The Immortal Greek (4 page)

****

Alexander saw the tension in the taut lines of her face and the way her hand had become rigid in his before she had dropped it as if it were made of lava. For a moment, she had transformed into a woman before his eyes; the next moment, the recorder was out and the enforcer had come back with it.

“Now?” He felt deflated. The punch he had driven through the wall, leaving an indent on the bricks beneath the stucco, had only scratched his fist and done nothing to release his tension. All the innuendos, the constant effort to tease her had affected him. At first, he had needed the diversion to forget about the boy lying dead outside. Then he had seen a challenge in her icy demeanor, only to be intrigued by how easy she was to read. Now, crude reality had interrupted his game of cat and mouse, reminding him of the senseless death that had occurred in his own house.

She took a few steps into the hallway before turning and giving him her coldest stare yet. “Alexander Drako, you are the primary suspect in the case of John Doe’s suicidal death due to Immortal Death’s consumption. You might refuse to collaborate, in which case I suggest you to call your lawyer—”

He waved his hand in the air, suddenly too tired to keep sparring with her. “Did you drive here or did you take a cab?” When she took a moment to answer, he passed her on his way to the garage. “If you don’t have a ride, feel free to come with me.” He didn’t wait for her to make up her mind and strode to the stairway, then crossed the living room, and passed through the industrial kitchen where he often cooked. Finally, he took the small corridor leading to a set of stairs that ended with the garage on the first level and the food cellars on the second. He was already entering his Mercedes convertible when the clicking of her heels echoed in the cavernous space where he stored his city cars.

“I can’t let you out of my sight.” Her onyx eyes sparkled with anger as she approached him and handed him her briefcase.

Any other time, he would have told her he wouldn’t want it any other way and possibly with the lights on. He would have gone as far as to suggest several positions she could still have him in sight while tied to his bed, whispering in her ears how it would please him to see her displayed. She naked and he completely dressed. He knew she would be outraged because she had actually considered it, if only for a moment before feeling deeply ashamed of her desires. And when he would walk past her and touch her arm by mistake, she would find it difficult to repress a moan and would call a cab, professionalism and rules be damned.

Instead, he rounded the car to come stand by the passenger’s door, which he opened for her. “Please.” He gave her time to arrange herself inside the small car, noticing how she pulled her legs together by the side, her thighs closed, her ankles united. Her black hair slid along the front of her shirt, and she put it back behind her shoulder, revealing a white pearl earring on her round lobe. Instinctively, he knew those earrings were hers, whereas the bracelet was a gift. She was a pearl woman, not a diamond one. He liked that thought. All his liaisons had ended with a diamond token—back when it was customary to dismiss one’s mistresses with a gift. Only two women had received pearls from him.

Her sharp intake of breath was followed by, “We should go.”

He realized he had been staring at her ear longer than required, longer than she needed to know he had been looking at her. He walked to the back, popped open the trunk where he stored her briefcase, then went to the driver’s side. Once inside, he was enveloped in her scent and immediately pushed the button to lower the canopy, then thought of asking if she was okay with it.

Without saying a word, she nodded, then looked at the opposite side. He commanded the garage door open, then waited for it to roll up to the ceiling, and thought it was taking much longer than usual. He hit the gas and let the open convertible out of the house and into the street, barely missing an incoming car.

The enforcer didn’t comment on his driving skills and he didn’t say anything. The whole ride was an awkward affair of half-said sentences on her end and recklessly pushing the Mercedes to its limits on his. One moment he wanted to strangle her, the next he wanted to kiss her so much it left him aching. He hated her, then lusted after her in the span of two blinks. He thought of himself as a rational man, motivated by the simplest of drives, adoring women topmost on his list. Yet, after a few hours in Ravenna Del Sarto’s presence, he had already acted beastly on several occasions. He always flirted with women, no matter their age, and he was always pleasant, but he hadn’t flirted with her, and he had been anything but pleasant to her. While racing through the still deserted streets of the historic center of Rome, his thoughts went back to the visit to his playroom. He had taken great pleasure in cornering her. He knew he should have been ashamed of what he had done. He had never used his charm that way before. The human women he invited to play with him were not only willing, but oftentimes begged for his special attentions.

“This is the third red light you’ve ignored.” The enforcer primly sat on the red leather seat, on her face a disdainful look all for him.

He imagined her bottom up on his knees. This time, she was wearing a thong with a little bow at its center. “I thought you were in a hurry to finish your duty.” He pushed the accelerator, flattening her athletic body against the seat. His eyes lingered on the safety belt strapped across her chest, and his hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. Physical discomfort took hold and his mood darkened. He went back to the previous vignette, adding fluffy white handcuffs to her united wrists resting over the hollow of her back. She had dimples. His mood lightened, his discomfort grew. “I’ll pay any fine that comes my way. Relax.”

“It’s not that easy since I’m the one dealing with the bureaucracy of covering your back when you do anything that put paranormals into the spotlight.” She passed her right hand over her skirt, then brought it up to comb her hair. A useless gesture while riding in a convertible. “I hate paperwork and having to call the special squad to cover our traces in the human world.”

He fought the urge to uncover her pearl earring by easing her hair behind her left ear. When the charms in her bracelet rattled, he almost asked her to throw it out of the car. The image of Ravenna—in his fantasy he had already dispensed the formalities—sitting now by him, her body completely naked against the red leather seat, wearing a long strand of pearls around her throat and trailing down her breasts made him jump the fourth red light and put them on a collision course with a car crossing the intersection. He was partial to pearls.

Alexander swerved, narrowly missing the oncoming car, then, after raising his hand in apology, he brought the Mercedes back on course and drove the rest of the way to Castel Sant’ Angelo taking care to focus on the road. Dressing her back in his mind helped.

Once he parked in the underground garage reserved to the paranormal community, he exited the car, walked to the passenger door, and opened it for Ravenna.

She raised one eyebrow and refused his proffered hand. “Are we done with the macho trip?”

He sighed and lowered his hand. “I sincerely apologize.” He waited for her to acknowledge his act of contrition, but she looked at him, her mouth open, and a bewildered expression painted on her face.

She blinked, then shook her head, and exited the car by herself.

He opened the trunk to retrieve her briefcase and handed it to her, being careful to avoid touching her. “This is a waste of our time. Samuel will tell you I’d never be involved in anything concerning the Immortal Death.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You said we were going to talk to the Paranormal Community Liaison…”

She pinched the skin between her eyes. “You and the fallen angel are friends.”

“Yes, we are. Why do you seem upset about it?” He didn’t bother securing his car. That garage was the safest place to park a vehicle. When, once every few years, he had his car collection driven from his villa in Amalfi to Rome for antique car shows or charity events and fundraisers, his precious Bugattis, Aston Martins, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis were parked there.

“Because now I understand why my vacation was cut short by your friend.” Ramrod straight, she hurried her pace and left him behind.

She was on heels—
sexy heels
. He shook his head to disperse yet another image of those shapely legs bared to his eyes, that skirt gone, her shirt barely covering her back and showing him glimpses of black lace. A moment later, the lace was gone and so was the shirt, but the fluffy handcuffs and the pearls trailing down her shoulder blades were back. He propelled his body forward, and caught up with her.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He was painfully aware he needed a cold shower as soon as possible.

“Samuel didn’t call me because I’m the best in my field. He wanted to be sure
you
got the best the Council could offer.” She was at the door leading to the Promenade, the series of corridors that, unbeknownst to the modern Roman citizens, crossed the whole city and connected one historical site to the next, creating a subterranean grid that once had partially belonged to the Suburra—the city under the city of Rome.

“I don’t even know if I should be offended by your comment.” He opened the door for her, which seemed to enrage the enforcer. He raised his hands in the air. “Okay, you know what? I give up. I don’t know what your deal is, and right now I don’t care enough to ask.” Although, he would have cared to spank her. No need for questions and answers. He left her behind and took the first archway on his left, then followed the narrow ledge bordering the underground river flowing dark and silent under the domed ceiling of the corridor. Paranormals referred to the river as the Styx. He had always thought it was an appropriate name since in Greek mythology the Styx formed the boundaries between Earth and Hades, the underworld. After a few minutes, he stopped hearing the sound of her heels and almost turned and waited for her to catch up with him. Then he remembered the effect the woman had on him and decided the best course of action was to run in the opposite direction.

He let the calming sound of the flowing river ease his nerves and walked the remaining distance to Samuel’s office with a different spirit. The Promenade was one of the places in Rome he enjoyed walking the most. The corridors ran either along the Styx or inside the Suburra, the ancient and very much real underworld that had once housed all sorts of illegal and dark affairs. Roman statues were disseminated throughout the place, contained in excavated niches and illuminated by white light. Roman and even Etruscan villas had been partially dug out and left out on a permanent museum display, giving glimpses of what life had been centuries ago. He knew first-hand, but not all the paranormals were as old as he and his friend Marcus were. He remembered when he was Marcus’s Greek tutor as if it were yesterday, yet two thousand years had passed.

On his way to Samuel’s office inside Castel Sant’ Angelo’s proper, he met a few vampires late for their diurnal curfew, taking shelter in the rooms built inside the porous rock wall. The Promenade was especially liked by the Vampire Nation because it doubled as a safe haven for them. The tunnels extended for kilometers under Rome, in some cases running parallel to the catacombs with which they shared several spaces not yet discovered by the humans. Powerful spells protected those places, sacred to warlocks and witches alike, who discouraged the rest of the paranormals from wandering there.

By the time Alexander reached the entry to the Immortal Council headquarters, he was a much calmer man, ready to act as civilized as propriety requested of him. He took the marble stairs and climbed four floors up, navigated the labyrinth of hallways leading to his friend’s office, and knocked on the wooden door only to find it ajar already. A feminine voice he had come to know all too well in only a matter of hours welcomed him inside.

“What took you so long?” Ravenna Del Sarto, as perfect as ever, not a single hair out of place, her French manicured fingers tapping Samuel’s desk as if it were her own, had the audacity to smile at him.

“Hi.” Samuel waved his right hand at Alexander and gestured for him to sit at the opposite side of the desk from her, facing him and the big window overlooking the Tiber and the rest of Rome.

Alexander entered the office and strode to the black leather and aluminum chair. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of asking how she had arrived first. Instead, he ignored her and addressed Samuel, sitting in the chair and stretching his legs under the desk, crossing them at the ankles.

“Was it necessary to meet at this ungodly hour?”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Samuel, his black, broken wings fully displayed beside him, took a steaming porcelain cup from the side table, removed the tea bag from it and discarded it on the saucer. Then he looked at Alexander while pointing at the matching porcelain teapot.

Alexander shook his head, eager to explain to his friend he had nothing to do with the flask found in his house, and bolt out of there. “No, thank you.”

The angel gave him a puzzled look. Samuel and Alexander shared a love for tea. They had actually met at a teahouse in Beijing in the late eighteen hundreds. Samuel was there on a mission for the Holy Nation, while Alexander was taking a sabbatical from Europe in Asia.

“May I start my deposition?” The enforcer sounded as eager as Alexander to get it over with.

Samuel brought the cup to his nose, inhaled the steam, closed his eyes, opened them, and took a long sip from it. Finally, he nodded his assent for her to start the official business.

Miss Del Sarto described in great and, in Alexander’s opinion, useless details about how she had executed her job until she reached the part of the story regarding his playroom, which she glossed over. He pushed his back to the chair to straighten himself up and raised one finger to stop her. He found the terrified look on her face priceless. Then her expression changed to one of shame, and he remembered Samuel’s entire room was a giant recorder.