Pleasure’s Fury: Masters’ Admiralty, book 3 Read online

  “I’m…sure you are.” Karl was having a hard time imagining Josephine, with her glasses and wild hair, in a fight. “But I actually called because I need some information.”

  “Information?” Her voice perked up. “That’s the kind of help I’m best at.”

  “I was wondering if you’ve heard how close they are to catching Ciril, that’s the man who—”

  Karl had a whole story prepared—he planned to lie through his teeth and say he was asking her because he didn’t want to distract the investigators. If that hadn’t worked, he’d planned to say that he was asking her because he was nervous about going back to work until he was caught, but didn’t want to say as much. That second one wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “Ciril Novak. Serbian national. Previously holed up in Koprivnica, Croatia. They’ve tracked him as far as Bucharest. He took a large amount of cash out of a small private bank there, and since then, he has disappeared. Because he’s using cash, they’re having trouble tracking him.”

  Karl’s stomach sank. “They have no idea where he is?”

  “They think he’s still in Romania. Eric had Interpol flag his passport, and they’re running facial recognition at the border checks.”

  “There are ways across a border without checks.”

  “Yep, but Hungary and Ottoman have security officers and knights on the lookout. Actually, they have knights from all over in Romania. A whole task force. They’re watching for traffic in the Black Sea too.”

  Karl pulled up a mental map of Europe. Romania was part of two different Masters’ Admiralty territories. The part that bordered the Black Sea belonged to the Ottoman territory, while the rest was in Hungary. The border ran right through the middle of Bucharest.

  “Since we now have a name, James is trying to track down how Ciril got the coins. Someone from the Louvre is checking on the art, though they weren’t significant pieces.”

  “Have they found anything?”

  “Well…I mean we know he’s a bad guy. He’s bad.” Josephine cleared her throat and hummed awkwardly.

  Karl turned away from the view and ducked back inside, taking the stairs down to his room and dropping to sit in the small chair by the desk with his borrowed computer on it. “Josephine? What’s going on?”

  “It’s just that…well, none of us, none of the librarians, think he did it.”

  “You think he didn’t…kidnap me?” Karl wondered if they were having a translation issue. His English was excellent, but she was Irish and he wasn’t actually sure what she spoke was one-hundred percent English.

  “No, no, we know he did that. It’s just that we can’t find anything to connect Ciril with the art or the coins. I know they’re saying he might have help, if he’s the Domino, but it doesn’t look like he ever met the sniper, or Manon, or any of the other bad guys.”

  “Maybe he has an alias. Maybe Ciril is the alias.”

  “That’s what the knights who are investigating are saying.”

  There was more, he could tell from the uncharacteristic brevity. “What else?”

  “Nyx says… Nyx says that she doesn’t think he’s the Domino.”

  “I came to the same conclusion. As difficult as that is.”

  “Eric says if they identify one more bad guy who isn’t the Domino, but is still a bad guy, he’s going to lose it.”

  Karl rubbed his forehead as he thought. “Whatever is going on, it’s not the Domino—I mean, not as we know it. In the past, the Domino was two people, a master and an apprentice, who either carried out small-scale attacks on the Masters’ Admiralty or tried to expose us. This is…this is an attempted genocide.”

  “That’s exactly what we were saying.” Josephine sounded excited, like this was some great mystery they got to unravel. “But there’s more.”

  “What else?”

  “Ciril isn’t the Domino. We’re sure he’s not. And Nyx says that Ciril doesn’t match the profile of someone the Domino would take as an apprentice.”

  “We know he’s not the apprentice, but one of many, apparently.”

  “No, Nyx thinks that Ciril isn’t an apprentice at all.”

  Karl had to think about that. “She thinks the Domino is using him, that Ciril might not know about the history of the Domino?”

  “Yes. We got copies of the notes from your debriefing. It said none of you thought he knew anything about the Masters’ Admiralty.”

  “That’s right…and that fits.” The puzzle pieces changed shape, reforming and starting to slot together. “Josephine, can you get me everything they’ve found out about Ciril?”

  “We’re trying, but the knights have locked down the information. Even James can’t get it, and he’s married to an admiral. I thought once you were married, you got to use sex to get what you wanted. I’m actually a little worried about that. I like sex. I’d do a lot of things for the sake of good sex.”

  “That is…some very personal information.” Karl cleared his throat. “Please, if you find anything, hear anything, call me back.”

  “I’ll try, but I think if you want the information, you need to find a knight. Maybe have sex with them in exchange for information.”

  “That is certainly one option. Thank you, Josephine.”

  Karl ended the call and dropped the phone onto his desk. Ciril was being used by the Domino—that made sense in one way, but raised new questions at the same time.

  Karl jumped to his feet and went out into the hall, crossing to Leila’s room and knocking.

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door and stuck his head in. Leila was curled up on the bed, looking down at her cell phone with a frown.

  “Do you know any of the knights from your territory?” he asked. “Any territory, actually?”

  “Know them? Yes.”

  “I mean, do you know them well? Are you friends?”

  Karl felt rather than heard someone come up behind him.

  He shoved Leila’s door open and stepped in, whirling to face the door. It had been instinctive—he didn’t want anyone at his back. He needed to know, to see, what was coming.

  Antonio held up his hands, palms out. “Just me.”

  “Karl, are you okay?” Leila slipped off the bed and came to his side.

  Antonio looked at each of them in turn. “I heard you asking about a knight.”

  His racing heart calmed after a few breaths. “Yes, I thought Leila might know someone. If she didn’t, I was coming to you next.”

  Antonio folded his arms. “We were all doing the same thing.” In his typical way, Antonio had made it a statement instead of a question.

  “What do you mean?” Leila asked.

  “A better question is, what were you doing, Antonio?” Karl clarified.

  “I called for an update on the case. I want to know where Ciril is, and how close they are to catching him. It’s been weeks.”

  Leila glanced at Karl. She nodded. “That’s what I was doing too.”

  “Same,” Karl said.

  “I didn’t get anything,” Antonio declared. “There’s a knights’ task force, and they’ve locked down all information.”

  “That’s what I was told.” Leila held up her phone.

  Karl sighed. “I only found out a bit more—where they last saw him and a few other bits—but yes, that’s why I was asking about a knight.”

  Antonio shook his head. “You shouldn’t be the one to get the most information.”

  Karl wanted to tell him about the librarians, but refrained. They’d been sworn to secrecy, and though he trusted these two with his life, he wouldn’t betray the identity of the other librarians.

  “Pack,” Antonio said.

  “We’re leaving?” Leila shook her head. “I don’t think we should go to our homes until—”

  “We’re staying together. I’m taking you to Rome.”

  “Why?” Karl asked.

  “We need a knight. We need information. It just so happens that I know where to find som
e.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re going to Villa Degli Dei.”

  “Villa of the gods?” Karl’s Italian was good enough to translate that much.

  “Yes. My father’s house. If we need information, we’ll find it there.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was a long drive from Venice to the villa, made longer by the fact that they hit traffic when they neared Rome. Though the E35 didn’t go right through the city, it came close enough to have Antonio swearing at the other drivers.

  Some idiot in a Fiat was cutting through traffic, which was annoying because that’s what Antonio had been doing, but with greater skill. He cursed at the driver, smacking one hand on the dashboard.

  “If you want to get him to talk, all you have to do is put him behind a slower driver,” Karl remarked from the backseat.

  “It’s like when you see Italian people in movies.” Leila’s tone was teasing.

  Antonio grunted in acknowledgement as he zipped between two cars. There was plenty of space, but Leila yelped and grabbed the door handle.

  In another hour they were past the junction where E821, the main road headed south out of Rome, joined up with the E45, and consequently past the worst of the traffic. Antonio settled back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other elbow resting on the lip of the door.

  “I’ve never been to this part of Italy before.” Karl was sitting up, looking out the window on the driver’s side. Here, the countryside rolled in the classic Italian landscape—hills and Cyprus trees. Oaks that were hundreds of years old with branches that angled and bent under the weight of age and the limbs above. There were a few grapes, of course, but small vineyards, not the huge ones that produced grapes for commercial use in wine.

  “These used to be, generations ago, country homes. Farms, some of them,” Antonio said. “Sheep, cows. Cheeses.”

  The deceptively simple-looking country homes were worth more than most people made in a lifetime. Even more expensive were the occasional villas that could be glimpsed amid the trees or fields of grapes. On the rare occasion these homes were sold, they were purchased by the rich and famous. The location was close enough to Rome to be convenient for travel, but allowed residents to pretend they were living a simple country life.

  “What are they now?”

  “Second homes for the wealthy. Primary residences for a few.”

  “Including your family?”

  Antonio glanced at Leila, then back at the road. “Yes.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d asked him about his home, his father, and what they could expect. He’d done his best to answer her questions.

  Actually, that was a lie. He’d done his best to answer her questions as briefly as possible. His relationship with his father was complicated to say the least. He wished he could say that there was a clear line between Giovanni Starabba as father versus admiral, but there wasn’t. It meant going home was, for Antonio, complicated at best and painful at worst.

  “If we’re going here to learn more about what’s going on, you need to help us understand what kind of situation we can expect.” There was gentle reproof in Karl’s voice.

  Antonio turned off the road onto a sloped drive that climbed a low hill. The driveway was narrow, with mature trees pressed in close to the sides. The trees hid the house from view, and Antonio watched as Leila and Karl both craned their necks to see their destination.

  The tree line ended and the Villa Degli Dei came into view. It was a grand villa—multiple stories, several wings, and arched windows and doors. The entire structure was made of warm yellow travertine and brown-veined marble. The drive was circular, with a marble statue in the center. The original statue was now in a museum.

  He pulled around the curve of the drive and parked. There were garages and stables around back. If he’d followed a second driveway that skirted the house, he could have gone to park back there, but he’d feel more comfortable with easy access to the car.

  They climbed out, and Antonio left their small bags in the car. After their hospital stay, he’d secured a few outfits, computers, and replacement phones for Leila and Karl. They hadn’t needed much more than that when they’d been in Venice.

  Soon they’d go home, back to Germany and Sweden, back to their lives.

  The thought of them leaving made his stomach hurt.

  Karl was looking at the statue of Apollo that held court in the island in the middle of the driveway. “It’s not original, but it doesn’t seem to be a replica.”

  Leila stepped up next to Karl, and, as was their habit, he put his arm around her. There were times Antonio felt left out, which was idiocy. They were close because of what they’d gone through together.

  Leila held out the hand not pressed against Karl’s side.

  The jealousy faded away, leaving relief and no small amount of chagrin. This was another habit—she’d reach for him, pull him in and keep them connected.

  “How can you tell?” Leila asked Karl.

  “Usually the replicas are exact—now they use computer scanners and machines to make digital blueprints and molds.”

  “The principessa sculpted this one. The one that was here when we were growing up was original. She demanded my father put it in a museum. He agreed, but only if she created a replica to put in its place.”

  “You mean your sister? I didn’t know she was a sculptor. I thought she worked with Interpol on art crimes?” Karl asked.

  Antonio squeezed Leila’s fingers, then released her. “She worked for the Carabinieri Department for the Protection of Cultural Heritage, and was part of an Interpol group, yes. She learned to sculpt in order to make this.”

  “Impressive,” Leila said.

  Karl was frowning. “Why not just buy a replica?”

  “The admiral of Rome does not own anything that isn’t original or one of a kind.”

  “And that meant your sister had to learn to sculpt marble to get your father to agree to put a priceless antique into a museum?” Karl sounded both impressed and appalled.

  Antonio nodded. Karl, perhaps, was starting to appreciate the Machiavellian nature of the admiral of Rome.

  Karl shook his head in apparent disbelief and released Leila. Together they turned to look at the villa.

  “If your sister is the princess, does that make you the prince?” Leila asked.

  “No. I was never the prince.”

  “You’d make a good prince,” Karl said.

  “One of those dark and brooding princes, not the one on a white steed,” Leila added.

  Antonio snorted out a laugh and led them to the entrance. With them at his side, he wasn’t dreading this quite so much as he had a moment ago.

  Before they reached the door, it opened.

  Saverio stood in the center of the doorway, his sword in hand. His gaze skimmed Antonio, then fixed on Leila and Karl. He raised a phone and snapped a picture of each of them.

  “Facial recognition?” Antonio asked in Italian. “That’s not your style, Saverio.”

  “They shouldn’t be here, Antonio. They should be in Venice, or maybe a hotel in Rome.”

  “It’s my job to keep them safe. Are you suggesting the Villa Degli Dei is not safe?”

  Saverio didn’t rise to the bait. As one of the knights of Rome, and one of his father’s regular guards, Saverio practically lived here. To say it wasn’t safe was an insult to him.

  His phone pinged, and Saverio looked at it. “Their identities are confirmed. I’ll give you one more chance to turn around and leave.”

  Antonio crossed his arms. “And why would I do that?”

  The cavaliere grinned. “The ammiraglio is looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Merda.” His father was looking forward to seeing him? The admiral of Rome was brilliant, calculating, and viewed his children as assets at best and pawns at worst. If he was “looking forward” to seeing Antonio, that meant he was most definitely up to something.

  He seriously co
nsidered grabbing Karl and Leila and making a run for it, but he wasn’t a coward. He would deal with his father. What was important was getting information on the investigation.

  “We need to be here,” Antonio declared.

  Saverio inclined his head, and then stepped back out of the doorway. “Welcome home, and welcome to you, Leila Virtanen of Kalmar and Karl Klimek of Germany.”

  Antonio beckoned for Leila to proceed him. He expected her and Karl to roll their eyes at the knight’s formality, but they were both silent as they stepped in. If they’d found the place in Venice grand, then this might be overwhelming.

  The door opened into a large central chamber. It was the heart of the villa, with each wing branching out from here. The ceiling was a full three stories above, and that, combined with the murals painted on the ceiling, gave it an almost cathedral-like feel. Windows in the back wall let in the last rays of sunlight, the beams bouncing off the polished marble floor and helping illuminate the massive paintings that hung on the walls. Some were pieces of classical art, others were formal portraits of his ancestors.

  “You grew up here?” Leila whispered.

  Karl wandered over to look at the small plaque beside one of the paintings. Everything was hung and labeled to museum standards.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re…really, really rich.”

  Antonio shrugged, then noticed the shock on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I guess I just…I mean…” She raised her hands, palms up. “I didn’t really realize.”

  “I’ll get someone to escort you to your rooms,” Saverio said.

  “No,” Antonio said. “I’ll take them.”

  He put a hand on Leila’s shoulder and tapped Karl as they passed him. An archway led them into the less-used wing of the house where guest accommodations were kept ready. He slept there, though he had a room in the other wing, in the family quarters. He primarily used it for storage of excess weapons he didn’t want in his apartment and to store the formal attire he had to wear to the various parties and functions hosted here through the year.

  He had one foot on the stairs when someone called out, “Mio figlio.”

  “Wait for me on the landing,” he said quietly to Leila and Karl.