Fire Maidens: Rome Page 4

  The biggest mafia clan in shifter history. Banished from Rome for all eternity.

  Marco’s eyebrows jumped up. He was closer to Sergio than a brother, yet they’d never discussed their families. Sometimes, Sergio wondered why he’d left the comfortable anonymity of the Foreign Legion.

  Well, the Guardians did hire you. Marco pointed out. They must trust you.

  Sergio scowled. The Guardians had only made an exception in order for him to shadow Vicente.

  Trust me? Some of them maybe, but not Remo. I swear, he’s looking for an excuse to crucify me.

  “Yes, what is your impression of Vicente?” Adriana asked a little more tactfully.

  He’s a skunk. A dirtbag. A psychopath of the worst kind.

  “I have nothing firm to go on — yet. This morning, after meeting his girlfriend—”

  Remo made a face and muttered, “That third-rate actress from America…”

  Sergio nodded, leaving out the gory details. “Earlier this week, Vicente attended a meeting with the Ecco group, a conglomeration of industrial interests. But from what I could tell, everything was on the up-and-up.”

  Gaius arched his sharp eyebrows. “From what you could tell?”

  “Yes, sir. His businesses all seem legitimate. However, I smell something rotten under the surface. But, evidence? I haven’t been able to collect one shred. That’s the problem with this new breed of criminals.”

  Remo showed his teeth. “You prefer the old breed?”

  Sergio refused to take the bait. His own family and a rival mafia clan had eliminated each other in the void left by the death of his uncle, the mob boss. Rather than a different clan stepping into that void, a new breed of young guns had gradually emerged. Businessmen, they called themselves. Most toed the line of the law — to a certain degree — but all were dirty beneath the surface.

  “No, I don’t,” Sergio replied. “But hotshots like Vicente have managed to amass such fortunes in such short periods of time, they can’t possibly be legit.”

  Ernesto, the bear shifter, raised a shaggy eyebrow. “What about that jewel you mentioned?”

  Sergio frowned. “I was hoping you would tell me.”

  The Guardians looked at one another, and Ariana finally nodded. “Allow me to explain. We recently put a spelled diamond into circulation, hoping to attract a Fire Maiden.”

  Sergio and Marco exchanged wary looks. That strategy had worked for the Guardians of Paris and London, but it had come with terrible risks. The good news was, women descended from the mighty dragon queen, Liviana, did exist, and they could enhance the ancient spells protecting their home cities. But dark forces coveted those Fire Maidens too, and Sergio had witnessed firsthand how innocent women’s lives had been put on the line.

  Ariana tilted her head this way and that. “The strategy worked elsewhere, but only time will tell whether Rome will be as lucky to attract any of Liviana’s descendants. What else can you recall about this diamond, Signore Monseratti?”

  Sergio shrugged. “All I can say is it lit up the way no ordinary gem would.”

  Dante leaned closer. “Did it shine in a pulsing pattern?”

  “No, like a starburst.”

  For a moment, Sergio was relieved, because that implied the diamond wasn’t the one the Guardians had in mind. That made one less layer of danger surrounding Lena.

  But Dante nodded knowingly, and Sergio realized the Guardian had simply been testing him.

  “That’s it,” the old dragon declared. “The Eruzzi diamond, from the treasure hoard of Augusta, a Fire Maiden descended directly from Queen Liviana.”

  Sergio closed his eyes. Not good. Not with Lena involved.

  “And you say it lit up on contact with this…Amber van Love?” Gaius crinkled his nose.

  “Yes — blindingly. But only for an instant. Then it faded.”

  Dante frowned. “That’s unusual. Perhaps her power has yet to be developed.”

  Sergio chortled. Parts of Amber were overly developed, while others were, well — lacking. Especially in the qualities a Fire Maiden needed.

  Our mate would be a good Fire Maiden, his wolf hummed.

  He was sure of that. As deeply as Lena had looked into his soul, he had stared into hers. So he knew she was honest. Caring. Capable.

  At the same time, there was so much he didn’t know about her. Things he was dying to find out. Her Italian was intermediate and heavily accented. Where was she from? What was she doing in Rome? Why had she never shifted before?

  “We must keep a close eye on that van Love woman,” Remo declared.

  Gaius frowned. “She sounds completely unsuitable as a Fire Maiden.”

  Ernesto stroked his chin. “Don’t forget — not every Fire Maiden has been a model of decorum. Remember Viola Viduzzi?”

  Everyone grimaced, and Dante muttered, “How could we forget? All those soirées, all those inappropriate liaisons…”

  Sergio frowned too. Viola Viduzzi had died long before he was born, but boy, had he heard the stories.

  Ariana sighed. “Destiny works in mysterious ways. There have been imperfect Fire Maidens in the past. There are sure to be some again.”

  One reason why Europe is in the mess it is, Sergio nearly muttered.

  Europe has been a mess for centuries, Marco sighed, reading his mind.

  “Either way, any Fire Maiden can revive the protective spell, at least to some degree. We can only wish for a Fire Maiden as worthy as those discovered in London and Paris. But even a weak Maiden would improve our current situation.”

  Remo frowned deeply. “Vicente is a dangerous man who has been quietly amassing power. Partnering with a Fire Maiden — even such a regrettable one — would propel him to a whole new category of concern for us.”

  Everyone looked glum, especially Dante. “It would be much more preferable that she mate with one of our own. My son, for example.”

  The man in question, Domenico, shrank back. Sergio caught the younger dragon’s stricken gaze wandering to the woman who’d just entered through a side door to serve drinks. One of the Council’s staff, no doubt. A poor match for a man of noble dragon blood.

  Sergio pinned Dante with a fierce glare. It wasn’t often that a hired hand contradicted a Guardian, but he had to draw the line there.

  “I agree that another match would be safer, but I will have no part in manipulating an innocent woman’s life. Love is nothing to trifle with.”

  Marco sighed. Spoken like a true wolf.

  Love is sacred, dammit, he shot back. Every wolf knew that.

  Love is a lie, Marco muttered bitterly.

  “Don’t worry, Signore Monserratti,” Adriana said with a firm glance at Dante. “We are not the lions of London. We will respect Miss van Love’s wishes — if she is guided by her heart.”

  Remo snorted. “Greed is more likely. Vicente is worth millions.”

  Sergio had to give him that.

  Ariana held up her hand. “Either way, we need to keep a close eye on this woman — and on that gem. We must ascertain whether Amber van Love is the one we seek. Signore Monserratti, you will stay close to Vicente and observe that woman of his. Keep an eye on that diamond, too.”

  Sergio was about to say Lena had taken the gem, then decided to keep that to himself.

  “And you, Mr. da Silva.” Ariana turned to Marco. “Consider your trial period started. Your primary assignment will be to fly patrols. We cannot forget the threat of the Lombardis. As time permits, you will assist Signore Monserratti with the gem. As a dragon, you are most likely to sense whether it is genuine.”

  Marco nodded. “Yes, madam.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. You are dismissed,” Ariana announced.

  Sergio backed up for the first few steps — and nearly crashed into the woman with the drinks.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, but not before Domenico growled under his breath.

  Marco rolled his eyes. Another fool falls for the fiction called love.

 
; Sergio turned toward the door, picturing Lena. Love was no fiction. She was his destined mate. The question was, what should he do next?

  Chapter Four

  Sergio ran a hand through his hair as he paced along the cobblestoned street in Trastevere — one of those narrow, crooked lanes along a trapezoidal block of centuries-old buildings. A few blocks away, restaurants lured in their first dinner guests with the scent of garlic simmering in olive oil. A fifteen-minute walk beyond was his home — a cottage behind one of the villas high on Gianicolo Hill. So what the hell was he doing, tracking Lena here?

  Just following orders, his wolf hummed innocently. You know, keeping an eye on the diamond.

  He looked up at the ramshackle, four-story building. Orders hadn’t made him follow Lena’s jasmine and oleander scent through half of Rome — a feat he couldn’t quite believe he’d pulled off. Tracking a person down a few streets was one thing, but tracking her through metropolitan Rome hours after they’d parted?

  Just goes to prove she’s our mate, his wolf said smugly.

  He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up. Yes, it did, but that was the problem. Men in his family were born to attract trouble — the kind that got their loved ones killed, no matter how extensive the measures taken to protect them.

  He spun on his heel, ready to leave. But when he reached the corner, he turned back.

  We have to warn her, his wolf insisted. To help her. To see her again.

  Warning and helping were all well and good. But the overwhelming urge to see Lena spelled trouble.

  Just then, a hunched old widow with a cane and a yappy chihuahua came around the corner.

  Bad, bad, bad, bad, that ridiculously undersized dog screeched.

  Sergio scowled. Good and bad were pretty much the only words in a chihuahua’s canine vocabulary, just like fun and yippee were the only concepts a golden retriever could grasp. If in doubt, chihuahuas usually erred on the side of caution and went with bad, because good was reserved for a few near-holy things in the little buggers’ lives, such as the old ladies who liked them for reasons no one could understand.

  Stai zitto, Sergio muttered into the little beast’s feeble mind. Shut up.

  Most dogs stuck their tails between their legs at a wolf shifter’s orders, but the stupid little thing went right on yapping.

  “You there,” the widow called, looking like a thundercloud in her head-to-toe, black-on-black clothing. “What are you doing here?”

  Sergio sighed. Why was everyone always suspicious of him?

  He stuck up his hands, doing his best to hit a friendly tone. “I was looking for Lena.”

  “Well, look somewhere else,” the old lady snapped just as fearlessly as her dog.

  Sergio sighed. If only he’d been born with Marco’s charm.

  “It’s just that…” He stalled, trying to find a way to say, My mate could be in danger, and I have to protect her.

  “Vai via!” Scram. The old lady advanced on him, waving her cane, while her dog bared its teeth.

  Sergio was tempted to reveal his wolf fangs and show the chihuahua who was boss. But a familiar scent wafted by his nose, and a moment later, Lena came around the corner. Sergio went still, barely breathing. He just stood there, soaking in his mate. The setting sun didn’t make it into that narrow chasm of the lane, but the tips of her hair shone a brilliant gold, while her eyes were a forest of mossy green.

  Mate, his wolf hummed.

  Lena’s step hitched, and she stared.

  “Signorina Castamolino,” the old lady snipped in Italian. “This man claims to be your friend.”

  Lena’s eyes narrowed as she faced him and switched to English. “A friend, huh?”

  Her words were a challenge. A New York challenge, if he placed her accent correctly.

  Sergio had never been tongue-tied around women, but Lena short-circuited all his mental wiring. All he could do was plead with his eyes. I swear, I’m not some kind of creep. I just have to talk to you.

  “I don’t approve of young men visiting my renters,” the old woman chastised in rapid-fire Italian.

  “Solo cinque minuti,” Sergio promised. Just five minutes. “We have to talk.”

  Lena’s eyes flicked between them as she considered. Then she took a deep breath and turned to her landlady. “Per favore, Signora Donatelli.”

  Without waiting for her landlady’s Hmpf of a reply, Lena led him into the building and up a creaky staircase that wound around in a zigzagging square.

  “What are you doing here?” Lena whispered as they passed the third-floor landing.

  Sergio glanced down to the ground floor, where Signora Donatelli stood, watching his every move.

  He kept his voice low. “I came to warn you. Vicente is bad news.”

  Lena snorted. “No kidding.”

  “I mean, really bad news. Dangerous.”

  “Yes, I gathered. Mafia-style danger, am I right?”

  Sergio froze at the reference, then tugged at his collar. “I suppose you could say that.”

  At the top floor, she kicked aside a pair of boots and fit her key into the apartment door.

  Sergio looked down. Those were hiking boots, and they were dirty — a good sign, or so he hoped. Did Lena enjoy long walks as much as he did? The Foreign Legion was big on long marches, and Sergio had been the only soldier who’d never complained. When Lena hiked, did she tilt her face toward the sun and soak in the fresh air, the way he did?

  His wolf wagged its tail, and a thousand fantasies rushed through his mind. He could take her walking. Exploring. Wandering to their hearts’ content…

  But he had to win her trust first. Which would take work, given how nervously she fumbled with her key.

  Finally, Lena slotted it into the door, then hesitated.

  “Look, I appreciate you coming and all…”

  He shook his head. “It’s not only that. There’s the other night, too. You need help.”

  I do not need help, her eyes blazed, but a split second later, her shoulders drooped and she crossed her arms, unconsciously giving herself a hug. Yeah, she knew what he meant. Shifting. Or semi-shifting in her case. What exactly was her story?

  Four stories below, the handrail creaked as her landlady leaned out for a better look. Lena wavered, then finally motioned Sergio into her apartment. It was a cramped, one-room place, with peeling paint, a tiny kitchen niche, and water stains down one corner. Still, golden light streamed in through double glass doors, and outside, the narrow ledge of a balcony overflowed with plants. All in all, the apartment toed a thin line between bohemian charm and run-down tenement.

  Lena went to the balcony door and gazed over the terra-cotta roofs. “The other night, you changed into a wolf.”

  “Shifted. You shifted too. Well, almost. It seemed to me you were…new to it.”

  Lena burst out laughing, though there was no humor in the sound. “You could say that.”

  “It’s never happened before?”

  She shook her head, eyes still semi-focused on the view. “Never. Well, not before I came to Rome.”

  He frowned, wondering what had set it off. Most shifters experienced their first change in puberty. Lena was in her late twenties or early thirties. Why had it happened to Lena so late?

  “Your parents didn’t prepare you?”

  She snorted. “My mother has no clue.”

  “What about your father?”

  The set of her eyes hardened. “I never met him. He wasn’t interested in a family.”

  Sergio frowned. Most shifters were deeply committed to their mates and offspring. What kind of lowlife had the man been to abandon his own daughter?

  “Anyway,” she said a little too breezily. “He’s never been part of my life.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  She shrugged. “Enough.”

  “Maybe not enough.”

  Her soft features folded into a deep frown. “According to my mother, he was a rich jerk who led he
r on. When he first found out she was pregnant, he seemed okay with it. But when he found out the baby — me — was a daughter, he paid my mother to disappear. Paid her, like a call girl or something.” Her tone was bitter — an echo of her mother’s, no doubt. “Obviously, a daughter wasn’t good enough for him.”

  Sergio frowned. Female dragons were so rare, the majority of male dragons mated with humans or shifters of a different species, and they always rejoiced at the birth of a daughter.

  Lena sighed. “He died not long after my mother left Italy. Before I was born, in fact. And we did just fine without him.”

  That last part sounded a little forced, but Sergio moved on to a different clue.

  “Your mother is from Italy?”

  Lena nodded, looking out the window. “From Rome. But when she got pregnant, she moved to New York, where her sister lived.” Another sigh. “My mom was so ready for a new start, she didn’t even speak Italian to me. Only a few words, and mostly when she got mad.” Lena’s lips curled in a sentimental smile. “I only started learning in college.”

  “And you only started shifting now,” Sergio murmured, more to himself than to her.

  “Only since I moved here. For years, I felt like Rome was calling to me. Now…” Lena gulped, then gave herself a determined shake and stood taller. “Anyway, I can manage.”

  There it was again — that tough/not-so-tough exterior. That painfully thin layer barely concealing a cry for help. But where should he start?

  Gently, his wolf murmured.

  “Well, you did the right thing, staying out of sight,” he offered. “You can’t let anyone see. No humans, anyway.”

  Her eyes dropped to her hands, and a pained expression came over her face.

  He nearly continued with something like, Why the hell did you fight it so much? But that wouldn’t help. Instead, he went with, “The thing is to shift quickly.”

  She scowled. “Or not to shift at all.”

  That had never occurred to him. To never have the freedom to let his second soul out? To deny himself the chance to howl and trot around on four feet?

  “It won’t work,” he warned. “Like trying not to sleep. Sooner or later, shifting will just happen. The trick is to control it.”