A grin I had no control over came to my face when I thought about Sistine going to grab the key to our vault without an argument, probably because she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of me. It was the challenge in my eyes. She’d read it.
We’d only shared a look. But we both seemed to know the truth. There was something new between us that took a breath the moment our eyes met, even if she was going to refuse to acknowledge it.
At first.
My uncle, Romeo, who was my father’s youngest brother, collected me and Marciano by our necks as we walked in a group to a door that led to the underground vaults. Venice and its underground only conjured up one image—below the surface. The entire place was a city built on wooden piles. But like all inventive cities, Venice found a way to hide what it didn’t want to be seen. Venice has a crypt, and our vaults were built in the same fashion.
My skin prickled with goosebumps and my nose flared after we stopped by the metal door and waited.
Sistine was coming up from behind me, and it was like her scent ran a tender hand down my neck before it reached my lungs. She smelled of leather and metal, which recalled her trade, but underneath it all…apple, pear, and rose with an undercurrent of citrus.
The first two scents seemed to come from her hands, the middle two from her breath, but the last two in the bouquet drifted from her hair. The smell of her seemed to dance around me, the cold watery air only intensifying the smell. I felt fucking drunk, like I might stumble behind her when she started to lead us to the vault.
ZioRomeo tightened his grip on my neck before he unleashed me. It didn’t seem to matter if I was chained or not. I was going to follow behind her. And not because I truly wanted to, but because something deep inside of me ordered me to.
The same voice that had ordered me to follow her also started whispering in my ear about how dangerous this situation could be if somehow the vault started to leak, and we became trapped underneath the city. I was a risk-taker by nature, so the sudden anxiety shocked the shit out of me.
When we arrived at the vault and Sistine couldn’t get the door to open, I knocked into the guy who was accompanying her and rammed the door with my shoulder. I winked at her, just to get a response, and she gave me what I wanted.
An eye roll.
We all filed into the vault, and Matteo already had a direction in mind: a ring that resembled the Northern Star. It had been worn by our great-grandmother, Grazia Angeli, who had been one of Italy’s most famous actresses. It was just like Matteo to know what he wanted and go after it. In comparison, I was the rebel second brother who dabbled in many things but had a hard time committing to one. I’d never truly found my way like Matteo had.
From a young age, he knew what he wanted, and for many years, my path was whichever way his went, but I’d veered off at some point and had been lost along my own way ever since.
My eyes kept flicking to Sistine, who was waiting for my brother to announce that he wanted the ring. The guy who camealong searched his notebook when Matteo asked about it. The Cappello worker said he would have to get permission for it.
As if fate was inside the building with us, my grandfather’s voice echoed in the cavernous space full of priceless diamonds and jewels glistening with the firelight. Right away, Sistine seemed to straighten even harder, even her features. I noticed that, after my grandfather gave Matteo permission to take the ring and left with Matteo to fill out the proper paperwork, she visibly relaxed, even though a lingering stiffness was still present. Very professional, especially when she was studiously avoiding making eye contact with me.
And then she was gone.
Suddenly, like I had grown strings attached to her, I followed, keeping my hands tucked into the deep pockets of my custom-made coat. Her steps were fast, though. Our vault had different passageways with signs directing how to get around, but mostly how to find the exit. I had to take a few twists and turns, and even though I hated to fucking admit it, I was taking them fast.
She’d made it into a hunt when the smell of her reached my nose.
I finally found her withZioRomeo andZiaJuliette. They were staring into a glass case with earrings—underneath the case was the history of the piece. Sistine was offering to makeZiaJuliette a custom piece in the style of the ones she was admiring, sinceZiaJuliette would only be able to borrow the earrings for an occasion, if she wanted to.
Seeing Sistine with my uncle and aunt made me take an easier breath, and even though it was chilly in the vault, the hissing torches made me feel overheated. I wiped sweat from my brow and, like Marciano had done earlier, took a spot in a darkened corner.
Sistine must have felt me close, because she turned her head some, narrowing her eyes, trying to see through the darkened areas. When her eyes passed over my spot, they stilled for a moment before she shook her head.
ZiaJuliette wanted a custom pair of the earrings—she gave Sistine the specifics. Unlike the guy who escorted us down, Sistine seemed to be memorizingZiaJuliette’s words. Sistine asked a few questions, then said she would be designing and creating the earrings herself.
Adone had mentioned how talented Sistine was. Capri only designed, but Sistine was gifted in both design and creating.
After the order was placed andZioRomeo andZiaJuliette moved along, another Cappello attendant following to take any more orders they had, Sistine didn’t move from her spot. Her back was to me, and it was like she was trying to slow her breathing. Her shoulders went up on a breath, and down slowly with the exhale. I could hear her controlling her breaths. Then she shook her fingers out and hustled away from where she was.
I followed, only a few steps behind.
We turned down another corridor and she stopped abruptly, her back still to me. It seemed like she was counting, and after a few breaths, she turned. She gasped and slapped a hand over her heart.
Her eyes narrowed into daggers again, the torchlight making the hazel color glisten, and painted her skin a red that was almost as blistering as a blush. It seemed to be creeping up her neck and heating her cheeks. Then she seemed to remember she had a job to do. She stood taller, her thin hands tightening and releasing, like she was trying to get the blood pumping in her fingers to warm the chill.
“Do you see something you like,SignorFausti?” Her voice was almost melodic, almost a breathy whisper, but for all that,she was trying to be as professional as possible. There was no denying the curt undertone.
That was a loaded fucking question, and she realized it after the words spilled out of her mouth and I raised my eyebrows at her.
She flung a hand toward a case. “Something from your family’s vault. Thejewelry.”
