Ben’s eyebrows rose. According to what he’d been able guess from subtle questions to Filomena, much of the unrest in the Neapolitan court was because of the library theft. Many of the richest immortals in Naples had lost personal collections that were both valuable and highly confidential. Ben suspected it was one of the reasons Alfonso had risked calling Tenzin.
So if Alfonso himself was somehow behind the theft and hiding it from his own people…
“How sure are you?” Ben asked. “That the theft is because of Alfonso?”
“Fairly sure,” Fina said. “Officially, the authorities arrested the former director of the library. He had very suspicious political connections, and some of the books that made it on the black market were traced back to him. But when I spoke to my friends familiar with the Girolamini Library, they were quite certain there was more to it than one man. There were portions of the collection that had never been catalogued. Parts they were unofficially told to ignore. That had been happening long before the former director came into his position.”
“But why would Alfonso want to steal his own people’s papers and collections?”
Fabi, who’d been listening silently, said, “Power? Paranoia? Didn’t your uncle say he was crazy?”
“Pretty sure Beatrice called him completely bonkers. Gio said something much more polite.”
Fina smiled. “That sounds correct. Naples is… Well, it is different. I have always liked the city, but it is unique. Why wouldn’t the immortal leader also be unique?”
“So if he was behind the theft…,” Ben muttered. “Fina, how much of the theft have you tracked?”
“We’re not tracking the whole theft. There’s no way. Emil Conti asked, but Giovanni said he would only take on individual clients with specific items. And only books, of course. Those who lost antiquities have to rely on the human authorities. And most of them…” Fina shrugged. “Well, you know how secretive vampires are. They won’t trust Italian police or Interpol.”
Ben said, “So if I’m a vampire who lost… a coin collection, let’s say”—Fabi shot eyes at him, but Ben ignored her—“you’re saying there’s no one like Gio who would track that down?”
Serafina shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. No one with your uncle’s reputation anyway. You could hire someone, but we’re speaking about priceless artifacts, Benjamin. Many of which would only be legends or rumors to human sources.”
“And”—a gruff voice broke into their quiet conversation as Zeno entered the courtyard—“we’re paranoid bastards.” He bent to press a hard kiss to Fina’s mouth. “Are you well this night, my love?”
“Yes, Zeno.”
“Good.”
Ben cleared his throat loudly, and Fabi kicked him. He ignored her.
“So Zeno, why don’t you think—?”
“How would one vampire trust another to retrieve an artifact for him or her without stealing it, eh?” Zeno sat next to Fina while she fussed with the collar of the shirt he’d obviously just tossed on. “Even if you did trust another vampire to find it, that immortal would be a target for the opportunistic ones. There are few vampires like your uncle who have trustworthy reputations and the ability to back up their word with power.”
“But Gio won’t look for anything but books.”
“No, and I understand why. To do what we do”—he put an arm around his wife—“you must love it. You must have passion. Because often the work… It is dull, no? So many hours looking for one tiny clue that could lead you to another clue. Dead ends. Destroyed sources. Your uncle loves beautiful things, but he doesn’t have the passion for art that he has for knowledge. It would be very convenient if we had someone who did.”
Fabi kicked his shin again.
“Ow! Will you stop?”
Fabi just shook her head. “Nino, sometimes your head is full of rocks.”
Chapter Five
Rio Terà dei Assassini, 3806 Venezia
“REALLY?” BEN LOOKED AT THE paper in his hand and the key that looked like it belonged somewhere in the seventeenth century. Then he looked at the seemingly incomprehensible address that had been left at the house in Rome the day before.
His low cursing must have attracted the attention of the young man setting out tables at the small osteria on the Rio Tera dei Assassini.
The young man smiled and called out to him, “Are you looking for something?”
“My friend’s flat,” Ben replied, tugging his messenger bag back up his shoulder and walking toward the waiter, valise in one hand and slip of paper in the other. “This address she gave me… I swear, I’ll end up walking into the canal. I don’t think it exists.”
The young man frowned at the paper when Ben handed it to him. “I don’t recognize this address either. Venice can be difficult. Sometimes the houses aren’t marked. This one…” He craned his neck around the curve of the narrow street. “Yes, you’re right. It should be on the corner next to the canal, but the number isn’t correct.”
“Great.”
“Try to call her, yes?” The helpful young man smiled. “She must have written it down wrong.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Or she doesn’t really want to see you.” The waiter laughed. “Women, no?”