The Roman (The Florentine 3)

Raven pressed a hand to her forehead. “The director of the Uffizi will see this. So will Professor Urbano. I could lose my job on the next restoration project.”

William took hold of her arms. “I am not going to allow that to happen. Even now, my intelligence network is putting out disinformation. In a few days, the pendulum will swing in our direction.”

Raven leaned against the desk. “I want to continue to live in my world. My job at the Uffizi is really important to me.”

He wrapped his hand around her neck. “Understood. Just give me a few days.”

“Someone is trying to take the principality away from you. There’s the Curia on one side and whatever vampyre interloper on the other.”

He removed his hand and took a step back. “That’s true, but we have the support of the Roman. We have allies in Venice and Umbria. The tide will turn.”

She grabbed his hand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. If I’m wrong, I have already made a way for you to escape the city.”

She gripped his hand tightly. “I won’t leave without you.”

“You won’t have to.” William looked down at their hands. “I have an idea who the traitor is, and I am going to find him. I just need a little time.”

“What about the Curia?”

“The Curia doesn’t want a war with the Roman. They’ll make noises, I’m sure, but they’ll be slow to act.

“I must show the Curia and the world that Florence is firmly in my control. It will take a couple of days.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Can you give me that?”

“I’m not leaving you, William.” She leaned against him. “But if the city falls, and we need to flee, will you do it?”

“Ask me when the time comes,” he whispered, pressing her head against his chest.

Chapter Forty

THE PRINCE OF FLORENCE stood on a rooftop in the city center, biding his time.

He knew Ibarra was either still inside the city or close by, watching the aftermath of his public violence with glee. Aoibhe knew where he was, if she wasn’t with him.

With practiced ease, the Prince had tracked Aoibhe over the course of the evening, following her to an abandoned building that stood a few doors down from a church. The site wasn’t close enough to completely deter other vampyres, but it was close enough to give them pause. No doubt she’d chosen the location accordingly.

He would not be deterred.

Aoibhe was ready to feed and had led a pretty young man into an apartment on the top floor. She liked to play with her food, which was why the Prince was waiting.

He’d taken care to tamp down his wrath. Aoibhe had been an ally and had fought at his side. She’d given her blood to aid Raven’s sister. But she’d always been ambitious. She’d bedded down with Ibarra in hopes that he could help her overthrow the city.

The Prince didn’t care who she fornicated with or why. He would not forgive her treason.

When he was confident the time was ripe, he climbed down from the roof and swung his feet through the glass window, shattering it.

Cries came from a nearby bed.

Aoibhe was astride her lover, her red hair streaming down her naked back. Her head turned toward the Prince, her expression one of horror.

“What the hell?” The youth grabbed Aoibhe by the hips, attempting to move her.

Aoibhe slapped him. “Shut your mouth, if you want to live.”

She climbed off him and stood next to the bed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her hands went to her hips.

“Tread lightly, Aoibhe,” the Prince whispered. “You aren’t the offended party.”

Aoibhe lowered her arms and smiled artfully. “Your presence is always welcome, my Lord. I’m simply surprised.”

“Get dressed.” He pulled a pile of green velvet from a nearby chair and threw it at her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” her lover demanded.

“Silence your pet, or I shall.” The Prince kept his angry eyes focused on Aoibhe.

“You need to leave.” Aoibhe dismissed the man before pulling the dress over her head.

“Why doesn’t he leave?” the man pouted, rolling onto his side.

Aoibhe flew on top of the youth and took hold of his throat. She squeezed until the man fell unconscious.

Then, as if nothing untoward had occurred, she slid to the side of the bed and stood, arranging her green velvet dress to best effect.

“Pardon, my Lord.” She slipped her feet into a pair of slippers. “How can I serve you?”

The Prince’s upper lip curled in distaste. “Where is Ibarra?”

“I don’t know.” Aoibhe pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “He’s probably in Basque country.”

In a move fast as lightning, the Prince retrieved a dagger from his belt and sped past Aoibhe.

She shrieked and clutched her scalp as a sudden pain shot through her. “What are you doing?”

The Prince was already on the other side of the room. In one hand he held a large clump of red hair. In the other, he held the weapon.

He threw the curls to the floor and sheathed his dagger. “Next time, it will be your head. I repeat, where is Ibarra?”

Aoibhe touched her hair and another clump fell. The Prince had sawed the long locks that hung over her left shoulder precisely in half.

She stared down at the curls, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

“Aoibhe!” he snapped. “Where is Ibarra?”

“I don’t know.” She lifted her head slowly, as if in shock. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

“You admit you’ve seen him.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her slender, pale throat moved as she measured his reaction.

“Did you know he was going to hang a policeman at the Loggia dei Lanzi?”

Her eyes met his. “No. He wants his revenge against you, but I thought he’d be caught before this. Gregor and the security team came close to capturing him more than once.”

“He could have been caught if you’d told me where he was.”

Aoibhe scowled. “And have you execute me? I’m not suicidal.”

“Show me where you saw him.”

Her left hand went to her shorn locks. “And be executed as soon as you find him? No.”

“You betrayed me, Aoibhe.” His voice was glacial. “You

are already dead.”

“Then find Ibarra yourself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes defiant.

The Prince’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”

“Our relationship has been one large negotiation. I didn’t know Ibarra was going to kill a policeman and string him up. He’s gone mad.”

“I’m waiting.”

“You want Ibarra. I want my head. I lead you to him, you rid the city of a mad man, and I escape the sword. We both get what we want.”

“Mercy is too great a price.”

“It’s an exchange—his death for my life. I’ll agree to leave the city when he’s dead.” Aoibhe’s hand went to her hair again.

The Prince noticed the slightest tremor in her hand.

“Lead me to him.”

“I want your word.”

He growled his response, but she stood there, stubbornly.

Impatient with the delay, the Prince relented. “Very well. Lead me to Ibarra, and I won’t be the one to execute you.”

“I won’t be taken in by your sophistry. Promise me my life.”

At this, the Prince bared his teeth and snarled.

Obediently, Aoibhe lifted her skirts and stepped over the hair, heading for the door.

“You’ve given me your word,” she said in a small voice.

The Prince glared at her coldly. “How many promises to me have you kept?”

Chapter Forty-One

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Raven rose early, dressing in a pretty yellow sundress and low sandals.

William hadn’t returned after their conversation the previous day.

Over breakfast, Lucia informed her that his lordship was busy, but planned to return before sunset.

After breakfast, Raven retired to the library, where she spread out her paper and charcoal and began sketching the view above her, through the enormous, domed glass ceiling. It was a bright, sunny day, and the sky was a vibrant blue. Only the smallest wisp of cloud sailed overhead.