The Girl Who Knew Da Vinci: An Out of Time Thriller (Out of Time Thriller Series Book 1)

by Belle Ami

  Angela stood outside the restaurant while Alex went to pay the valet and retrieve his car. The night was warm, the jasmine that climbed the trellis at the entrance perfumed the air. A feeling of contentment flowed through her, she closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh, floral scent.

  Caught off guard, a heavy force knocked her off her feet. Completely winded, it took her a moment to recover enough to make sense of what was going on around her. A man had barreled into her, followed by another man who rushed out swinging his fists. A young woman was close behind, screaming at them to stop. The two men were shouting, grappling on the ground inches from where she still lay.

  Angela stood on shaky legs, reaching for the trellis to steady her. Apparently, they were fighting over the woman. One of them had cheated with the other man’s wife. Everyone outside was so busy filming the ensuing drama with their cell phones that no one had even noticed or bothered to help her. Exchanging bruising punches, the two men were a bloody mess as the sound of approaching sirens grew louder. Waves of dizziness rolled over her and, like a fade out in a movie, everything went dark.

  Florence, Italy

  Duomo Cathedral

  Easter, April 26, 1478

  Fioretta moved slowly through the crowd of pious Christians. The weight of her pregnancy encumbered her progress down the aisle. At his behest, a cadre of Giuliano’s friends had escorted her to the cathedral. They surrounded her protectively. Fortunately, her fellow Florentines made way for her, parting so that she could reach the front of the nave.

  She stood before the altar and looked up to admire the soaring ceiling of the Cattedrale De Santa Maria Del Fiore. Easter was her favorite time of year. The celebration of the resurrection of Christ combined with Easter’s pagan roots, celebrating the spring equinox was a festivity of the rebirth of the land and life after winter’s slumber. This Easter was especially poignant as she was due to give birth next month.

  Filled with joy to be having her first child with Giuliano, Fioretta hoped that his brother Lorenzo would finally sanction the marriage and announce it publicly.

  We need to begin our real lives together. No more hiding behind closed doors.

  She prayed Lorenzo would embrace their child and give his blessing. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t. She knew how much the brothers loved one another. How could Lorenzo not wish Giuliano to be happy? When she’d met Lorenzo at the celebration at the Via Larga he seemed, although a very intense man, charming and reasonable. She remembered his compliments, not only to her person, but her mind. Giuliano had assured her that Lorenzo would be impressed by her wit and dazzled by her inner beauty as much as her outer looks.

  Most nights Giuliano spent at their villa, but last night because of an infection to his eye, he’d slept at the Medici palazzo. Her husband took every precaution to protect the life of the child that grew within her. Sometimes her happiness seemed a dream. Even during their one night apart, she’d missed him terribly and couldn’t wait to see his handsome face.

  The voices of the choir rose to the heavenly dome, sounding like a chorus of angels. The nave was filled with worshipers and it seemed forever before Giuliano arrived. He stood several feet from her. As always, in public, they kept their distance.

  I cannot wait until next month when the baby is born. All of this foolishness will end at last.

  Their gazes met and his eyes said more than his words could ever convey. Joy filled her and she nearly spoke aloud what was in her heart. His smile and sly wink told her that he had read her thoughts.

  Thank you, God, for blessing our love.

  Giuliano scanned the crowd, in all likelihood looking for Lorenzo. She, too, had looked for his brother, but couldn’t find him among the throngs of worshipers.

  The bell chimed the Elevation of the Host and the crowd grew still. All eyes were focused on the priests at the altar. It was the holiest of moments when the priests intoned the scripture accepit panem in sanctas ac venerabiles manus suas, “… he took bread into his holy hands—”

  A flicker of light caught her eye and she turned, glimpsing the flash of steel. “Oh, dear God, stop him!” She screamed in agony as a man plunged his sword into Giuliano’s chest.

  His eyes grew wide and he stumbled backward. “Here traitor!” the assassin shouted as another man joined him, stabbing a second blade into her beloved. Her blood-curdling screams rose above the crowd, echoing through the church. “Giuliano! Giuliano! Giuliano!”

  It was like watching a scene in a play. Fioretta could do nothing as her husband fell to the ground in a pool of blood. She tried to reach him, but his friends grabbed her and pulled her away from the madness, toward the exits. “Let me go!” she cried, but it was of no use.

  The crowd, like a stampede of cattle, trampled everything in its path. She tried her best to protect her abdomen and her child, but the throngs of panicked worshipers elbowed and shoved trying to escape.

  Fioretta fought the bile that rose in her throat. Her escort half dragged her, half carried her outside the cathedral. She sobbed and swooned. Strong arms kept her from crumpling to the ground. Somehow, they procured a carriage and hustled her inside. She sank into the seat sobbing. “Ti hanno amazzato! O dio! Amore mio.” Dear God, they’ve murdered you.

  When they reached the villa, the servants took possession of her and thanked Giuliano’s men for delivering their mistress safely home. As they led her away, she heard the men recounting the horrible events that had taken place. Giuliano’s murder played over and over in her mind. She wept inconsolably. “They left him on the floor of the church alone.” In a state of delirium, she pleaded, “Someone needs to help him.”

  Everything became a feverish blur after that. She woke several hours later, the afternoon sunlight stealing across her bed. She could hear the seven bells in Giotto’s campanile echoing the disaster that had befallen the republic. The bells signaled that the city was threatened. It was a call to arms that every Florentine would answer. Armed and ready to defend their city, they would rally in the Piazza della Signora to protect the seat of government.

  She drifted in and out of sleep until she heard a commotion downstairs, her servants arguing with someone. The door to her room burst open and Leonardo blew in like a storm. With his long blond hair, wild and disheveled, he looked like a madman. “Leonardo, my friend.” She opened her arms and he rushed to her.

  “Fioretta, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I could, but those foolish servants of yours tried to turn me away.”

  “I’m glad you were persistent.” Tears streamed from her eyes, hitting the coverlet. “Have you brought me news?”

  He sat on the edge of her bed and held her hand. “The city is in chaos. The Medici palazzo is an armed fortress. The people are rallying to their cause and the streets teem with men chanting Palle! Palle! The conspirators are being hunted down one by one and given judgment of immediate death. The mob is hungry for blood and vengeance. The city has become a place of madness and is preparing for an assault.”

  “Who did this, Leonardo? Who took my Giuliano from me?”

  “Speculation is rampant that it is Pazzi and the Pope’s nephew who are responsible.”

  “The Pope knew of this evil plot?”

  “Believe me, the blame will never reach him. He will go unpunished, at least in this life. Afterwards, he’ll find his reward in Hell. Thank God, you were not harmed, and the baby is safe.”

  “Yes, my poor orphaned child is fine. But I am a rudderless boat adrift at sea. All my dreams have been laid to waste. There is no future, only the past and its ephemeral glory.” Her voice broke. “My love is dead. I have no wish to live.”

  Leonardo’s eyes flashed with anger. “I will not listen to such foolishness. You have a child to think of, a Medici child. You must pull yourself together. God has dealt you a tragic hand, but you must overcome it for the sake of the baby.”

&n
bsp; “I know you mean well, my friend, but you weren’t there. You didn’t see what they did to him. I will never be able to erase it from my mind.” Her eyes alit on the wedding portrait across from her bed and she covered her face with her hands and wept.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “You have a friend, Fioretta. I will never abandon you.”

  Alex held a sobbing Angela in his arms. She was inconsolable since he’d found her unconscious on the sidewalk at the restaurant. The police had wanted a statement from her, but Alex had told them it was impossible. He’d lied, explaining that Angela was an epileptic who’d had a seizure and needed to be taken home immediately. Using his detective status, he informed the officer that she’d have no memory of what had occurred and would be of no help to their investigation. The officer, who had plenty of other witnesses, let them leave.

  He was crazed with worry for her and knew she was in no condition to go home. He did the sensible thing and drove her back to his hotel. She was so dazed, she collapsed again when he unlocked the hotel room door. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. Running a washcloth under cold water, he pressed it to her forehead.

  She stirred, opening her eyes. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in my hotel room.”

  The blush that filled her cheeks made him smile. From the moment they’d met, every time he touched her, he felt a rush of attraction and something deeper, a yearning that took his breath away.

  “You were completely out of it and the hotel was closer than your place.”

  She grasped his arms, her eyes wide with fear. “I saw him—my husband murdered in a church…” she whispered. “I was there. I could hear the choir, see the inside of the domed ceiling… It was Easter mass. I screamed. I could feel all of it like it was my own memory…”

  “I wish I’d been there to help you through it,” he said softly. “How was it triggered?”

  “I don’t know exactly… I was knocked down by those two guys fighting and then I fainted, I guess. But I remembered the vision.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was horrible, Alex, seeing Giuliano murdered.”

  “I’m sorry.” He caressed her cheek, wanting to tell her about his own supernatural chat with the painting of Giuliano, but then he’d have to explain why he hadn’t told her about it already. He didn’t want to upset her more, especially after everything she’d been through with Scordato and her own visions.

  “I should probably get home.” She moved to get up.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Angela. You’re sleeping here in this bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa in the other room.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. I’ll call downstairs and have a toiletry kit sent up. Tomorrow we’ll go to your place and pack your things.”

  When she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  She leaned back and met his gaze. “No. I’m worried and scared.”

  He brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I know what I’m doing.”

  She smiled, sniffling back her tears. “My bodyguard, huh? You’ll keep me safe from the big bad wolf.”

  The way she looked at him made his blood heat.

  “Alex, I…”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he pulled her into his arms, his lips locking on hers. Every part of him touching her, needing her, wanting her. She kissed him back, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, her breasts pressing into his chest. Aching for her, he groaned, “Angel…” His lips slid up her neck, inhaling her, kissing her, tasting her.

  All he wanted was to make love to her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not here. Not when she’s this vulnerable. I won’t take advantage of her, even though, dear God, I want her. He rested his forehead against hers, fighting for equilibrium, willing his body to obey him.

  Her eyes were closed, her own struggle to gain control of herself was etched on her delicate features.

  “I’m going to make that call now. Get you a toothbrush…” His throat closed and his words came out like a shoe scraping gravel.

  “Okay.” She was breathless and it pleased him more than he could admit. “That kiss…”

  “I apologize, I shouldn’t have…”

  “Don’t apologize. I wanted it, too.”

  He smiled and tucked her tumbled down hair over her shoulders. Desire flared in her eyes. It matched his. But he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Not in the vulnerable state she was in.

  It was going to be a hell of a long night.

  Chapter 8

  Florence, Italy

  August 6, 2018

  Florence took her breath away.

  Angela gazed out the window of the car, whisking them along the Lungarno Amerigo Vespucci roadway, awestruck by the sunset. The dusky sky laced with clouds reflected purple, pink, and yellow off the Arno River.

  Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

  She gasped when the elevator doors opened to Alex’s apartment. The entry boasted a frescoed wall painted with an early Etruscan agrarian scene. The color palette of seafoam green and ivory inspired relaxation, tranquility, and contemplation.

  Like a deluxe spa from the pages of In Style Magazine.

  Beautiful wide-planked, wood floors led to a sunken living room, bordered with floor-to-ceiling windows, opening to a wraparound terrace.

  Angela soaked up the view of the ancient city. The skyline dominated by the spectacular five-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Duomo di Firenze, Filippo Brunelleschi’s floating dome.

  Alex’s home was in the heart of the city, a two-story penthouse in the Palazzo Rucellai, an historic building dating from 1446. The neighborhood was designated pedestrian only and harkened back to a time before auto horns and combustion engines became the ambient music of city life. A pain in the neck in inclement weather, but it made the Via della Vigna Nuova a quiet street.

  “Your home is incredible. The art recovery business must be very lucrative.”

  His lips lifted in a smile. “It pays the bills. I rent it out in the summer for a couple of months and it carries itself.”

  “Where do you go? I can’t imagine anywhere better than being here.”

  “I have a small villa and vineyard near Montefioralle.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Montefioralle? Where have I heard that name before?”

  “It’s a tiny, ancient village in the hills of Chianti. It’s a pretty well-known tourist destination.”

  “No, it’s something else. When you said, Montefioralle, I felt like I knew it. I could visualize it in my mind.” Her eyes widened in excitement. “What if there’s a connection somehow?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He grinned and pulled her in for a hug. “I promise to take you there.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged him back, her eyes fluttering closed. She breathed in his woodsy-citrus scent. Absorbed the heat from his sinewy frame. All angles, planes, and muscles. I could get used to this.

  “We need to do some investigating here, in Florence, first,” he said as they broke apart. “but we could drive up on a weekend.”

  “I think just being here is helping already.” She almost leaned back into his embrace. Almost. Caught herself just in time. It would be so easy to lose herself with him and then what? She trusted him instinctively, down to her core. But feeling physically safe wasn’t the same as feeling emotionally safe. His globe-trotting lifestyle told her “player” and yet he’d been nothing but caring and sweet, practically goofy, with his exaggerated winks and eyebrow wiggling. Goofy or not, he’s probably got girlfriends in every major city he travels to. You’re here to work, to solve this mystery. That’s it. Slipping her hands in her pockets, she pasted a smile on her face.

/>   “Good, I’m happy to hear it.” He hefted her bags and she followed him up a spiral staircase to the second floor.

  She skimmed her hand down the bannister, “This staircase is a La Corbusier, isn’t it?”

  He threw her a smile over his shoulder. “It sure is. I bought it at auction. I love its openness, how it showcases the view.”

  “It’s amazing.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  He opened the door to a bedroom that featured a sitting area with a wall-to-wall bookshelf, a big picture window, and a feature wall painted with a trompe l’oeil illusionistic fresco depicting a scene from Pompeii. An antique Italian baroque desk and chair sat in the corner of the room. The bed was set back from the sitting room behind a sheer curtain, in its own nook. Soft gray and dove white walls were adorned with photos of the Italian countryside filtered through a glaze of fog that echoed the soft muted colors of the bedroom suite.

  She turned in a circle, taking it all in. “It’s the most beautiful bedroom I’ve ever been in.”

  “Wait till you see the master suite.” He winked. “I’ll show you around the entire apartment after you get settled.”

  “I can just imagine.” The heat in her face made her wish it was dark. Don’t even think about it Angela.

  “Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”

  “Famished.”

  “Let’s do something about that.” He grinned. “Why don’t you unpack, freshen up, and meet me downstairs when you’re ready? Just follow your nose to the kitchen.”

  The shower relaxed her, which she needed. Being in Florence was exciting, but she wouldn’t rest until they found the painting. Ricocheting back and forth between the past and the present scared her and her last journey back had been emotionally agonizing. Witnessing Giuliano’s horrifying death had overwhelmed her. The pain. The agony of it all. She shook off the tragic memories. She was still having a hard time processing everything, especially the notion that she was recalling her past life as Fioretta.