“You didn’t like him?”
William made what could politely be called a disgusted face. “He was proud, arrogant, and wily. He used many contrivances to get her attention. And he was already married.”
Raven looked at the garden, at the glass windows that divided the interior of the gallery from the outside space. “Dante made her immortal. Because of his love, people have been reading about her for centuries.”
“I could make you immortal.” William’s gray eyes lasered into hers.
“Art is the only thing that lasts.”
“I disagree. Let me change you.”
She looked away. “We’ve talked about this.”
William shuddered a sigh. “Yes, we have. I thought perhaps you’d change your mind.”
Raven hastily changed the subject. “It’s sad that more people can’t enjoy your Botticelli illustrations of Dante and Beatrice.”
William bristled. “They have copies. That must be enough.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder before moving to the table. He lifted a bottle from the ice bucket.
Raven recognized the label. Dom Pérignon.
She’d never tasted it before.
She watched in anticipation as William removed the cork.
“What are we celebrating?” Raven took the proffered glass, once it was filled.
“You. To your happiness.” He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers.
“To our happiness, William.”
She tasted the champagne—cool and dry, with the smallest bubbles. It was crisp and fresh and absolutely nothing like anything she’d tasted before.
They sipped in silence for a few moments. William watched her over the rim of his glass.
When she’d finished her champagne, he placed her glass along with his on the table.
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Unlike the rest of the humans who pine after vampyres, you don’t dream of being immortal. Tell me what you dream about.”
“I dream of living with you in peace. I’d like to travel with you, someday.”
“Where?”
“I’d like you to show me York. I’d like to visit my sister and make sure she’s all right.”
“Other dreams? Things you would like to accomplish?”
“I want to continue volunteering at the orphanage. I’m grateful I was able to go back this week.
“I enjoy my work at the Uffizi. We will be starting work on one of Artemesia Gentileschi’s paintings in September. I’d like to continue being part of that team.”
“I shall do everything in my power to ensure you are safe enough to do that.”
Raven smiled, for the thought made her happy. “I’d like to continue working on your collection as well, especially the Michelangelo.”
“Everything I own is at your disposal.” He kissed her fingertips, one by one. “Peace will come to my city, and I shall be able to take you abroad.”
“You would take me to see my sister?”
“I was in America over a century ago. I should probably pay another visit.”
“Thank you.” She drew him down to sit next to her and leaned her head against his shoulder. “What are your dreams?”
He placed his arm around her.
“To spend as much time inside you as possible.” He gave her a meaningful look before taking her mouth.
Chapter Thirty-Four
ISPETTOR BATELLI SMOKED a lonely cigarette around the corner from the underground club. He’d spent the last few days working on the new case he’d been assigned, while continuing his surveillance of the club after hours.
He was tired, he was frustrated, but he was determined.
Tonight was the night. He was going to find a way inside the building.
He’d already noticed the comings and goings of men and women of various ages. He’d marked the bouncer who stood in the alley outside the only visible entrance to the entire building.
He had to admit, the bouncers were exceptional. They were large, they were intimidating, and they never, ever took a break. Batelli wondered about the size of their bladders.
He extinguished his cigarette and moved into position, standing across the street. From this shadowed vantage point, he could see the bouncer and the door, but hopefully, the bouncer couldn’t see him.
Batelli had only been in his new position ten minutes when the door to the club swung outward.
“Never return,” an ominous voice warned.
A man of medium height held two larger men by the scruff of their necks. With a strength that belied his slim stature, the man threw them past the bouncer and toward the opposite wall.
They crashed into the wall and fell to the ground, motionless.
“Banned for life,” the man ordered, speaking to the bouncer. “They insulted Lady Aoibhe.”
Batelli’s ears pricked up at the unfamiliar name.
With a nod, the man retreated into the club, closing the door behind him.
The bouncer walked over to the two men, who appeared conscious but dazed.
He lifted them, one on each side of his large body, and dragged them out of the alley and down the street.
Batelli wasted no time in sprinting toward the club’s door. He tried prying it open, but to no avail.
He looked around for a security panel or keypad, but could find nothing.
He glanced over his shoulder. The alley was still empty.
But time was short.
He curled his fingers around the edge of the door, groping for some kind of latch.