Chapter Twenty-one
Ambrogio said not a word as Raven’s vomit splashed on his legs and feet. He merely placed an arm around her waist, supporting her.
She heaved until she could do so no more.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth shakily with the back of her hand.
“Signorina, come inside.” His tone was calm, too calm, as if the sight of blood on her skin and the vomit was not only unsurprising, but expected.
Raven gazed at him curiously.
He was about her height, with gray hair and dark eyes. He looked as if he were in his sixties and was carefully dressed in a well-cut dark suit. Raven found something troubling about his demeanor, but she could not articulate what.
She tore her eyes from his impassive expression and looked toward the garage. “My friend Bruno is hurt. He may be dead. I have to go to him.”
“Everything will be attended to.” Ambrogio deftly turned her to face the villa.
“I don’t have my cell phone. Or my wallet. My knapsack is in the alley, where Bruno is.”
“This way, please.”
Raven turned toward the garage, hoping to catch sight of the intruder. “But—”
“It would be best if you came into the house.” Ambrogio interrupted her with a tone that held a warning.
With one last, vain glance, Raven allowed herself to be led on shaky legs to the back door.
She was escorted through a modern, eat-in kitchen and a large, opulent dining room to an immense central foyer. A wide wooden staircase led to the second floor, while a huge antique chandelier sparkled overhead.
But it was the artwork that captured her attention.
The walls were painted a deep red and hung with oil paintings that varied in size and composition, all encased in glass.
Raven gaped at the sight and muttered a few stunned oaths.
She’d spent years studying Renaissance art and art restoration. The collection on display was of works from that period she had never seen. Paintings by Raphael, Botticelli, Caravaggio—and something that looked surprisingly like a Michelangelo—stared at her from their ornate frames.
She lifted a trembling finger and pointed to a medium-sized painting on the far wall.
“Is that—? It can’t be. Is it?” she stuttered.
“Michelangelo, yes. Adam and Eve before the Fall.” A gray-haired woman, wearing a smart navy sheath dress and jacket, strode across the floor.
“But Michelangelo is thought to have completed only one painting and it’s in the Uffizi. An uncompleted work that may be his is in the National Gallery in London.”
The woman ignored Raven’s protest. “I’m Lucia.”
“Raven,” she murmured, crossing the floor so she could get a better look at the alleged Michelangelo.
“I thought your name was Jane. Jane Wood.” Lucia followed her with a frown.
Raven kept her eyes fixed on the painting. She looked at it from the side, trying to discern the brushstrokes.
“The intruder calls me Jane, but my name is Raven.”
The couple seemed taken aback by her remarks but commented no further.
Ambrogio apprised Lucia of Raven’s injury. He bowed, declaring he would find out about Bruno’s condition and attempt to locate her knapsack, before disappearing into the dining room.
Lucia gestured to the staircase. “Your room is upstairs.”
“This painting,” Raven managed to say, fixated as she was, “where did it come from?”
“It’s part of Lord William’s extensive collection. But the best pieces are in there.”
The woman nodded toward a closed set of double doors to the left of the staircase.
Raven reluctantly tore her gaze away from the painting and stared at the closed doors.
She shook her head, as if to clear her mind.
“You said Lord William?” she whispered. “William York?”
“Of course.” Once again, Lucia seemed puzzled.
“The intruder is William York?”
“I don’t know anything about an intruder. The gentleman who owns this estate is Lord William York. He brought you here.” Lucia took a step closer, examining Raven intently. “I will send for a doctor.”
“No, I’m fine. I was just a little—motion sick.” She wiped her mouth self-consciously. “Can you tell me if Lord William recently acquired something in the style of Botticelli? Such as a set of illustrations?”
“You were bleeding.” Lucia ignored Raven’s question, pointing at the dried blood on her shoulder and dress.
“No, it’s Bruno’s. My friend.” Raven fought back tears. “I’m worried he’s dead. I need to see him.”
“Ambrogio will attend to it.”
Raven stared at Lucia suspiciously, wondering why she was repeating the intruder’s rote remark.
“I really need to go. If you could just call a taxi for me, I’ll leave.”
“It’s past one o’clock. His lordship would like you to clean up and rest.” Lucia’s expression brooked no argument.
Raven began moving toward the front door, which was a few feet away. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve been very kind.”
“Stop.” Lucia’s polished demeanor dropped for a moment and an icy coldness filled her eyes. “His lordship’s orders are always obeyed.”
“I just want to go home,” Raven whispered.
As if on cue, Ambrogio returned. He stood in front of the door, effectively blocking Raven’s escape.
Her eyes moved from him to Lucia.
“You must obey his lordship.” Lucia gestured in the direction of the staircase. “He has been expecting your return.”
“My return? I’ve never been here before.”
“This way, please.” Once again Lucia ignored her comment. She walked toward the staircase.
Raven lifted her right foot surreptitiously, trying to figure out if she could outrun Lucia and Ambrogio and make it to the back door. Of course, it was more than likely that the intruder was outside and would come after her.
She didn’t want to think about what he’d do to her if he caught her.
She forced an artificial smile and joined Lucia on the stairs. “A shower and a rest sound like a good idea. Thank you.”
Lucia’s frosty attitude thawed marginally as she ushered Raven up-stairs. She brought Raven down a long central hall, pausing in front of a tall wooden door. “In here, please.”
She opened the door.