The Raven (The Florentine #1)(46)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

She was relieved to learn that Bruno was still alive. She was told he was in an induced coma at the hospital while the doctors waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. It was too early to tell if he would survive.

At this news, Raven cried. She shed her tears in the shower, where no one could hear.

Lucia had stationed herself in the bedroom while Raven used the bathroom, as if she were standing guard.

Raven scrubbed her hair and body with a finely milled Florentine soap that smelled of lemon. She’d found the soap in a decorative box on top of the vanity and recognized the scent as being that of the intruder. Since it was the only soap on offer, she couldn’t be bothered to care that it was his.

After drying her hair and changing into the silk nightgown and plush bathrobe, she dutifully drank mint leaves steeped in hot water and choked down dry toast and a couple of aspirin.

She feigned exhaustion and declared to Lucia she was going to bed. Thankfully, the housekeeper departed, bidding her good night.

Raven was sure to lock the bedroom door from the inside.

At four o’clock in the morning, she padded over to the closet. Divesting herself of the nightgown, she pulled on a green wrap dress that was exactly her size. She bent to reach for a pair of black ballet flats and stopped cold.

Sitting on the closet floor, next to several pairs of shoes and boots that looked to be of her size, were her own sneakers. She picked one up, inspecting it. They were the black Adidas sneakers she wore almost every day and had been unable to find since Gina’s party.

Why would the intruder steal my sneakers?

Raven lifted the other shoe, turning it over in her hand. A couple of rust-colored spots decorated the toe.

A sick feeling came over her as she wondered whose blood was on her shoes.

She shoved the sneakers in her knapsack and slid on the ballet flats. She’d worry about the blood spatter later.

She pulled her knapsack onto her uninjured shoulder and crept down the dark hallway to the stairs.

Her plan was to escape the estate as quickly and quietly as possible. She’d walk down the hill to the Arno, even if it took hours. Then she’d go to one of the hotels, borrow a phone, and call the police.

There wasn’t a telephone in her room. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in the house.

No doubt Ispettor Batelli would be glad she’d located William York and that she’d seen his vast and secret art collection.

No, she hadn’t seen the illustrations, but, given his other treasures, it was possible he had them. It was also possible other works in his collection were stolen. Surely this was enough information to place the police’s suspicion where it belonged—on the shoulders of Lord William York.

She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound. The foyer, like the hallway above, was bathed in darkness, although lights at the front of the villa shone in through the glass of the front door.

As she reached the first floor, she noticed that the doors that led to the more extensive part of William’s collection were open.

Curiosity tempted her. If she could see the stolen Botticelli illustrations with her own eyes, it would make her testimony much more valuable.

She padded lightly to the entrance.

The room was pitch-black.

She placed a hand on the door frame and leaned inside, willing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.

“Psyche awakes.” A low voice spoke to her from inside the room.

She startled, jumping back.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to try to make your escape.” The intruder continued speaking Italian.

Raven turned, intending to run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She paused. For the moment, at least, her arm and leg were only aching. But she knew she couldn’t evade him on foot.

The realization discouraged her.

“I’m already furious with you,” the voice announced. “Don’t anger me further. Come inside. Now.”

“Why should you be furious? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.” Raven clutched her knapsack more tightly.

“You’re the one who’s been rescued. You’d have been charged with attempted murder and be rotting in a jail cell by now if I hadn’t dragged you from the scene of the crime. I should add that the police station is only a short ride away, if you’d prefer their company.”

Raven huffed. She didn’t want to deal with the police. It seemed an audience with the intruder was her only option at the moment.

She lifted her chin and walked through the doorway.

The room gave the impression of being large, but she couldn’t see for sure. Like the foyer, it was bathed in darkness.

The intruder had the advantage of being able to see in the dark.

She took another hesitant step forward and stopped. “So you’re William York?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner is that?”

“It’s a name I use, in certain circles. But York is where I’m from, not my surname.”

“Then what’s your name?”

“Do you really wish to waste time on such inconsequential questions?” He sounded impatient.

“The questions aren’t inconsequential to me.” She lifted her knapsack higher on her shoulder. “I want to go home, please. Will you call a taxi?”

He laughed and it was not a happy sound.

“Do you think I went to all this trouble only to send you home in a taxi? Hardly.”

Raven felt her heartbeat quicken. “The policemen investigating the Uffizi robbery are already looking for you. If you let me go, kidnapping won’t be added to the charges.”

“Kidnapping is the least of my worries. And the least of yours.”

Raven tensed. “You brought me here. You must have been planning to reveal yourself. Why won’t you show me your face?”

“Oh, Psyche.

“‘Fortune doth menace unto thee imminent danger,

wherof I wish thee greatly to beware. . . . thou shalt

purchase to mee great sorrow, and to thyself utter

destruction. . . . Beware that ye covet not . . . to see the

shape of my person, lest by your curiosity you deprive

your selfe of so great and worthy estate.’”

“You’re quoting Apuleius?” She sounded incredulous.

“It seemed appropriate. Psyche wasn’t satisfied with what she had and she wouldn’t do what she was told.”

Raven straightened her spine. “I’m not a dog to be told to sit or stay.”

“Obviously,” he said dryly.