Page 144 of Vow Of Fire

I stopped and stared up at them. “Wow. These are amazing.”

Giselle just smiled benignly and waited for me to catch up.

I recognized some high-value pieces but kept my questions to myself. Giselle didn’t seem like the chatty type, but hopefully there would be an opportunity to ask Leo about them later.

We entered the sitting room, and I spotted Dante’s grandfather sitting in an armchair reading a book. He got awkwardly to his feet as we entered. I noticed his cane beside his armchair, but he didn’t use it.

“Mr. Marcelli, I have Miss Cruz here to see you.”

“Thank you, Giselle,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I think we’ll have some tea.”

She gave a curt nod and disappeared back to wherever she’d come from.

“You must excuse Giselle,” he said, gesturing for me to sit in the vacant chair opposite him. “She was a Sergeant Major in the army and takes her job very seriously.”

I could see that. Taking a seat, I glanced at the bookcases filled with all kinds of books, the matching leather armchairs with footstools, and a beautiful red and gold rug that I was pretty sure was authentic Persian.

On the walls were even more exquisite artworks. It smelled faintly of espresso, cigar smoke, and oil paint.

“You have a lovely home,” I said, turning back to him.

“Thank you. This is my private sitting room. I have a more formal area for guests, but this is much cozier.”

“I’m flattered,” I said, my gaze drifting upward to a majestic early Hockney hanging above the marble. It depicted the sun rising, or maybe setting, over the French Riviera. The pastel pinks, mauves, and turquoise seemed to contain an inner glow that I loved. It made me think of faraway places and summer vacations.

The weight of my predicament crashed down on me. I swallowed hard and tried not to show how devastated I felt.

“I got it at an auction in London,” he told me.

“Excuse me?” I blinked at him.

“The David Hockney.”

I nodded, my sluggish brain catching up. “It’s a stunning piece.”

“But you also have some very lovely pieces in your gallery,” he said.

“I do, but I’m sure you didn’t invite me here to talk about art.”

He chuckled. “I like your directness, Evelyn. May I call you that?”

“Of course. May I call you Leo?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t. Now, how about some tea? Or would you prefer something stronger? I won’t judge.”

Il Lupo was good at reading people, just like Valentina. Maybe she’d learned from him. “Tea is fine, thank you.”

“Shame. I was hoping for an excuse. Never mind. Maybe later.”

I managed a small smile, but I doubt it reached my eyes.

“How is Dante?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I frowned. Dante? Is that who he wanted to talk about?

“He’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. Dante was the last person I wanted to discuss. In fact, if I never saw him again it would be too soon.

“It’s a trying time for all of us, but Dante takes it harder than most.”