The Immortal Greek (2 page)

“Where to?” the cabdriver asked soon after giving Ravenna a once over that lingered on her chest long enough to be creepy.

She decided to ignore the man and gave him Drako’s address, but he made it harder for her to keep on ignoring his behavior when he raised his eyebrow and smirked at her from the rearview mirror with a knowing look. Bashing the man’s head against the dashboard held great appeal, but she was weary of the paperwork associated with such an act. The women on the Immortal Council would have probably recommended her for a medal, but she had a job to carry on before the sun came up.

The only redeeming quality of having to cross Rome at this time of night was that the Raccordo Anulare, the circular highway connecting the city proper to its suburbs, was empty. And so were the internal roads that led from the Raccordo Anulare to the exclusive Coppedè neighborhood on the Tagliamento Avenue where Drako resided.

Ravenna knew where the Greek immortal lived. Everybody in the paranormal community knew. As well as many humans who knew of him as the millionaire playboy the gossip magazines adored.

The cabdriver pulled the car to a stop before one of the most prestigious addresses in Rome and whistled low. “Late-night call, ah?”

The man didn’t see it coming. Ravenna’s left elbow struck the back of his head over the steering wheel. His forehead was pushed against the horn, which in turn woke several stray cats who weren’t happy about it. He tried to say something, but Ravenna shushed him to silence, while pointing her lipstick against his right temple.

“One word and I’ll shoot you. I’m sure nobody will miss your winning personality.” She pushed the open, circular case to his skin, leaving an indentation resembling the hollow muzzle of a gun.

The man managed to open his mouth and say in a high-pitched voice, “Let me go. Free ride.”

“Of course my ride is free. Also, you never picked me up and I’ll report you to your company for negligence because you left me stranded at the airport.”

“Sounds about right.” The man was crying.

Ravenna brought her armed hand to her side before the man realized she had just left a red lipstick mark on his temple and left the cab. Smiling a satisfied smile, she opened the wrought iron gate leading inside Drako’s villa as the car left with the sound of squealing tires. She looked up at the eclectic Liberty Style house illuminated inside and out. All turrets, nooks, and colonnaded terraces, it was the late architect Coppedè’s wild dream come true. She had met the architect once and smiled at the memory. Interesting man.

The front windows were open and she could see people everywhere. Samuel hadn’t mentioned a party, but she should have assumed it given where the death had happened. She remembered Drako’s End of Summer celebration falling around this time of the year and put the two together. She had received his invite, as everyone else working for the Immortal Council had, but she hadn’t opened the ivory envelope sealed with the A and D initials in black wax. As she did every year, she had torn the invite, threw it in the garbage bin, and forgot about it.

Partygoers were standing by the entry, mulling over what had happened in that house, judging by the comments she heard while passing. A few vampires were leaving. One recognized her and said hi, but she barely acknowledged him. The main door was ajar, and the sounds of hushed voices filled the night. Once she entered the foyer, an older gentleman with a majordomo’s livery met her.

“Ravenna Del Sarto.” She handed her business card to the elegant man.

He raised one gloved hand and accepted it with a nod of his white head. “Miss Del Sarto, we were expecting you. We hope your coming at this early hour hasn’t inconvenienced you more than necessary. May I offer you anything?”

She smiled at him, knowing it was his job to be impeccably polite, but she was tired and not in the mood for pleasantries. Also, missing her flight to Singapore for what was her first vacation in years was more than an inconvenience. “I’m fine, thank you. Could you escort me to the body?”

The majordomo bowed his head and opened his arm to the right, showing her a corridor. “Please, this way.”

Ravenna automatically checked her appearance on the gilded mirrors hanging on the walls at regular intervals. She looked professional enough given the hour. Everywhere she looked the place was filled with people, and she was appalled by the women’s apparel. Youngsters and mature paranormals alike wore couture she would have associated with the oldest profession in the world. She straightened her back and moved her hair behind her shoulders by tipping her head left and right.

The majordomo led her through the whole first floor of the villa, and she noticed the vampires now leaving in throngs. She suspected it wasn’t just the incipient dawn scaring them away, but her own presence. Although both the Immortal Council and the Peace Pact had several enforcers at their beck and call, Ravenna was known as
the
Enforcer with a capital
E
. She liked it. She had worked hard to be taken seriously in a society where men still held positions of power over the women and was ready to fight for it.

“To the gardens.” The majordomo held the French doors opened for her, then resumed his slow walk among topiary lanes, green alcoves, and olive trees.

Lots of olive trees. Ravenna particularly liked olive trees. They reminded her of her parents’ Tuscan country house. She had known Drako owned one of the most coveted lots in the Coppedè neighborhood, but she hadn’t realized he had enough space for an Italian garden, what looked like a small amphitheater, and an infinity pool where the party seemed to be still in full swing judging by the crowd.

The majordomo pointed ahead toward the illuminated pool. “Master Alexander is there.”

Ravenna’s legs felt like lead. She hadn’t expected the playboy to stay behind and wait for her. She had taken for granted he was busy partying with his guests, maybe even in another location. Meanwhile, she had fallen behind and the majordomo was announcing her to his employer, who sat on the tiled floor by a covered form.

Alexander Drako raised his head and looked at her, recognition playing in his green eyes. He said something to his majordomo, then stood on his legs in a slow but gracious movement, and walked toward her. “Miss Del Sarto, I’m glad they sent you.” He extended his right hand for her to shake. The playboy wore an open, tieless, light-gray shirt under his black suit jacket.

His hand was warm when she took it, and she was taken aback by both his seriousness, so at odds with his public image, and his statement. She remembered she had been imparted the best education money could buy and shook his proffered hand. “Mister Drako.”

“The boy—” Drako gestured toward the still shape on the floor. “I don’t know how this has come to happen in my house—” He passed his suntanned hand over his blond curls.

“I’m deeply sorry
this
has ruined your big night, Mister Drako.” She moved around a suddenly stiff Drako and headed toward the corpse. She was about to bend to raise the linen covering the dead, but he preceded her.

“Let me.” He crouched and unveiled the body for her.

She stared at Drako a moment too long before lowering her eyes to the boy.

“He was so young.” She heard Drako say while her mind played a trick on her. She went back in time. Before her eyes, Tommaso, her beloved younger brother, lying dead on a floor. Tommaso too had looked peaceful in death. She blinked and was back to the present.

“Is everything all right?” Her worried host looked at her with a puzzled look on his freckled face. “I know it must be late for you and—”

She blinked again to focus back on the corpse. “Nothing to worry about, Mister Dr—”

His lips turned up in a small smile. “Alexander, please.”

“I’m here to investigate a suspicious death.
Mister Drako
.” She gave him her best frost stare.

He raised his hands in the air, then hugged himself and let her work. She would have preferred for him to leave her alone, but it was his house after all, and he was being a gracious host so far, so she tried to ignore him. She looked around and saw a marble table a few steps to the left. She laid her briefcase on it and opened it to retrieve her recorder and her gloves. After turning on her recorder, she began taking notes about the condition of the body.

“The victim is an immortal. A youngster. His facial traits date his change around the seventeen hundreds. His fair complexion and height make him Eastern European. Possibly Czech.” She crouched lower, balancing herself on her heels, and uncovered the rest of the body. “From what I can see, there are no signs of struggle. The angle of his limbs in relation to the body suggests he jumped.” She paused a moment to study the boy’s face. The resemblance with Tommaso hurt her, but she relegated the thought to a corner of her mind. She took the dead’s hand in hers, then turned it this way and that, looking for any clue that would confirm the obvious. She carefully looked under the fingernails of both his hands, then lowered his bottom lip to reveal irregular, but white teeth. Although she already knew she wouldn’t find anything there, she passed her hand through the boy’s hair. “After searching the body, no trace of Immortal Death’s potion found.” She pushed her legs up and looked at Alexander Drako, regretting she must follow procedure to the letter. “I’m done here. I’ll search the house next.”

****

Alexander watched as Ravenna Del Sarto called the Council, asking for the para ambulance to come pick up the body in haste. She hung up the phone and stared into his eyes, repeating her statement, but making it sound like an order now.

“My house is yours to command,” he hurried to say before she would become unpleasant. Without waiting for her to follow, he walked back inside. A moment later, the staccato sound of her high heels filled his ears. She had shapely legs. Long legs. Muscular legs with the kind of calves you see in women who like to run.

“We’ll start with the first floor and work our way up.”

He wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or recording her voice. He didn’t turn to find out, but led her to the living room.

She caught up with him and stopped to face him, a slight annoyance visible in the way her right eye rapidly blinked. “I need you to ask your guests to vacate the premises.”

He imagined she would talk formal in bed too. “Anything to facilitate your job,
Miss
Del Sarto.”

She let out a breath. “I appreciate your help.”

He knew she was pulling the words through her teeth, but decided to be the better man and called for Pietro, asking him to let everyone out. A moment later, the exodus started. Ophelia was among the first to take leave from him, saying she would check in the next day. He couldn’t help but notice the long stare Ophelia and Ravenna Del Sarto exchanged. Thanks to his majordomo, who handled the situation with great aplomb—as to be expected given the obscene salary he paid the man, in less than half an hour, the house was emptied, and he was left alone with the enforcer from hell. Even Pietro cowardly retired, saying to call him if anything was needed, knowing Alexander would never ask anything of him once he had retired to his apartment.

Ravenna, who had spent the time waiting for the people to leave by taking a series of phone calls, had left her briefcase on a coffee table in the foyer, then walked back to the living room. Meanwhile, Alexander had spotted the two bottles of Brunello and opened one to let it air. He welcomed her back with a crystal goblet of the red.

The enforcer raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, just an arched line framing the darkest black eyes he had ever seen, and refused his offer with a disdainful look. He brought the glass to his lips instead and drank the nectar, hoping to find the necessary strength not to kick the woman out of his house.

She seemed oblivious of his presence and began searching the living room by moving furniture, raising Persian rugs, displacing frames both on tables and walls. She was meticulous in her approach, combing the room by following a grid. Once or twice, she commandeered his help when a couch proved to be heavier than it looked or an armoire wouldn’t budge. Despite the seriousness of the situation and the implications of it, he almost hoped she would find what she was looking for right away to get rid of her.

“The first floor is clean.”

She left the message on her recorder. He noticed how she turned the watch she wore on her right wrist before adding the time. The charms attached to the bracelet made a melodious sound and she let them rattle. The small piece of jewelry gave her austere attire a much-needed cheerful tone. The pencil skirt she wore looked stiff and her white shirt had been buttoned all the way up to her throat. Alexander wondered if she let herself breathe regularly or if she was parsimonious about it. Instinctively, he loosened his already opened collar.

Without asking his permission, she headed toward the marble stairs, and didn’t stop at the landing for him, but single-mindedly opened every door she found on her way. She was in and out of several of the guestrooms before finding one that was locked.

“Nobody goes in there without my permission.” At first, anticipating she would be stubborn about entering it, he tried to think of a plausible reason to give her to stir her away from his playroom. Then one look at her, so proper and professional, and he was convinced the enforcer might benefit from some recreational activity to loosen up. She didn’t look like a woman who had much fun.

As if she had read his mind and saw all the images he had concocted, she gave him another of her icy, cold stares. “I thought you said you would collaborate in full with the investigation.”

Alexander inwardly smiled, but kept his expression neutral. “I told you nobody enters this room—”

She walked a few steps and planted herself before him, legs slightly parted, heels firmly planted on the floor, arms around her chest, chin raised, and head tilted to the side. “I can call the Council now and have this door opened by force if necessary.”

A brief image of Ravenna Del Sarto standing before him, in the exact same position, but wearing only her heels, fine black stockings, and a lace garter belt made him hope she would stay and play with him. Once more, he schooled his reaction and gave her his most annoyed stare, followed by a long, suffered sigh.