Page 28 of Enduring Caine
Noon.Thesunhadpassed over the top of the tower, warming my skin as I stared out to the aquamarine Mediterranean Sea three hundred feet away. My balcony was tiny, barely as wide as the double-doors leading out to it with a small metal chair wedged to the side, but the view was spectacular. A band of cumulus clouds drifted along the horizon, leaving an open sky over the land.
Above me, stonework protruded from the tower, supporting a roof of terracotta tiles, just like all the other roofs below me. Four guards walked their separate routes around the estate, and no doubt more were stationed in other buildings or were hidden away monitoring the security feeds.
I scanned the space above me, searching for more of the near-invisible cameras. Was someone listening to our conversation last night? Did they know I wasn’t sleeping? Or how much I missed being with Antonio?
If they were, I couldn’t spot them. It would make more sense to have microphones closer to the ground, where people could attempt to gain access. Cameras belonged at the top of the tower but positioned to view as much of the property as possible, not to watch the balconies.
No wonder the TPC didn’t hear from their undercover agent often. The security was intense.
I ran my hands over the stone wall, identifying several places I could grab onto. All I needed was space to get my fingertips and shoes in, although my climbing shoes would have been more useful than anything I had with me. The fifty-foot drop made it a risk not worth taking, no matter how much I wanted to sneak into Antonio’s room.
But if I had a rope…
Back in my room, I searched under the bed, in the bathroom, the closet. Checked the television cable. The sheets weren’t long enough, but maybe if I tied them together, I could make it across.
Stupid, Sam. I collapsed on the bed, letting out a long sigh. We’d only be here a few days, then we’d be at Mario’s together, without a wall between us.
Damn Antonio Ferraro.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. It hadn’t even been six months since we met and he invaded too many of my thoughts. My focus should have been on seeing the ruins or figuring out how I could help the authorities with any antiquities smuggling going on here.
Instead, I was thinking about Antonio. About crazy tactics to cross a ten-foot divide between our rooms. About being in his arms, against his skin. Nuzzling my nose in his neck and smelling that delicious amber and vanilla cologne. His soft lips on mine. Hot breath brushing across every inch of my body.
One hand trailed down my neck, imagining his tongue tracing its way to the neckline of my long-sleeve T-shirt. It continued to the waistband of my jeans and I popped the button, sliding my hand down to—
There was a knock at my door, and I sat up with a start, like I’d been caught red-handed.
The last knock had been one of the staff returning my freshly-washed clothes. They were probably back with something they missed. I shook my head, rebuttoned my pants, and headed for the door.
And once it was open, I was overcome with a deep need to rewind time and ignore the knock.
Vincenzo.
I should have known.
He was teaching Cesca art history because he knew it the best. Of course he’d be the one who knew the most about the ruins.
Vin wasn’t as broad as Antonio or the bodyguards. Not as tall, either. A thick head of black hair with more curl than Antonio’s swept down to his shoulders. He had a dimple in his chin that I remembered deepened the more he laughed, but he’d grown a short beard that covered it.
I hated beards.
My ex-husband had too much facial hair, too. I should have seen the trend.
Before I could slam the door in his face, he mouthed,Cameras, and pointed toward his chest. Likely signaling the one I knew was in the finial.
“So what?” I whispered.
“Good afternoon, Samantha,” he said, his voice not betraying the look on his face, the way his brows pulled down, nor the way he clasped his hands together in prayer. “My name is Vincenzo, and I’ll be your guide this afternoon. We’ll be going to see the ruins of the villa of Lucius Verus and the cave next to it.”
What was he doing? Why was he talking this way?
“I understand you’re an art lover? There are several statues—in various states of repair—commemorating moments from the Odyssey, which I’m sure you want to see, as well.” His voice was light and conversational, as though he didn’t remember me. There was a silent message underneath his words. He didn’t want Giovanni’s staff to know we knew each other. That also explained why he hadn’t told Antonio anything when he escorted us up to my room yesterday.
The desire to slam the door was nowhere near as powerful as my curiosity. I’d go along with his game. For now. “That sounds nice, thank you.”
“This area was the kitchen, including the wood-fired stove which still remains.” Vincenzo gestured to the stone structure, rising one foot higher than the remaining outer walls. Irregular white lava stone made up the building’s remnants, while the oven was red rectangular bricks, completely level to the ground. Grass fought against the dirt where the ancient floor had once been.
The villa’s remains stood on a flat area two hundred feet wide and long, nestled against the base of the hill which Giovanni’s estate crowned. It jutted out into the water with a stone sea break protecting the edge of the building, allowing for a natural pool to form at the shore.