Chapter 17
Dante D’Arcangelo insinuated himself into the Cannaregio Casa d’Aste with an ease that had come from more than 160 years of existing along the edge of the shadows. No one paid any mind to the tall stranger as he walked the Venetian auction house’s marble corridor to the back room, where key arrangements for the event were being performed. Tomorrow evening’s gala auction would feature dozens of valuable art items on the block. It was being hyped with celebrity fanfare. A media blitz.
The star of the show was a Fabergé Imperial egg called the Nécessaire. It had officially gone missing in 1952, after the last known buyer had been recorded only as: A Stranger. A month ago, it had suddenly reemerged in the art world. Dante intended to remove it from the auction house tonight. No hard feelings. It was just that the egg belonged to him. And the very fate of his kind—vampires—required he get it back.
As he took in the layout of the bustling auction house, the placement of the dinnerware stacked and ready for service in the grand ballroom where a celebratory dinner was to be held, counted the employees and marked their various uniforms, noted security cameras and entrance keypads, Dante noticed one woman stood out from them all.
Rather, she didn’t quite fit in.
A woman of medium height and more than a few delicious curves, she stood apart from the workers possessed of blasé European disinterest, slender frames and suntanned skin. A tourist who had wandered in from the streets? Doubtful. Her actions were purposeful. She moved along the edge of the activity, which hummed like a busy office expecting the district manager to show up at any moment to fire one and all. She was dressed all in black, and over that she wore a snug maroon apron like those on the auction house employees. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail.
Waiters and others who most definitely belonged in the mix shuffled to and fro, intent on their specific duties. Some spoke into earpieces; others checked details on clipboards or iPads. A pair of lanky busboys hustled clattering cases of wine toward the bar area set up along one wall.
The woman with the dark hair and mysterious presence kept her head down, yet her kohl-lined eyes took in everything—except the people. She did not miss a creased seam where wall met wall, nor a crimped electrical cable running from a computer along the floor and into a dark, attached room. Near her thigh, her fingers moved as if counting, slowly. She was marking her footsteps across the room.
Dante smirked. Was she actually casing the place? Well, he knew she was because he was. Only he had much more stealth, despite the fact he wasn’t a professional thief. Although his life experiences did tend to put him in larcenous situations from time to time. He picked up necessary skills with ease and interest. And he never hesitated to commit a criminal act when he knew it could ultimately serve the greater good.
Such as obtaining this particular bejeweled prize.
When his shoulder was bumped, he turned and offered apologies to a slender blonde woman holding a stack of bid cards and offered to help her carry them. She thanked him and in mellifluous Italian said she was capable. And then she smiled widely as she stared at his face—a few seconds too long.
Dante was accustomed to that dreamy look. And honestly? It gave him a visceral thrill. Women gave him a thrill. All of them. All shapes, sizes and colors. Could a man ever get enough? So he touched her cheek, brushing aside some strands of corn-silk gold hair over her ear. She blushed and looked to the cards clasped in both hands, then fluttered her lashes as if she couldn’t decide whether to look back up at him or clutch those blank cards tighter.
He needn’t exercise his vampiric persuasion on her. If he wanted her, he could have her. But flirting with an audience present was gauche. And he didn’t want her. He simply enjoyed the triumph of knowing she would fall sighing into his arms should he give her the permission to do so.
Dante bowed, gesturing she had the right of way. That gentlemanly move stirred her from her adoring gaze. She cleared her throat, blushed even deeper and nodded quickly. As she passed, he inhaled her perfume. A note of freesia vied to rise above the alcohol base. He did not care for unnatural chemical scents. Still, he did admire the warmth that continued to redden her skin.
Enough distraction. Where had the mystery woman gone? Ah, yes.
He crossed the room to the hallway into which his suspected thief had entered with carefully placed—and counted—footsteps. Immediately he noticed an armed guard in front of a closed door at the far end of the hallway. A walkie-talkie was clipped to his chest pocket. No gun at his hip, but the gleam of a carbon nightstick flashed from the holster at his waist. A badge would be required to enter what Dante guessed was the room where the auction items were being prepared to go on the block.
Halfway down the hallway, between Dante and the guard, the woman in black suddenly checked her wristwatch and stopped. After turning, she backtracked. Dante dug out his pocket watch and bowed his head as she passed him. He picked up no perfume scent from her, though was that a hint of salty sweat? She was nervous? Poor girl. Had she not done this before? Such a pity she would fail. It was in his best interest to ensure she did.
He’d have to adjust his schedule for this evening. Didn’t want to run into her bungling her way through a hopeless theft. And he’d hate to see the disappointment in her eyes when she arrived on the scene to find whatever she sought was missing. Had to be the egg. It was the only item on the auction list that could possibly attract a thief. Missing from circulation for almost seventy years, the Nécessaire Fabergé egg was a showstopper.
Yet, it had been missing from his care for only twenty-five years. He hated to admit to himself, but he’d let it slip through his hands some time before the turn of the century.
And then a thought occurred as he confidently stopped before the guard and allowed him to scan the badge he’d lifted upon entering the establishment half an hour earlier. What if?
Yes, what if?
“Immettere.” The guard granted him entry.
“Grazie,” Dante said and strolled inside.
Two men dusting a bronze statue of a dandelion looked up as he entered, and again Dante bowed his head over the 1790 pocket watch he’d been gifted as an eighteenth birthday present. Four silver skulls were situated in the center beneath the brilliant copper hands. He wouldn’t dream of destroying the line of his suit with a cell phone.
He wasn’t going to remain in this room long enough to be asked questions. And the cursory glance
