“But it is ours.” She grinned and tucked her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her. “And conventional is boring.”

“It is. Though… perhaps we could use some boring.”

“Maybe just a little.”

By the time they’d returned from Crotone, Saba had disappeared, taking Lucien with her. If anyone could cure the vampire, it would be Saba. Giovanni appeared to hold no lingering effects from the strange coma that had held him for weeks, except a deeper sense of peace and contentment than Beatrice had ever seen from him. He no longer struggled to control the fire within him. It was always there, bubbling under the surface, but the tension, the ever-present stress of it no longer seemed to affect him.

He was finally at peace.

As was Beatrice… as much as she could be. The wound from the loss of her father, from the loss of their friends and allies could only heal in time. But they had time. And though the cost of the battle had taken its toll on all of them, when Matt and Dez brought home their tiny daughter, the whole household seemed to heave a collective sigh as they looked to the future instead of dwelling in the past.

Only one mystery remained.

Beatrice lifted a hand to stroke along Giovanni’s cheek. “We should get ready.”

“What time is our appointment?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Yes, we should leave soon. It’s a bit of a drive.”

Citta di Castello

Perugia, Italy

When they pulled through the gates of the isolated country house, Beatrice noticed the glowing lights that welcomed them. It was a large home, and when she had called the number listed, the curator did not seem surprised by her request for evening hours. The polite woman had simply asked for their names, put her on hold for a moment, then asked when they would like to make their appointment. She would be at their disposal.

The front door opened, and an attractive woman wearing long slacks and a blouse waited for them to exit the car. She had curling brown hair and a friendly expression. Her name, records indicated, was Serafina Rossi. She was thirty-six, and a graduate of the University of Ferrara. She had worked for Lorenzo for ten years.

“How long had he owned this?” Giovanni asked quietly.

“The house was built about two hundred years ago, but the renovations were done just before he hired the curator. So about ten years or so.”

“A few hours from one of my own homes,” he mused before he stepped out of the car. “A few hours…”

The curator stepped forward and greeted them in Italian. “Dottore Vecchio, Signora De Novo, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I am Signorina Fina Rossi, welcome to the collection.”

“Thank you so much for meeting with us,” Beatrice answered. “I know it’s late.”

“Oh,” she waved a hand. “We are accustomed to unusual hours here.”

“Signore Bianchi would visit frequently?” Giovanni asked.

“Not frequently. He often traveled out of the country.” She smiled. “Occasionally. But I always enjoyed his visits.”

“I see.”

“Signore Bianchi gave me your name, Dottore.” Her eyes flickered. “He said that if anything were to ever happen to him, that I should contact you. Were you a relative of some kind? Has something happened?”

Beatrice looked into the woman’s eyes. She didn’t appear to be under the influence of any kind of amnis, but at the same time, her cautious expression told Beatrice she knew her employer was something other than what he seemed. Nevertheless, she appeared honest and forthright as she spoke with Giovanni about the collection. Her husband broke the news to Signorina Rossi that her employer was no longer living.

The single home belonging to Paulo Bianchi had been buried in Lorenzo’s files. It wasn’t particularly noteworthy. A large country home in the province of Perugia. A weekly caretaker and a single employee who lived in the cottage on the grounds and received a generous, but not extraordinary, salary. In their search for Lorenzo’s more illicit investments, the mundane had simply escaped their notice.

A shout drew their attention to the small cottage at the side of the house.

“Mama?” A small boy of nine or ten appeared in pajamas. A cloud of light brown curls covered his head and he blinked as he looked up at them from the open doorway. “Chi e qui? Has Signore Paulo come to visit?”

Signorina Rossi gave him a sad smile. “No, Enzo, we have other visitors. Go back to sleep; I’ll be with the books if you need me.”

The boy waved once more, then turned and went back in the house, closing the door behind him. Signorina Rossi gave them a sad shrug. “I will have to tell him tomorrow. Signore Paulo was a favorite of his. He would usually visit with Enzo when he came to see the books.”

Beatrice frowned, curious if there were more humans on the property. “His father?”

The woman gaped. “Oh! No, no. Paulo was just a friend. Enzo’s father… well, when Signore Bianchi gave me this position after university, it was very unexpected. A godsend, really. Not many employers would be so understanding about a single mother bringing a baby to work.”

Beatrice glanced over at Giovanni, whose face was carefully covered by a polite mask. “Signorina Rossi, we don’t want to keep you any later than necessary. If you would only show us—”

“Of course. I’m sure your time is limited. Though you may stay in the collection as long as you like, of course. I’ll show you how to lock up. If Signore Bianchi trusted you, you are most welcome.”