Page 26 of Enduring Caine
Maybe if I pretended I was some ultra-wealthy woman who had her own staff, I could sink into this experience and enjoy it. It wouldn’t get me closer to Antonio, but I could release a little of the pent-up energy. “Thank you.”
“And I spoke with Leonardo. I explained to him the concept ofguestonce more.” Had Cristian been watching that exchange? Nothing happened in this villa without him knowing about, did it? “If he tries something like that again, please let me know. He takes his tenure too seriously at times and forgets his place.”
What was going on? He was being so… nice. Polite. Courteous, even. But he was an antiquities smuggler. He was the embodiment of what I wanted to fight.
Antonio came out of his room with Johann, wearing a navy blue V-neck and jacket with jeans that didn’t quite fit him, but he still looked amazing. He smiled and came over to press a kiss to my cheek.
“Can I have Henri bring something up for you while you wait?” asked Cristian.
“No,” I said, squeezing Antonio’s hand. “But thank you.”
Maybe Cristian and Leonardo were playing some kind of good cop bad cop.
If that was it, why?
Chapter 12
Antonio
“Youneedtouseyour imagination, Antonio.” Giovanni stood in front of the double-doors leading into a dilapidated building in the town of Terracina.
The twenty minute coastal commute from his estate was a more enjoyable one than the short drive to and from Cittavera earlier in the morning. Leonardo was with us again, but Cristian’s stern eye fell on him the moment he began mumbling some insult.
The building was a single story with white stucco walls and corrugated metal boarding up all the windows. Graffiti decorated most of the exterior. Why on Earth would he bring me somewhere like this?
“It’s not much to look at yet, but…” Giovanni pointed over my shoulder, away from the building. “You can see the Temple of Jupiter Anxur from here.”
We stood on a point between two marinas where boats of various sizes moored. A ferry motored by, on its way down the coast or out to the islands nearby. High on the hill overlooking the city, one of the terraces of the temple he pointed out was clear, its arched arcades a Roman hallmark.
“Sì, Zio Gio, but why are we here?” And more importantly, why was I here without Samantha?
A second SUV full of guards emptied onto the street behind us, two walking the length of the building’s exterior, two more settling next to the doors—including Johann, the German guard who’d gone into town with us, took Samantha on a short tour, and helped carry my borrowed clothes to my room. This armed presence was more than Gio used to travel with. Perhaps it was related to the business change.
Cristian had told me in the fall that there were those who sought to take Gio’s place. That must have been the reason for the extra guards.
My stomach tightened. How much danger were we in here? What had I brought Samantha into?
Surely if our lives were at stake, Elliot would have said more at the bakery. He wouldn’t have asked to speak with her—he would have told me to get her out of there. What was it he said about rumors? That my uncle was getting out of the business?
Leonardo opened the building’s door and flicked on a light switch. Giovanni, Cristian, and I following him in. Two guards remained outside—the others likely patrolling the perimeter.
The building was spacious, slivers of sunshine peeking around the window coverings. Dust and debris littered the space, and stalls which looked like they were used for purchasing tickets stood off to one side, while banks of plastic chairs were affixed to the floor in the center.
“I bought this.” Giovanni spread his arms wide, a gleam in his eyes. “For the family.”
“Scusi, but why?” As far as I could tell, it had once been a ticket collection office, possibly for the ferry. I knew little of the town other than having visited the temple several times for my building restoration studies.
Giovanni beckoned me forward and encouraged me to stand next to him, placing a hand upon my back. He waved the other hand in front of himself like he saw something completely different when he looked at this space. “The work tables will go over there. We’ll section off a room for imaging, another for carpentry, and another for storage. On that side—” He turned with me, so we faced the rear of the building. “—there’s a rolling door which large pieces can come in through. Perhaps even a mechanical lift for working on particularly grand paintings and sculptures.”
“Wait…” I stepped away from him, searching his face. He was describing a conservation studio.
“Sì.” He nodded, before I could form the words. “I’m not growing any younger, Antonio. I’ve squandered my life and want to make up for it. This is three times the space of the Ferraro’s studio in Roma.”
“You want Zio Andrea to move his business here?”
“No!” He raised his hands, as if in surrender. “My father and uncle founded that company in Roma. The building survived a world war. Occupation by the Nazis. I would never ask he close that shop.”
“So what is this? You want to start your own company?”