Page 92 of Enduring Caine

“Her associate,” said Scarlett, whose eyes flicked to the big man and then to the table.

The man nodded and placed a hard-sided black case on the surface.

“Of course.” Giovanni approached the case as the man fell back into position behind Scarlett. Gio placed a hand on the case and extended his other toward me, a beaming smile on his face. “They’ve brought your surprise, my boy. Would you like to wait for—”

His gaze shifted to the entry into the room, and I turned to see Samantha and Vincenzo enter. She sported less of a frown than I’d hoped to see after she spent that much time with her ex. Regardless, at least that time was done.

Chapter 40

Samantha

Abeadofsweatrolled down my back. No one had grabbed Vincenzo and me since our secret rendezvous with the TPC agent in the cave, so we must have avoided detection. He’d run the tube over to his room during a momentary break in the rain, only leaving my side for ten minutes, and getting wet enough to mask that his shirt hadn’t dried fully from signaling his contact outside of the cave.

As he’d returned, he said there was a message on his phone that he was to deliver me to the reception hall. And here we were.

Antonio stood next to a slender woman with gleaming dark brown hair, wearing shoes as tall as the ones Antonio had bought me for New Year’s Eve. His posture was rigid, right hand shoved deep in his pocket. When he’d turned to look at me, the pinched expression on his face made it clear he’d hit it on something and was in pain.

Fool man.

Bella, he mouthed, a smile sliding across his face.

No matter how much stress I was under, it vanished for a heartbeat. It was the same every time Antonio looked at me in that way. My world was complete and I couldn’t help but smile, which caused his to grow.

Giovanni came to my side and slipped his arm around mine, pulling me into the room. He seemed too happy for the circumstances, with Johann’s death just last night, plus discovering he’d been working with Interpol. Given Giovanni’s history, he must have been good at hiding his intentions and emotions. “I’d like you to meet—”

The woman turned to face me and a memory flashed through my brain. It was the woman who’d sat next to me on the flight to Naples, when I’d run off to see Antonio. “Scarlett?”

Giovanni’s face fell, while Antonio’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Before I could rescue her from not remembering my name, she held out a hand. “Sam, right?”

“Right.” I scanned the room. Antonio, Giovanni, Cristian, Cesca, Leonardo, and three armed men I recognized. That meant the tall, scary-looking one and the slender, bookish one were likely with Scarlett.

Leonardo spoke up. “How do you two know each other?” His tone was accusatory, not conversational, as usual.

Before I could snap back at him, Scarlett fluttered her eyelashes. “We sat next to each other on a plane in August, when I came for our first meeting.”

She’d slept most of the flight, while I’d been too stressed to do the same, reading and re-reading the letter Antonio wrote to me after I dumped him.

Scarlet touched my arm. “We’ll have to catch up once the unveiling is finished.”

Giovanni steered me toward Antonio and placed a hand on his nephew’s back. “Go ahead. Open it.”

This was the grand moment. This black case was the reason we’d been subjected to an entire week here, rather than just the day they needed to show him the conservation studio plans. The tall man with Scarlett placed his thumb on a security pad and there was an audible click.

Antonio undid the latches and slowly lifted the lid. Every eye in the room was on the case.

Except for the man with Scarlett. He would have known what was inside, and his eyes were trained on the men with the guns. He wore a Glock at his waist. How had he gotten that past Leonardo?

Antonio sucked in a deep breath and I returned my focus to the big surprise. Inside the case, encased in a protective foam lining, was a fourteen- by ten-inch piece of limestone fresco decorated with yellow flowers. Next to it, a small terracotta pot.

My stomach flipped. My eyes met Antonio’s. Oh my god, was Giovanni telling the truth about everything? Cristian had told Antonio that Pasquale Fiori stole this fresco and pot—had Giovanni gotten them back?

Antonio breathed, “The stolen fresco. From the Casa di Marte. How?”

Giovanni’s smile was as wide as I’d ever seen from Antonio’s father. At that moment, the similarity between the two men was uncanny.

Antonio said, “I don’t understand. Did you buy this from him?”