His idea of justice and his plans for achieving it easily blotted out the possibility of sentiment.
He focused his attention on his people, his principality, and the lengths he would go to maintain his control of them. Then he waited for his prey to emerge from their hiding place.
Chapter 3
“Massimo, there you are. What’s the name of the young man we were speaking to earlier?”
“Who?” Dottor Vitali gazed up at his American friend, confused.
The professor scanned the guests as they assembled in one of the large lecture rooms downstairs, waiting to be seated for dinner.
“There.” Gabriel pointed to a man dressed in a black suit who was staring in their direction. The man who, unbeknownst to him, had followed him and his wife upstairs.
As if he’d heard the professor’s words from across the room, the figure turned abruptly in his direction and gave him a menacing look.
Vitali watched the wordless exchange between the man in the black suit and the professor and nodded.
“Ah, the Englishman. He made a substantial donation to the gallery when he learned of your benevolence and requested an invitation to tonight’s events. Apparently, he’s a patron of the Palazzo Medici Riccardi and funded its restoration.”
“His name?” Gabriel pressed.
Vitali stared into space absently.
“Massimo?” Gabriel snapped his fingers.
Vitali startled, his eyes moving to the professor’s. “What was I saying?”
Gabriel resisted the urge to huff in frustration. “You were going to tell me the name of the young Englishman who made a donation to the gallery.”
“Of course.” Vitali smiled. “I don’t remember his name but we will ask my assistant. He has the guest list.”
Gabriel pressed his lips together. “So you don’t know the man personally?”
“Not really. But I recall the donation was large and wired within an hour from a Swiss bank.”
Gabriel frowned. “I don’t trust him. Do me a favor and keep him away from Julianne.”
Vitali gave him a puzzled look.
“Has he insulted her?”
“Not yet.”
Vitali glanced at the Englishman.
“He’s one of those rich, young aristocrats who fled England to pursue pleasure in my country. We’ve seen thousands of his kind over the years. I’m sure he knows better than to trouble your wife.”
“Perhaps.” Gabriel’s tone was unconvincing, as was his expression as he stared at the stranger’s retreating back.
Vitali gestured to the front of the room. “Come, my friends. Please.”
Gabriel extricated Julia from a conversation she’d been having with Vitali’s wife, and escorted her to their table.
“Va bene,” said Vitali, taking his wife by the hand and following the Emersons.
Neither the professor nor Vitali realized that even from the hall the mysterious stranger could hear every word of their exchange, or that he’d changed his mind and decided to deal with Vitali sooner rather than later.
Dottor Vitali’s memory was about to become even less reliable.
Chapter 4
The Emersons had sexual intercourse during the gala not once but twice.
The Prince silently saluted the professor’s (human) stamina.
It was close to midnight by the time the elaborate dinner ended and the Emersons said their farewells to Dottor Vitali. They exited the Uffizi hand in hand, strolling toward the Piazza della Signoria.
The Prince followed, keeping to the shadows.
A figure trailed behind him, having encircled the Uffizi for hours, like a shark, waiting for him to emerge. The figure made sure that he was downwind of the Prince, so that his scent would not reveal him.
It was a short walk from the Piazza to the Gallery Hotel Art, which was only a few steps from the Arno River. Still, the Emersons took their time.
Mrs. Emerson seemed determined to give money to every homeless person she encountered and the professor seemed determined to kiss her every time they passed a gelateria.
(Given the number of homeless persons and gelaterias in the city center, the Prince despaired of them ever making it to their hotel before Advent.)
When they finally entered the hotel, the Prince stood across the street, waiting. His contacts in the human intelligence network had informed him that the professor had expensive tastes. He’d reserved the penthouse suite.
Locked doors and tall buildings were no barrier to the Prince, given his abilities, but it was fortuitous that the penthouse was easily accessible from its private terrace. He’d simply bide his time until the Emersons retired for the evening.
(The Prince secretly hoped they would not have intercourse a third time, as it would delay his revenge once again.)
It was at this point that the figure who had been following him disappeared.
The Prince saw the lights go on in the penthouse. A short time later, those same lights were extinguished.
In a flash, he was across the street. He was just about to scale the side of the hotel when the wind shifted.
He froze, closing his eyes and inhaling.