Lupo (The Immortals Book 8)

by La Porta, Monica

  After making sure his bike was safe behind a recessed arch between two adjoining buildings, he ran to the massive building, reached for his wallet while he flew up the stairs, pulled out his driver’s license, and showed it to the officer behind the glass window at the prison’s entrance.

  “I’m here to visit Paride Amati,” Lupo said.

  A group of people, maybe a family, silently shuffled behind Lupo, forming a queue.

  Looking bored, the man pushed a form under the glass slot.

  Lupo grabbed the paper, then rummaged across his jacket, before he gave up. “I need a pen.”

  With a grunt, the man sent a pen through the slot. Lupo scribbled his name and address on the form, answered the rest of the questions regarding his association with the inmate he wished to visit, then pushed it back toward the officer alongside his driver’s license. After a few more grunts, the man gave the photo on the license a good look, then he raised his eyes to Lupo, and finally decided he checked out.

  “Two floors up, stairs at the end of the hallway, on the right,” the man said, waving for the next person in line to approach the glass.

  The clock on the wall hadn’t chimed the hour yet, when Lupo entered the antechamber to the visitation room that was filled with visitors. As an inmate, he had never been on the other side of the room, and found it even more depressing than the chamber itself. The walls were gray, the spare furniture decrepit, the temperature cold, and humidity exuded from the tuff bricks, clinging to the skin. One small window facing the opposite building was barred with a rusty grid that had been once white. No efforts had been attempted to make the place welcoming. Instead, a sense of doom pervaded the antechamber, setting Lupo on edge.

  One of the desolate figures standing by the window, pushed himself off the wall, and walked closer to Lupo.

  “Are you Lupo Solis?” the were-panther asked. He was an alpha, as tall as Lupo, lean but made of taut muscles, and with a scar that bisected the right side of his face.

  Lupo nodded and reached out his hand. “And you must be Angel.”

  The panther shook Lupo’s hand with firmness as his eyes studied Lupo. “Are you here to see Paride?”

  Lupo bore the scrutiny without flinching. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  Angel’s nostrils flared, then he relaxed his stance. “Just don’t take too much time.”

  “I won’t,” Lupo said.

  Two guards entered the room, called inmates’ names, then let people through a door opposite the entrance.

  When Paride’s name was called, Angel pointed his chin at the door. “You go first.”

  Lupo patted his arm, then hurried toward the guards.

  As soon as he entered the visitation chamber, Lupo realized how his experience in jail had differed from the other inmates’. He knew his fathers had demanded special treatment, but he hadn’t realized the extent of it. His life in prison hadn’t been simple, but it could have been worse. While he had always seen his family in a private room, here people crowded a few tables in the same shared space. On one side of these tables sat the visitors, on the other side the prisoners with their hands shackled together.

  His heart broke when his eyes met Paride’s and the puma’s face lit.

  “You came.” Paride leaned toward the table, but he was restrained to the chair.

  “Told you I would.” Sitting, Lupo tried to infuse his answer with a joyous tone.

  “How’s freedom treating you?” Paride asked with a smile.

  “Not too shabby.” Lupo accompanied his words with a vague gesture.

  “Just give me something.” Paride kept smiling, and Lupo wondered where the puma found the strength to be positive.

  “I just let a sure-thing pass—”

  “You’ve been out a day, and you already have women throwing themselves at you? Unbelievable.” Paride laughed, and the chains holding him rattled against the table’s legs. “And you are here instead.”

  “I wasn’t interested.” Lupo relaxed against the chair that was too small for his frame and groaned under his weight.

  Paride’s expression sobered up. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to give living a chance.”

  “Eventually.”

  “I know about the Purists’ curse—”

  “That’s what you call it?” It was Lupo’s turn to laugh.

  “You aren’t free to love again. What would you call it?”

  “Eternal bounds?”

  “I didn’t peg you for a romantic, and that’s actually a beautiful way to put it. But—” Paride took a long pause. “You can’t pine after Jasmine forever. She wouldn’t want that for you.”

  “You should’ve met her. I’m pretty sure she meant for me to be forever celibate.” Lupo’s laugh grew louder, and people turned his way. He whispered a few “sorrys,” then get back to Paride. “She shackled me to her with her Purist juju. I’m not sure I’ll ever be free from her.” And I don’t want to either.

  “I only wish for you to have someone, one day.” Paride’s eyes went to the door behind Lupo, and his face showed longing.

  “Speaking of which, I promised your overbearing and jealous boyfriend that I wouldn’t take much of his visitation time.” Lupo stood.

  “You met my sweet Angel,” Paride said with a wink.

  “Tell him I’ve never hit on you or next time he’ll challenge me for your honor.”

  “Just give him time to warm up to you.” Paride moved on his chair, and the chains rattled again. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll be back soon.” Lupo leaned to reach for Paride’s arm, but one of the guards supervising the visits stepped forward with a scowl.

  “No touching allowed.” The man gave Lupo a warning look and only stepped back when Lupo raised his hands in a compliant gesture.

  “Twenty minutes left,” another guards announced.

  Lupo checked his watch and noted he had been there for twenty minutes already. He also realized his visitations had lasted a full hour. Outside, Angel waited by the door.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stay that long—” Lupo hurried to say, but Angel stopped him.

  “You kept him safe when I couldn’t. I owe you big,” Angel said, then pushed past him. The door closed behind the panther before Lupo could respond that he owed him nothing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The moment Lupo entered the shipping company’s foyer, Vera greeted him with a wave of her hand and a pretty smile. “Good morning, sir.” She walked toward him, carrying a pile of folders in her arms.

  He couldn’t help but notice that her dust-pink sweater was unbuttoned, and it showed the swell of her soft breasts from beneath the see-through fabric of her cream lace top. Nothing more than a few millimeters of skin, and mostly covered, yet his lips curved up. “Good morning, Vera, and please call me Lupo.”

  “Yes, sir… Lupo.” Vera lowered her eyes, while her breathing altered, pushing her breasts outward. The folder on top of the pile she was holding slipped sideways, and she tried to stop it from falling, only to unsettle the other folders that went every which way. “I’m so sorry—”

  As she lowered herself to the floor to pick up the dossiers, Lupo helped her by collecting the pages that lay scattered at her feet.

  “You’ll have to sort them out.” He straightened to give the files back to her, and accidentally knocked the back of his hand against her bosom when she stood up at the same moment.

  More folders escaped her hands, and she blushed a deep crimson, which reached down her swan neck and under the lace to color her creamy skin with the most adorable hue.

  “You beat me, son.” Quintilius’s voice came from behind Lupo. “But I’m not sure you didn’t break a few street laws in the process.”

  “No laws were broken. I won fair and square.” Lupo turned to greet his father and give Vera a moment to compose herself. “I’m the better driver.”

  “Hmm.” Quintilius’s eyes reached beyond Lupo, and his expression changed for
the briefest of moments. Amusement colored his face, then he looked back at Lupo. “We’ll see tomorrow morning who’s the best driver.”

  They had left Casolare del Lupo together, betting on who would arrive first at the office. The loser would buy lunch.

  “Today, you owe me a tray of Mamma Bice’s pizza. Mozzarella and anchovies, extra spicy. Thanks.” During his internment, Lupo had dreamed of eating at Pizzeria Della Lupa, one of the oldest pizza places in Rome, and his favorite. “What would you like, Vera?” he asked the girl who was trying to inch away on her high heels.

  “Nothing, thank you, Lupo—” Her eyes went to Quintilius and widened in horror. Pressing the folders against her chest, she stuttered, “I mean, sir. I don’t want anything. Thank you.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll have to drive all the way to the other side of the city in any case to please my cheating son.” Quintilius gently smiled at the girl, then released her with a nod.

  Vera scampered away, with a, “Please, let me know if you need anything, sirs.”

  Quintilius watched her hide inside her office, then said, “She’s a nice girl.”

  “I have no doubt.” Lupo patted Quintilius’s arm, then walked with him to the meeting room, where they talked with two new clients for the rest of the morning.

  Early in the afternoon, once they were done with the meetings, Lupo decided to accompany Quintilius and have lunch together, instead of letting him drive all the way to the other end of the Tiber River to fetch the pizza. They took Quintilius’s Jaguar and enjoyed the slow ride between the obstacle course that was Rome’s historical center. Besides the traffic, which never relented unless it was the fifteenth of August when the Romans migrated en masse to the beaches for Summer Picnic Day, the city was ridden with archeological excavations. To be expected in a metropolitan area that had lasted for almost three millennia, and had been built upon layers of previous eras.

  Lupo, who liked superhero comic novels, and entertained himself with thoughts of how the city would change in the future, often imagined how it would be like to fly his bike above the red roofs and white terraces. The good thing about being a shifter whose life would span for centuries was that he would see those changes. He only had to be patient.

  Meanwhile, he was stuck in the Jaguar, waiting for the traffic police to reopen the road once the archeologists would declare it safe. An Imperial villa had been unearthed by recent roadwork, and before the area could be sealed, all the artifacts must be catalogued and sent to the Civic Museum.

  “Did you know the people who lived there?” Lupo pointed his chin ahead, toward the archeological dig.

  “I visited the villa once or twice. A nice family. But we weren’t in the same circles.” Quintilius lowered the volume of the radio.

  A sea of cars surrounded them on all sides, and some of the drivers had lost their patience already. Although useless, several horns were honked, as if complaining and annoying the rest of the commuters would make the traffic disappear. The sun shone bright from behind a cloud, and it reflected and amplified the shine of the cars’ bodyworks.

  A flash of silvery-gray coming from the side mirror blinded Lupo for a moment. He blinked, sudden uneasiness creeping up to his chest. “It’s hot.” He depressed the button to lower his window. It might have been the sun creating a greenhouse effect inside the car, but the ceiling seemed to close in on his head. “I should’ve followed you with my bike.” Drops of sweat pearled his forehead, and he wiped them away with his shirt sleeve. He had removed his suit jacket before entering the car, but even unbuttoning his collar didn’t help.

  “What is it?” Quintilius opened his window too, killing the radio altogether.

  “I must get out.” An irrational need to flee the steel coffin that was the Jaguar constricted Lupo’s chest, until he gasped for air. Black dots filled his vision.

  “Lupo?” Quintilius reached out his hand to Lupo’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Calm down, son.”

  Calm down, Lupo. Breathe.

  Jasmine’s voice.

  “Son?” Quintilius called.

  From the despair and anxiety ridden fog obscuring his mind, a sliver of lucidity emerged, and Lupo clung to it. One breath at a time, sight was restored to him. His heart galloping against his ribcage, Lupo lowered his head to his hands and shuddered.

  “Are you okay?” Quintilius’s hand was still on Lupo’s arm.

  “I think so.” Lupo shook his head, as if the gesture was enough to get rid of the agitation still wrapped around his heart. “I don’t know what happened.” He pressed one hand over his chest.

  “PTSD.” Quintilius squeezed Lupo’s arm one more time, then released it to get hold of the shift as the traffic finally moved.

  “I heard Jasmine’s voice,” Lupo whispered.

  “Being stuck in the car brought you back to the accident.” Quintilius turned right, entered a small alley that was barely large enough to let the Jaguar through, and stopped by a courtyard lined with tables and the striped red and white umbrellas trademark of trattorias. To complete the scene, ivy covered the brick walls, and on some of the tables were wine flasks topped with candle butts.

  A burly man wearing an apron exited a wooden door which sported a worn sign that said, “La Mejo Pasta de Roma.” The best pasta in Rome, in Roman dialect. The man gave them an inquisitive look, before asking, “What’s the matter?”

  “We’ll leave in a minute. My son doesn’t feel well,” Quintilius explained from the opened window.

  The man nodded, then went back inside.

  “But why now?” Following his train of thought, Lupo resumed the conversation. “You drove me back from prison and I didn’t fall apart.”

  “I’m not a psychologist or a healer, but my guess is that your mind was otherwise engaged because you had just been released.” Quintilius shifted on his seat until he sat sideways. “Do you remember what you were thinking before you felt you had to get away from the car?”

  Lupo raised his face to meet his father’s eyes. He drew a blank and shook his head. “I don’t know, random thoughts.”

  The sound of clashing dishes and swearwords coming from the trattoria startled them. A moment later, the burly man reappeared at the door and motioned for Lupo and Quintilius to sit at one of the tables. “Eat something, you’ll feel better,” he said, looking directly at Lupo.

  Juggling dishes, glasses, and silverware on a tray, a gangly youth walked past the burly man and set a table for Lupo and Quintilius, under the disapproving glare of the man who said, “Try not to break anything else if you can.”

  Weary of being in the car longer than necessary, Lupo nodded at Quintilius. “We’ll have pizza another time.”

  They ate al fresco, and found the food tasty despite the sour attitude of the owner and cook of the trattoria. They left a generous tip for the waiter, and also son of the burly man, who chatted with them until other patrons arrived.

  By the time they left the trattoria, Lupo’s mood had been restored, and he entered the car confident he would be fine. He did leave the window open though.

  They were halfway through Piazza Trilussa and heading back to the office, when Lupo’s wolf senses tingled with danger. He turned to his father and saw he was equally tense and focused on the rearview mirror. A silver-gray BMW was behind them.

  Quintilius turned at the first chance, and sure enough the car followed them. Beside the driver, there was another passenger in the back seat, but both men’s faces were shadowed by the tinted windows.

  “I thought I saw the BMW earlier, but then I got preoccupied with you and forgot all about them.” Quintilius kept driving through secondary alleys, until they merged into Lungotevere Gianicolense. From there he jumped a red light, put several cars between them and their pursuers, and reached the office.

  Before they descended the garage’s ramp, Lupo turned around and saw the BMW speeding past the entrance. Although he couldn’t see the man’s face, he had the distinct impr
ession that the passenger was staring at him.

  “What was all that about?” he asked his father when they were safely riding the elevator up to the office. “I thought working at a shipping company would be an eight-to-five kind of boring job.”

  “You’d be surprised by the drama I deal with on a regular basis,” Quintilius answered with a laugh, but Lupo caught a worried undertone.

  “I can imagine a man in your position has many enemies—”

  “It comes with the territory. As an alpha, you’ll soon see for yourself, but I’ll be by your side.” Quintilius opened the elevator car’s door and let Lupo out. Then they divided at the foyer and went to their respective offices.

  Vera knocked on his door half an hour later. “Coffee?” She peeked inside holding a tray with a fuming moka, cup, and saucer.

  “Thank you.” He motioned for her to come in, walked halfway across the room, and grabbed the tray from her hands. For the second time, he brushed her skin by accident. This time it was the inside of her wrist. She shivered, and he sensed her scent changing from nervousness to desire.

  They both knew he could read her like an open book, but Lupo decided to let her off the hook with a smile. “You don’t have to bring me coffee.” He set the tray on his desk, then served himself an espresso. “But if you insist on it, next time, bring another cup for you, so we can drink it together.”

  Her blue eyes widened, and she tucked the stray, purple curl behind her ear. Today, she wore her pixie-cut with a few clips holding her blond hair in place. “That wouldn’t be proper. You are—”

  “Lupo. Just Lupo.” He drank his coffee, placed cup and saucer back on the tray, and picked it up. “Where does it go?”

  “To the kitchen, but please, let me take it back.”

  To her supplication, he raised his hands in defeat, and let her spirit the tray and herself away from his room. With a sigh, he lowered his head to the pile of documents he had been sorting out before Vera interrupted him.

  Later that night, after dinner, Camelia asked Lupo to accompany her for a walk in the gardens.