He’d made copies of his file on the robbery, including the information on the parchment and the Swiss bank account. He’d transcribed his rough, handwritten notes, including his remarks on Raven Wood and William York, and her sister’s murdered fiancé. Although it was completely against protocol, he’d made arrangements to have the file delivered to a reporter at La Nazione, the local newspaper, should something malicious befall him.
Batelli was no fool. Although Agent Savola’s death had been attributed to Russian organized crime, Batelli’s gut told him the death was linked to the robbery. It was only right that he take precautions.
But he would not abandon the case.
He had allies helping him look for Raven Wood and her sister, while he resolved to find a way inside Teatro.
A short look around, he told himself.
That’s all he needed.
Chapter Thirty-One
RAVEN DUG HER CANE into the gravel, making a haphazard pattern. She was in William’s garden, braving the August sun near an enormous and elaborate fountain that featured the god Neptune.
The garden was neatly arranged with flowers, hedges, and orange trees. Large terracotta pots held various plants, while roses bloomed in between the hedges.
The fountain was located at the end of a terraced walkway that lay between two large flower beds like the center aisle of a church. The air was perfumed with citrus and roses.
Two sketches lay abandoned near Raven’s feet. She’d taken charcoal to paper and sketched William’s face, dearer to her than her own. When she’d finished and the Muse had still hovered over her, she’d drawn Borek.
She did not draw her sister.
If she closed her eyes, she could conjure up happy days, when her father was alive and they were living in Portsmouth. She remembered his laughter, his calloused hand holding hers, the deep timbre of his voice.
“Daddy,” she whispered, the tears threatening.
How disappointed he would be with her. How she’d failed him in looking after Cara.
The merest sigh of a breeze touched her face, drawing a long strand of dark hair across her eyes. A single word echoed in her heart, spoken in her father’s deep voice, No.
You can’t do everything. You can’t be perfect. You just have to be yourself, and be the best self you can be.
Such was the simple wisdom of her father, or what she could remember of it.
The breeze sighed again, and Raven was seized with the impression her father would have understood.
Father Kavanaugh, for all his blind faith, would not hurt Cara. He’d read scripture to comfort her in her grief. He’d pray for her and send her home with Dan’s body. If he were willing to risk his life and the ire of the Roman in order to save Raven herself, he would ensure the Curia didn’t mistreat Cara.
Raven believed this. But a week had passed with no news from Father Kavanaugh or Cara. Raven had called, texted, and sent an email. There had been no response.
Raven blinked up at the sun, realizing she should have worn sunglasses or a hat. She felt as if she’d been living in a cave, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in months, rather than days. She wanted the warmth to bake into her pale skin and into her heart. But it was beginning to get too hot.
William had promised he would find out what was happening with Cara, but in the days that followed their return to Florence, he’d had very little to report. Last night he’d learned the Curia had manufactured a story about Dan and Cara being the victims of a mugging. They’d both suffered head injuries, which was why, they’d said, Cara had no memory of the assault.
Raven hoped that in time Cara would find healing, although she realized Dan’s loss would form a scar that would never disappear.
“Here is a lark, blessing my garden.”
She turned and found William a short distance away, standing under a trellis covered in vines, shaded from the sun.
She smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you until after sunset.”
“The city is quiet, and my brethren are resting.” He gazed at her solemnly. “I have news of your sister.”
Raven felt her heart skip a beat. “Where is she?”
“On her way to America. Your priest was ordered to accompany her and the corpse. He’s also spreading the fairy tale about what happened.”
“Is she all right?”
William pressed his lips together. “She is grieving. But I was told by one of our sources that she is healthy.”
“Will she talk to me?”
“I believe so, but you should give her a few more days. Wait until she’s settled in America and we’re able to determine the Curia’s influence on her.”
Raven turned her head. “I don’t want to wait.”
“I understand, but so long as your priest is with her, any information you give to her will be given to him.”
Raven changed the subject. “When are we leaving for the Accademia?”
“I’m afraid our plans must be postponed. I must meet with the Consilium tonight.”
Raven used her cane to dig in the gravel, trying to hide her disappointment.
“I am sorry.” He sounded contrite.
“It’s all right. As long as you come back.”
“Why so downcast?”
She made an exasperated noise. “I can’t speak to my sister. I can’t leave the villa. What can I do?”
William moved to the very edge of the shade. “There’s been too much unrest, too many whispers. By now I’m sure it’s clear you are my greatest weakness.”