by Belle Ami
“His mistress at the time was Fioretta Gorini. We know very little about her. She died in childbirth, a month later. Their son was raised by his uncle Lorenzo and later became Pope Clement the VII. I wonder if it’s possible that they were secretly married?”
“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure, this is no apprentice’s work. Look at the brush strokes and the way Fioretta captures the attention of the viewer by staring out from the painting. Does it remind you of any other painting?”
“It looks familiar, but tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Let me see the file, please.” Taking it from her, he opened it and began reading and turning the pages. She peered over his shoulder. He came to a document. Excitedly, he tapped the page with his index finger. “How did the collection come into the hands of the state?”
“Anna Maria Luisa, the last of the Medici, signed the Patto di Famiglia, in 1737, willing all of the personal property of the Medici to the Tuscan state. It included a stipulation that none of the collection ever leave Florence.”
He pointed, again. “This is an inventory from Lorenzo’s household. Notice the notation of the wedding portrait? It says inherited from Lucrezia Tornabuoni, Giuliano and Lorenzo’s mother, in 1482 and makes a point of saying “artist unknown.” There’s no mention of who the people in the portrait are. Isn’t it strange that Lorenzo doesn’t mention that the portrait is of his brother? Why do you think that is?”
She shook her head. “Possible problems with political alliances. Giuliano was promised in marriage to someone else.”
“Exactly. Why cause trouble when both Giuliano and the bride are dead? What difference would it make to history?”
“None really.”
“Unless the painting gained notoriety. Then it would be hard to keep under wraps, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose it would. But why would the painting gain fame?”
He whispered with reverence. “If it was painted by Leonardo da Vinci and not attributed to a minor artist in his atelier, then it would gain immeasurable fame.”
“You think this is a da Vinci portrait?”
“I do.”
“But that’s impossible…” She couldn’t finish the sentence as the possibility took hold in her mind.
“I’d like to study it and the file more carefully.”
“Yes. Let’s take it upstairs. I’ll sign it out.”
“No!”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Let’s just take the painting and the file and decide later what to do with them.”
“That’s against policy, Gerhard. If we take the painting and the file, there is no record of its existence.”
“Please, indulge me.”
She didn’t have the heart to refuse him. Besides, it was more important to impart her own news to him. “Gerhard, darling, I have something to tell you.” He was so ebullient it seemed a perfect opportunity to tell him about the pregnancy.
He took her hands. “What is it, amore mio?”
“Gerhard, I’m pregnant. A couple of months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He took her into his arms, kissing her. “I’m so happy! I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“You want this? You’re not upset?”
“Upset? The woman I love is bearing my child. Why would I be upset?”
“The war Gerhard. It’s not the best of times to be delivering children into the world. Especially given you’re an occupying German soldier.”
“We can’t always choose when happiness comes. This is a child of our love, a reinforcement of what we both feel.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“What a day for me. Finding a long-lost Leonardo da Vinci and finding out I’m to be a father. Come, let’s go upstairs and celebrate…”
Angela felt the pull of time dragging her back… Stumbling and swirling with the power of a gale strength wind at her back, she plummeted back into her trembling body. Her eyes opened, disoriented, fuzzy.
Slowly, the world around her came into focus. She was on the bed in the cave, in Montefioralle. Scordato and another man were arguing a few feet away.
“You must have given her too much of that damn truth serum, Alberto. And what the hell has she been going on about?”
“Calm yourself, Enrico. The dose was minuscule, not enough to put her under. As far as her ranting goes, if I had to guess, she’s experiencing visions from a past life. That’s the reason she knows where the painting is in the first place. At least we know there won’t be any interference by the detective. He’s most likely nothing more than a burnt ember by now. We’re so close, cousin. We’re going to be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”
The drug had completely worn off, and Angela knew that the vision she’d experienced had nothing to do with the effects of the serum. The two men had no idea she was fully awake and clear-headed, listening to their every word.
She fought the tears that threatened. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. She understood why Sophia blamed the painting for Gerhard’s murder. History will not repeat itself. She would not let these monsters win. I can’t let it happen again. Alex is not dead. I would know if he was.
Then, like a wind chime in her mind, she heard Giuliano speak. Alex is not dead. We are all here, Angela. Here to help you. Stay strong. This time they will not win.
She opened her eyes and blinked. Scordato’s face morphed from one of his incarnations to the next. She recognized the hate-filled face of Francesco de’ Pazzi, and then she saw Franz, the German deserter who’d threatened to rape Sophia and murdered Gerhard. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
The same was true when she looked at Enrico. His features transformed before her eyes and she could see her enemy for who he truly was. Bernardo Bandino Baroncelli, the man who’d struck his dagger through Giuliano’s heart, and in another life, seventy-three years ago, she’d shot and killed him. He was the other deserter, Dietrich, the man who ended Gerhard’s life.
As impossible as it was to believe, she realized this moment was her opportunity to right the wrongs and be the instrument that exacted their karmic debt. She could change the future result and stop the circular nature of cause and effect, and the rebirth of pure evil.
She pretended to still be under the influence of the truth serum. “Director Scordato, what happened?”
“Angela, I’ve been so worried about you. You had some kind of seizure. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you think you can help us find the painting?”
“S-shouldn’t we wait for Aleshhh?” She intentionally slurred her words.
“By the time you retrieve the painting, Alex should be here.”
A warmth surrounded her. A diaphanous cloud settled over her vision. Sophia and Gerhard stood next to the bed wrapped in each other’s arms. Their skin glowed with the freshness of youth. They kissed, and the honesty of their love tore at her heart. When they broke the kiss, they both looked at her and smiled. She thought she heard movement and turned to look. On the side of the bed, Fioretta stood with Giuliano, his arms secured around her. They, too, smiled, encouraging her.
“Alex will come won’t he?” she asked the ghosts.
“Of course, he’ll come,” Alberto answered.
The ghosts nodded in unison, yes. A single tear made its way down her cheek and dripped onto her hand. In that instant, the ghostly apparitions faded, dissolving like morning mist on a lake after the sun rises. A burden lifted from her shoulders and, taking a deep breath, she knew what she must do.
Alex made it back to the house. Sheer will and adrenaline spurred him on. He ignored the stabs of pain from every breath he took and every step forward.
“Angela, where are you?” His voice echoed back at him. He hadn’t expected to fin
d her there, but still, the reality felt like a punch to his gut. The dogs jumped on him, whining and growling. He patted them. “Dov’è Angela? Where is she?” He knew the dogs would die to protect her. It didn’t make sense.
When he checked the kitchen, he found her coffee cup near the sink. There was no sign anywhere of a struggle, so he had to assume Scordato had lured her outside somehow without the dogs. He looked out the window just as he knew she would have.
Shit! The explosion. She must have panicked and run from the house, not thinking about anything other than getting to him.
Alex drove all thoughts of her being harmed out of his mind. He had to stay focused on one thing and that was finding her. He ran upstairs and checked the nightstand next to the bed. The Glock was where he’d left it. Grabbing it, he stuffed it into his waistband. She was unarmed. But she was smart and resourceful. He prayed her psychic ability would include knowing that he would come for her no matter what.
He ran to the lockbox and pulled out extra magazines for the Glock and stuck them in his backpack along with a medical kit. He changed into hiking boots and strapped his sheath and combat knife to his leg. He hurried downstairs with the dogs on his heels.
It had begun to rain and he grabbed his hooded anorak and Angela’s raincoat. He held it to the dogs’ noses. The scent of her made their tails wag commensurate with their love for her. His command to the dogs was succinct. “Trova Angela. Silenzio e caccia!” he ordered. Trained to hunt, they ran off ahead toward the mountain, their noses to the ground. The command to find Angela and hunt in silence completely understood. He knew the dogs would find her. In his gut, he knew she was all right. She had to be.
He tried to keep up with the dogs, but the jarring pain in his shoulder impeded his progress. His thoughts raced in tandem, fear and guilt vying to overwhelm him. If anything happened to her he’d spend the rest of his life seeking vengeance.
He thought about Angela’s worries for him, how she feared history was repeating itself. In his mind he replayed what had occurred when Fioretta and Angela had met. How they’d locked in on each other and travelled together back to the past. That’s where the needle got stuck in the groove. Her behavior had significantly changed after that. She said she would tell him everything about her vision with Fioretta when they were alone. But what had she told him? She’d denied ever getting to the cave, claiming Fioretta had been the cause.
His anger rose, quashing his ability to think. The veins in his neck corded, echoing the knot that swelled in his gut. It was the first time he consciously understood that she’d been lying to him. Jesus, she knows where the painting is. Pushing beyond the pain, he began to jog up the trail.
Angela had done everything she could to delay the inevitable. Scordato was losing patience with her.
“This conversation has grown wearisome, Angela. Show us where the painting is hidden.”
Reluctantly, her gaze shifted to the barrels.
Alberto’s face broke into a smile. “Very clever. Is it inside? Where’s the opening?”
“Beneath the center barrel there’s a panel that opens.” The look of avarice on Scordato’s face sickened her. Not only was he a disgusting pig, but a greedy bastard.
“Tell me something, Angela. I’m curious, how did you find out the whereabouts of the painting?”
“It came to me in dreams.” She had no intention of explaining her connection to Fioretta and Sophia.
“Why do I think there’s more to this story? Are you psychic?”
She didn’t answer him.
“It’s interesting that the mystery of the painting was revealed to you in dreams.”
She shrugged. “There are things that are beyond any explanation.”
In the meantime, Enrico had gotten down on his knees to examine the barrel. “Alberto, it’s too small a space, neither of us can fit under here.”
“Don’t be foolish Enrico. We’re not crawling underneath that. Angela is.” He turned to her. “I believe, that’s your cue, Ms. Renatus.”
Angela felt as if she stood before a wall in front of a firing squad. Trembling, she knelt and began to drag herself beneath the barrel. She took one more glance toward the two men. What she saw made her shake her head. I must be hallucinating. It isn’t possible. Neither the director or his burly accomplice knew that on either side of them stood the grim-faced apparitions of Giuliano and Gerhard. For once, she prayed the ghosts from the past were real. In her head she heard Giuliano whisper, the past will not repeat itself. His words enveloped her in a sense of peace, giving her courage. She was not alone.
Angela held her breath as she wriggled beneath the barrel. She brushed aside the cobwebs, and shuddered, hoping the spiders who had made them had abandoned their webs for more fertile ground. This was absolute yuck, but if Sophia could do it, then so could she. Shuddering, she ran her hand over the surface beneath the barrel. It was crusty and uneven. “I can’t see.”
“Enrico, shine the flashlight under the barrel.”
A beam of light lit the bottom of the barrel and she saw the outline of an opening. She scooted farther in and pushed on the slat. It popped open and she reached inside. Blindly she felt around trying not to think of what else might be in there. Then she felt it. She pulled it toward the opening and grabbed onto a strap. Tugging the backpack out, she dragged it with her as she slid out from beneath the barrel.
She lay still for a minute trying to catch her breath and still her pounding heart. It seemed impossible that inside this old backpack was one of the most priceless works of art in the world. The thought made her head spin. Her whole body trembled. The backpack weighed nothing but for some reason, it felt as if it was filled with rocks. Her fear was getting the better of her. She had to reel it in.
She sat up clutching the backpack and stared into the muzzle of a shotgun. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest. Would death claim her first, before Alex, in this lifetime?
“Hand over the backpack, Angela. Give it to Enrico.”
“Are you going to kill me, now, in cold blood?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why not?”
“I’m going to administer a large dose of LSD and Ketamine. Three or four hours from now, when you wake, you’ll have no memory of what happened.”
“What’s ketamine?”
“It’s a date rape drug,” Alberto said.
Enrico ogled her. His look of lust made the color drain from her face.
“It won’t hurt Angela, but more importantly, it won’t be necessary to permanently silence you.” His leer matched Enrico’s. “You might even enjoy it.”
“You’ll never get away with this.” Her only hope was to keep him engaged in talking. She’d die fighting before she’d let that evil beast, Enrico, touch her.
“We already have. Your detective is dead. Police will rule it as an unfortunate accident. The painting is ours and you’ll remember nothing about us drugging you and taking the painting; nothing about us killing your precious boyfriend; nothing about the demise of the noble Max Jaeger.” She gasped at his admission. “And of course, nothing of what we’re about to do next…” His words hung in the air as both men leered at her.
She fought the urge to gag. Alex is not dead. I would know if he were. Anger boiled inside of her. She wished she had the gun Alex had left for her back at the house. If she did, she’d have no trouble killing them.
Enrico grabbed the backpack from her, removing the tube. “It’s here Alberto. I can’t believe it, but it’s here.”
“Be careful with it, Enrico.” He kept the rifle aimed at Angela.
Enrico removed the layers of tissue and lamb’s wool protecting the precious work of art. For the first time in seventy-years, Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece saw the light of day.
Angela gasped; the wedding portrait was exactly as she’d seen in he
r visions. The unmistakable hand of a genius was in every brush stroke… the way Giuliano looked at Fioretta with complete and utter love and devotion and the way Fioretta gazed out from the painting with the mysterious allure of a timeless beauty… Angela’s eyes filled with tears. The painting was a masterpiece, every bit as intriguing as the Mona Lisa.
The eeriness of the moment wasn’t lost on her. Even the two murderers stared in awe at the five-hundred-year-old painting by the hand of the greatest genius the world had ever known.
No one spoke. The reality of what they were looking at made words superfluous. While the men gaped at the painting, Angela realized what she had to do.
A pounding rain drenched them, but Alex and the dogs continued to climb the trail. He’d slipped and fallen twice and was slathered in mud, but nothing was going to stop him from getting to Angela.
He jogged to the top of the trail and emerged from the dense brush. The three dogs silently sniffed the ground and came to a halt. Exactly as they’d been trained to do when they hunted and located prey, they sat before a wall of rock, their tails wagging. His heart was bursting from his chest and it wasn’t from the climb. Sophia’s cave, the cave of Angela’s visions was behind that rock slab.
How did it open? He ran his fingers over the smooth slate. An eerie sensation took hold, as though unseen hands were guiding him. He pulled the slab, it moved a few inches. His heart pounding, he peered in. His stomach lurched when he heard voices. Carefully, he drew the Glock from his pocket and released the safety.
His thoughts were racing. If he plunged in with his weapon drawn Scordato might kill Angela, and there had to be an accomplice in there with him. He’d seen two sets of larger shoe prints on the trail.
It was too risky. He stuffed his gun back in his belt and whispered to the dogs to stay. Then raising his hands in surrender, he entered the cave. His best bet was to surprise and disorient the two criminals.
Scordato whirled toward him, a rifle in his hands. “Well! I’m afraid this changes everything.”
