For a while, we sat together in silence, letting the night settle. The river lapped against the bank, the city humming faintly in the distance. When we rose again, the streets unfolded before us in soft golden light. Streetlamps bathed cobblestones and weathered façades in a glow that blurred time itself. Cafés spilled laughter and clinking glasses into the air. Narrow alleys opened into hidden squares where fountains trickled, and shop windows flickered with reflections like fleeting promises.
“Do you come to Rome often?” I asked, glancing at him.
“When business requires it. Rome holds many opportunities.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if he also came here for pleasure—perhaps with women.
“And you?”
I hesitated. “It’s been a while. My father lives in Rome, as you know.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Yes, though I haven’t used it much in years. My mother was Scottish, so we mostly spoke English at home.”
Damian’s smile was faint but carried a trace of pride. “Parlo anche un po’ d’italiano perché sono spesso qui,” he said casually.
“Wow. You hardly have an accent.”
“If you want to do business here, you have to master the language. It opens doors that would otherwise stay closed.”
“Mi sorprendi sempre, Damian Miller,” I murmured.
“And I can surprise you with much more,” he said, his gaze catching for a moment on an old woman passing through the alleywith a tray of colorful bracelets, humming softly to herself.
He led me through a narrow passage that opened into a secluded courtyard—a hidden restaurant framed by ivy-covered stone walls. Rustic wooden tables and lush greenery filled the space. Overhead, flowers and vines formed a canopy threaded with tiny glowing lamps. The air was warm and fragrant, wrapped in the soft murmur of conversation.
“You put the artifact in the hotel safe. Is it secure there?” I asked.
Damian set his fork down. “Not in the safe in my room. In the one downstairs. It’s safe there.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Until we finish our research. In four days, I have an appointment with an important business partner. A lot is at stake.”
“Sounds delicate,” I said, sipping my lemonade.
His expression sharpened. “These negotiations could secure long-term partnerships. He has ties to influential people in my field.”
“I see.”
“I want you with me at this dinner. He’ll bring his wife, and you can keep her company. But you’ll need something elegant. Refined. The restaurant is very exclusive.”
I poked at my food. “Damian, I don’t own clothes like that. My father would’ve bought me entire boutiques if I’d asked, but I never took his money. I’ve never had reason to go places where people dress like that.”
He leaned in slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover it. Think of it as work attire—companies do that. Rome is full of boutiques. We’ll find something perfect.”
Chapter 6 Daisy
The vast grounds of the Vatican stretched before us as Damian and I stepped through the main gate. Sunlight struck the cobblestones, sharp against their age, and the façades rose around us, carved with centuries of stories. Despite the magnificence, calm pressed in, broken only by the murmur of tourists and the frantic wings of pigeons. The air felt charged—tangible, saturated with old secrets. With every step toward the library, my pulse climbed. Memories of my last visit stirred—back then, I had entered only once, permitted by a letter from my former teacher.
Inside the foyer, stained glass scattered color across the cold mosaic floors. At the reception desk, a young man greeted us with a detached nod. Damian slid him the confirmation email granting our access. Fingers tapped quickly over keys.
“Identification, please,” he said, expression flat.
A moment later: “Welcome to theBibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana.” His voice was drained of life, mechanical.
We handed over our passports. He returned them after a cursory glance and pushed two visitor passes across the desk.
