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“Indeed.” The director removed his spectacles and positioned his eye for a retinal scan. The scan glowed green and a keypad appeared below it. He pressed a series of numbers.
“But William never used the apartment?”
“No, madame. You are its first occupant.”
“How safe is the bank?”
Monsieur stood tall with pride. “Extremely safe, madame, and from all kinds of threats. Should you need to leave the bank, we can provide you with safe transport anywhere in the world.”
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered.
The director frowned but didn’t reply.
When the elevator doors opened, Raven found herself in front of a pair of tall, gilded doors. Once again, the director submitted scans of his palm and retina and used an additional code. The sound of something loud and metallic echoed in the vestibule. The director placed his hand on the doorknob and opened it.
Inside, Raven found an opulent sitting room, featuring blue carpet and gilded walls. The furniture was also gilded and upholstered in blue velvet. It was a room for a king.
“This is Simone.” The director motioned in the direction of a woman wearing a black uniform. “She will provide you with what you need.”
Henri transferred Raven’s bag from his shoulder to Simone. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I can show you the inventory at your convenience. If you’d prefer to view it tomorrow, we can do so.”
Raven shook her head. “No, I’d like to see it today. Perhaps in a couple of hours.”
“Very good.” He smiled and retreated, closing the door behind him.
Raven heard the sound of a heavy lock snapping into place.
“This is the strangest bank I’ve ever visited.” She turned to take in her surroundings.
Given the thoroughness of Sarah and her network, Raven wasn’t surprised that William had taken other detailed measures to preserve his art collection and her safety. Clearly, the bank staff had no idea he was dead. She wasn’t about to tell them, for they might withdraw their protection.
She wondered what the staff knew about William and the world of vampyres. She wondered if the bank simply viewed him as a wealthy, eccentric client, or if they understood he had been the Prince of Florence.
“I can show you the other rooms, madame,” Simone’s voice intruded on Raven’s musings. “Shall I draw a bath?”
“Yes, please.”
“Shall I unpack for you?”
“No, that isn’t necessary.”
“Very good, madame.” Simone escorted her through a side door and into a large bedroom decorated in a similar fashion to the sitting room, except the velvet was red. A large canopied bed stood in the center of the room.
The room reminded Raven of the bedroom she’d shared with William in his villa.
Simone placed Raven’s bag on the bed and walked to one of the side walls, pushing a button to reveal a concealed door, which swung inward to a spacious marble bathroom.
“Your clothes have already been cleaned, pressed, and unpacked.” Simone moved to another wall and pressed another button. This time double doors opened.
“My clothes?” Raven tried very hard to hide her shock.
“Your husband’s things are over here.” Simone crossed to the other side of the room and opened the matching closet.
Raven stared after her.
Rows and rows of black shirts, trousers, and jackets hung neatly in the large closet. Rows and rows of black shoes rested below on a series of racks. It looked exactly like William’s closet in his bedroom in Florence.
“If there is anything you would like pressed or freshened up, please let me know. It can be done immediately.” Simone gave Raven a little smile and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water echoed through the apartment.
Raven walked to William’s clothes and grabbed the first shirt she touched, tugging it carelessly from its hanger and pressing it against her nose. There was still a trace of his scent. She waded into the closet, disappearing into the shirts and inhaling deeply. Tears filled her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
By the time Simone returned, she was seated on the bed, one of William’s shirts lying next to her. She’d tucked several of his handkerchiefs into her bag.
They were small things, but they were all she had left of him.
Chapter Sixty-Two
“I TRUST BREAKFAST was to your satisfaction?” Monsieur Marchand smiled as he escorted Raven into an elevator in a remote area at the very rear of the bank.
“Yes, thank you. You’ve been very kind.” Raven toyed with the tie to her green wrap dress. She felt funny dressing up, but it was comforting to wear one of her favorite outfits. William had always praised it.
“The artwork is stored in a series of subterranean vaults. The vaults are controlled for light, temperature, and humidity. We used the Uffizi’s specifications, but everything can be adjusted.”
“And the inventory?” Raven followed the director out of the elevator once they’d reached the lowest level.
“I’ve prepared a paper copy for you.” The director repeated the security measures before entering a narrow, white-walled hall.
He performed the palm and retinal scan at the first door on his right.
When they entered the room, dim lighting shone from overhead. A desk and chair stood nearby, along with a leather folio.
“This is the inventory.” The director handed it to her. “It’s alphabetized by artist, and each work has a corresponding location. I can assist you in viewing the vaults. Or perhaps you’d rather proceed item by item?”
Raven leafed through the inventory to the letter B.
Botticelli—Illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy. Vault A9C.
“I’d like to see these first.” She pointed to the entry.
“Very good.”
Within a few minutes, they were inside one of the temperature-controlled vaults, and Monsieur Marchand was lifting a wooden box from a labeled shelf. He placed it on a nearby desk and gestured to Raven to take a seat behind it.
She put on a pair of white gloves he’d provided and carefully opened the box. There, in a series of folios, were the illustrations that had caused so much trouble; illustrations William had acquired from Botticelli centuries earlier, and that had somehow been stolen from him b
y Lorenzo, the lieutenant who’d betrayed him.
Raven leafed through the folios until she found the drawing of Dante and Beatrice in the sphere of Mercury. She removed it carefully.
It was so beautiful. So fragile.
“Assessing their condition may take time.” Raven spoke without lifting her head, hiding her emotions.
“Of course, madame. There is an intercom to your right. Please contact me if I may be of assistance.” The director left her in privacy.
She replaced the illustration in the box, closed it firmly, and removed her gloves. Leafing through the inventory, she discovered the prized Michelangelo on the list, along with Botticelli’s alternative version of Primavera. William had even arranged to have some of her own sketches transferred. It was a bittersweet revelation.
A tear streaked down her cheek.
She continued reading the inventory, so engrossed that some time later she barely heard the door open and close.
Raven twisted away from the door, clutching the inventory to her chest.
“I need more time,” she faltered.
“More time?” a familiar voice asked.
“Yes.” Raven held the inventory more tightly.
“Cassita,” the voice whispered.
Chapter Sixty-Three
NEXT TO THE DOOR stood a man dressed in black.
His hair was fair and tinged with gray at the temples. Laugh lines radiated from his eyes. A scar marred his chin.
His eyes were familiar—a light and beautiful gray—and so was his voice.
“Cassita.” He smiled, like the shining of the sun, and held out his arms.
The pages of the inventory fluttered to the floor. Raven shrieked and put the desk between them. “How did you get in here?”
“It’s me,” he said, his smile vanishing. “It’s William.”
“William is dead.”
“Look at me. I am not dead.” The man began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“Stop!” she cried. “What are you doing?”
