registered with the Patriarch again, and he narrowed his eyes at the Prior. Intelligent and shrewd. The man had figured out that Angotti was of immense importance not only to the Collegium, but to Nicostratus as well. For the first time since the man had told him about Angotti’s death, the Patriarch’s anger abated somewhat, and he allowed his mouth to curl slightly in approval.
“You’re quite astute, Prior.” He arched his eyebrows at the man. “Exactly how did you know Angotti was important to me?”
“The man had your contact information in his BlackBerry.”
“Easily explained by his connection to the Collegium.” Nicostratus shrugged. He wondered if the Prior played chess. No, the man was clearly a poker player, because he was bluffing.
“Yes, Excellency, but Angotti also had your birthday, the name of your favorite wine label, a notation of your tastes in music and art, plus a recent note to inform you of two transactions to a Swiss bank account. Information that indicates a close connection as opposed to a superficial one.”
“Who else saw the information?” he asked as he held his body rigid to keep from leaping out of his chair.
“Only me.” Verdi reached into his pants pocket, withdrew a small phone, and handed it to Nicostratus. “One of my men is a computer expert. He was able to hack the lockout code on the phone without much trouble. He gave it to me as soon as it was unlocked.”
Nicostratus accepted the phone and stared at it for a moment before he laid it on the desk in front of him. He refused to let the Prior see how disturbed he was by Angotti’s carelessness. His jaw hard with tension, he studied Verdi carefully. The man intrigued him. There were few Praetorians in the Collegium who were so skilled at hiding their thoughts.
“Obviously this wasn’t a simple murder. What does Angotti’s mistress think happened? Did she say anything that might put the Collegium in jeopardy?”
“The woman believes her lover was murdered in some bizarre cult ritual. She gave no indication that she has any knowledge about the Collegium or anything else about our brotherhood.”
“I see. But you’re not sure that she knows nothing.” He watched the Prior hesitate before he shook his head.
“She admitted to knowing Angotti was involved in illegal activities but said that he told her nothing about his business.” Verdi shrugged. “There are no guarantees, but my gut says she knows nothing.”
“Since your gut says she’s not a threat, what do you suggest we do about her?” He studied the man closely as he waited for a response. Nicostratus narrowed his eyes as he saw a brief flicker of hesitation break through the man’s stoic expression. “Come now, Prior. What do you think we should do with the woman?”
“She needs to disappear. Quietly,” Verdi replied.
Although the man’s tone was matter-of-fact, Nicostratus thought he heard regret in the Prior’s voice. The Patriarch eyed him closely, but Verdi’s expression revealed nothing but indifference as to the woman’s fate. Nicostratus’s gaze took note of the fresh cut on Verdi’s face. There weren’t many Praetorians in the Collegium who didn’t act like whimpering cowards in front of him when he lost his temper.
This man was clearly different. Nicostratus leaned back in his chair, folded one arm across his chest to support his elbow while he stroked his chin with his fingers, and studied the Prior intently. With Gabriel dead, he needed someone to act on his behalf in routine administrative matters. The fact that Verdi was coldly calculating was evident in his swift decision about Angotti’s mistress. He liked that about the man.
“You seem quite sure of your decision, Prior Verdi.”
“One can never be too careful in shielding the Collegium from our enemy, Excellency.” He spoke like the most stalwart of Praetorians.
“True,” Nicostratus said with a nod of sage agreement. “But in this case, I think we can err on the side of generosity and allow the woman to live. There’s another female who shall not be so lucky.”
“As you wish, Excellency.” The man’s gaze flickered with puzzlement, and Nicostratus smiled at him. Yes, the man was the perfect choice to replace Gabriel.
“Despite my initial reaction to your news about Angotti, you’ve impressed me, Prior.”
“You honor me, Excellency,” Verdi said with a slight bow.
“I think your talents might be wasted in your role as Prior. What would you think about working here in the main office of the brotherhood?”
“Here, Excellency?” There was a hint of surprise in the man’s voice, revealing a crack in his stoic composure.
“Yes,” Nicostratus said with a smile. “With Dominus Russo dead, I require someone to take his place to help me manage the daily administrative needs of the Collegium. The Monsignor can’t be bothered with such trivialities. As the Patriarch, that’s my role, and I’d like your help.” Nicostratus laughed at the stunned expression on Verdi’s face. For the first time since the man had entered the library, the Prior had actually displayed an emotion.
“I don’t know what to say, Excellency.” The man seemed completely taken aback, which pleased Nicostratus immensely.
“A simple yes will do.” He gestured toward one of the chairs that faced his desk. “Sit down.”
Verdi hesitated for several seconds before he seated himself in the chair. What Nicostratus had just offered was a high honor—something that many Praetorians would give their right hand for—and yet this man seemed almost reluctant about taking the position.
“Is there something wrong, Prior?” His question made the man shake his head as he met Nicostratus’s gaze.
“No, Excellency. I’m simply surprised . . . and humbled by your offer.”
“Honesty. I like that.” The Patriarch nodded his approval. “May I call you Draco?”
“Certainly, Excellency.”
“Tell me, Draco, are you aware of what happened several days ago at the Pantheon?”
“Yes, Excellency. The Sicari stole the Tyet of Isis and killed His Grace.”
“Precisely, and now you bring me the unfortunate news that Angotti, a trusted business associate of the Collegium’s, has been murdered by the daughter of our greatest enemy, Marcus Vorenus.”
Just the sound of his arch nemesis’s name made the Patriarch’s body knot up with a tension born of fury. Marcus Vorenus had been a thorn in his side for years, and now his sworn enemy had left his daughter behind while the Sicari Lord had followed his Prima Consul bitch back to Chicago like the dog he was. The sudden image of Cleopatra Vorenus charging at him in the Pantheon flashed through his head.
It had been easy to thwart her attack, but what hadn’t been so easy was dealing with how he’d hurt his son. The moment his sword had pierced Lysander’s body, he’d actually experienced a painful remorse. Lysander could have been what Gabriel had never been. A true son. He didn’t like admitting it, but he was grateful the boy was still alive.
Nicostratus focused on Draco Verdi again. The man’s face was an emotionless mask. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. The fact that it was difficult to figure out what the man was thinking was annoying. He immediately stretched out his thoughts to probe his newly promoted assistant’s mind. He met strong resistance, as Draco sent him a cold look.
“If you wish to know something, Excellency, you have but to ask.” There was the faintest hint of defiant censure in the man’s voice, and Nicostratus noted it with a grudging respect.
Not only did Draco Verdi have the ability to protect his thoughts, but he had the courage to defy the Patriarch of the Collegium. Nicostratus found himself liking the man even more. And for him, that said a great deal, because there were very few people he liked or even respected.
“Agreed.” Nicostratus nodded. “Now then, tell me how much you know about the Tyet of Isis, Draco.”
“Not much, other than that the artifact has the potential to make the Sicari and Praetorians stronger.”
“Precisely, so the balance of power rests with whoever holds the secret of the artifact.”
As he considered the statement, Nicostratus grimaced. Up until a few days ago, he’d been certain the balance between the Praetorians and Sicari would soon fall to the Collegium. All of that had changed when the Sicari swine had taken the Tyet of Isis right out from under him in the Pantheon.
Making matters worse was the fact that he’d had assurances from his mole deep within the Order that the Tyet of Isis was to have been his the moment it was found. His spy would pay the price for that broken promise. All this time it had been on Church property. The irony of the artifact’s hiding place wasn’t lost on him. He met Verdi’s unreadable gaze.
“You don’t seem the least bit curious as to what the artifact’s secret is, Draco.”
“I would imagine the box contains a recipe or a map.”
The man’s response made Nicostratus go rigid. Was Verdi guessing, or did he know more than he should? Only the Monsignor and the Patriarch knew the contents of the Tyet of Isis. Since the first Monsignor, the Collegium’s leaders had been told the artifact carried a map that would strengthen the Praetorian brotherhood.
“How do you know that?” He eyed Verdi closely.
“We’ve been searching for the Tyet of Isis for as long as the Sicari, and it’s well known that the artifact is believed to make the holder more powerful.” Verdi eyed him with a look that said the man was even more astute than Nicostratus had thought. “I don’t believe in magic, so it seems logical to assume that the artifact holds either a recipe for something to ingest that will make the owner more powerful or at the very least a map showing where the recipe can be found.”
“I see.” Nicostratus steepled his fingers again to study Verdi over the top of them. “So you think there’s a recipe for a magical elixir in the Tyet of Isis?”
“A magical potion?” Verdi shook his head. “No, Excellency. If it’s a recipe for anything, it’s a matter of biology.”
“Biology? What does biology have to do with the artifact?” he scoffed.
“It’s strictly a hypothesis of mine, Excellency, but I believe the artifact contains a recipe, a blueprint if you like, for changing an individual’s DNA to give the person telepathic and telekinetic abilities.”
Nicostratus slowly took in the man’s words. He’d always believed the Tyet of Isis contained a map leading to some important treasure. He’d been a fool never to have considered the possibility that it might be something that would physically transform a person. If the artifact did contain a recipe for a potion that changed a person’s DNA, it made the situation that much more dire. The Order of the Sicari had a research-level medical facility that could easily test any potion made from a recipe such as Verdi had suggested.
“Interesting, Draco. I suppose you’ve some research to back up your theory?”
“I gave one of the brothers who practices medicine some DNA samples to study. His conclusion was that Praetorian and Sicari DNA have markers that point toward different abilities. It’s a mutation that might possibly be replicated.”
An icy chill swept over Nicostratus as he stared at the man opposite him. It was critical that they reclaim the Tyet of Isis from the Sicari. He rose from his chair and began to pace the floor. There was no telling how long it would take Vorenus and his people to solve the mystery of the artifact.
“We must get it back. And quickly,” Nicostratus said.
He stopped at his chair and dug his fingers into the soft leather padding of the headrest. If his mole in the Order failed to retrieve the Tyet of Isis, he wasn’t sure what else—
He slowly released his grip on the chair. Oh, it couldn’t be that easy. Could it? The idea bouncing around in his head made him smile. Hands clasped behind his back, he resumed his pacing. He saw Draco’s quizzical look and chuckled.
“We shall kill two birds with one stone, my dear Draco.”
“Excellency?”
“I want every resource we have scouring Rome for Cleopatra Vorenus. The moment they find her, I want her brought to me.” He waved his fingers in a cavalier fashion. “Alive, of course. And unmarked. The privilege of marring that pretty face of hers is mine. Once we have her, I’ll offer her to Vorenus in exchange for the artifact.”
“Will the Sicari Lord agree to such a trade?” Draco asked in a skeptical tone, and Nicostratus smiled.
“I’m certain he will. Even if he doesn’t, the Prima Consul herself will trade the artifact for their daughter.”
“How can you be so sure, Excellency?” Draco eyed the Patriarch with more than a hint of foreboding.
“How can I be so sure?” Nicostratus chuckled softly. It was a sinister, menacing sound. “Because I stole their son years ago and gave him my name.”
“Gabriel Russo?” the Prior said with obvious surprise.
“Exactly. Gabriel was my creation and my enemy’s torment. So you can see why both Vorenus and that Prima Consul bitch of his will be more than willing to give up the Tyet of Isis to me. Although, if my man inside the Order does his job right, I shall have the artifact and Signorina Vorenus without any bargaining at all.”
“I knew we had spies inside the Order, but one deep enough to get close to the artifact, Excellency?”
“You sound surprised, Draco.”
“I confess I am.”
“I’ve been the Patriarch for almost thirty years, and in that time I’ve cultivated many . . . relationships. I even have two resources in the upper echelons of the Order itself,” Nicostratus said. “The Prima Consul could be assassinated if I so decreed.”
“I am honored that you’ve entrusted that knowledge to me, Excellency.” Draco bowed his head in a slight nod of deference.
“And now you know something that can get you killed,” Nicostratus said with malicious glee as the man started at the subtle threat. “As my right hand, you’ll be privy to many things. But if you betray my trust, your life is forfeit.”
“Yes, Excellency.” At Draco’s response, Nicostratus nodded his approval.
“Now then, there are some things we need to accomplish right away if we’re to retrieve the Tyet of Isis.” Nicostratus sat down in his chair and pulled stationery from his desk along with a stick of wax and a small box. “This is an authorization for you to have limited access to the Collegium’s banking account. Give this note to Signor Maida. He’ll see to it that you’re able to withdraw and deposit funds. All investments and transfers are at my discretion and that of the Monsignor.”
He quickly folded the handwritten letter and sealed it in an envelope then lit the wick at the end of the short stick of wax. The melted wax splashed onto the flap of the envelope and began to set. As the wax was cooling, Nicostratus pulled a seal from the desk drawer and removed his ring to slide it into a notch on the seal. The moment it snapped into place, he used it to make an impression on the wax. He offered the sealed envelope to Draco. The expression on the man’s face amused him.
“The seal is a remnant from years past when sealed documents meant they were genuine. A bit dramatic, but it appeals to the romantic in me,” he murmured with a smile, knowing full well that there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body. The seal represented his complete authority. “When you give this to Signor Maida, he’ll know it’s an official authorization from me.”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Draco then immediately turned his attention to the paperwork in front of him. The Prior quickly got to his feet and bowed slightly before h
eading toward the door. The man had just reached the door when Nicostratus came to a decision.
“As an afterthought,” he said without looking up from his paperwork. “I think your initial assumptions about Angotti’s mistress were correct. Make her disappear. Quietly.”
No sooner had he spoken than something malevolent scraped across his mind, and he jerked his head up to look at the Prior’s back. Almost at the same moment, Draco wheeled around, his expression still stoic, but his posture that of a warrior prepared for the unexpected.
“Is everything all right, Excellency?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Nicostratus lied as he studied the Prior closely.
“There for a moment, I thought . . . forgive me. I’m mistaken.”
Nicostratus frowned as the man bowed again then left the study. Clearly the Prior had felt something as well. If it weren’t for the man’s reaction, he’d be inclined to think the sensation he’d experienced had come from Draco himself.
His fingers drummed a soft rhythm on the desktop as he wondered if he’d made a mistake where the Prior was concerned. Normally he would have researched a potential successor to Gabriel quite extensively, and yet he’d chosen Draco without any forethought at all. Nicostratus grunted.
He lifted the lid of his laptop and clicked the e-mail icon. He’d have James run a full profile on Draco starting tomorrow. If anything out of the ordinary showed up, then Draco Verdi and he would have a discussion that would end nice and neat.
Chapter 7
CLEO stood in the salon staring up at the portrait hung on the wall over a half-moon table. From his manner of dress, she wondered if the man in the painting was a Sicari Lord. He wore the same type of attire she’d seen her fa—She’d seen Marcus and Dante wear. She ignored the Freudian slip.
As she studied the portrait more closely, she drew in a quick breath of surprise. She wasn’t well versed in Italian artwork, but there was one artist she knew well. Sofonisba Anguissola. As far as she could tell, the portrait on the wall was an original. Her gaze focused on the man’s face.
