Treasured Dreams (15 page)

Nox tossed two handfuls of spirally pasta into the boiling water and stirred with a wooden spoon he'd found in a drawer and wiped on his shirt. Leaving the pasta to cook, he rummaged through the kitchen drawers to locate the other utensils he needed. He gave them a quick wash in the bottled water he'd bought.

When the pasta was ready, he ate straight from the pot, and paused only when it scalded his tongue. Every bite was delicious. Nearly half the meal was eaten before his stomach cramped from gluttony.

Soon, he couldn't eat even one more mouthful. He set the pot aside, sat back, belched and then laughed, a good hearty laugh.

When the cramping subsided, Nox grabbed a small bottle of water, a loaf of bread, a bucket and a rope. Then he crept up the stairs and along the corridor. He had hoped to overhear Rosalina and Filippo talking, but other than the whistling wind, it was silent. Too silent. Panic gripped him, and he raced the final steps to the balcony and peered over. He let out his trapped breath when he saw them.

Rosalina and Filippo were seated on beds facing each other. They looked up at him simultaneously. There was something in their faces that made him pause. The anger was gone. So was the fear. It was resignation that looked up at him now. They finally knew they had no choice but to do what he wanted.

‘Are you ready to give me Archer's number?'

‘We want food and water first.'

Rosalina was a demanding bitch.

But Nox accepted that as a fair exchange. In fact, he'd predicted it. Everything was going to plan. He put the water and loaf of bread into the bucket, then tied the rope to the handle and the other end to the balustrade and lowered it over the side of the balcony. Rosalina and Filippo positioned themselves beneath it, ready to catch. Nox stopped the bucket a metre from their reach and their eyes turned up to him.

‘What's the pin code on your phone, Filippo?'

‘One-two-four-three,' he said without hesitation.

Nox removed the iPhone from his pocket and punched in the code. The screen flashed to a picture of Filippo holding a glass of red wine in his hand. Although he was smiling in the photo, Filippo had a touch of sadness about him. Nox pressed on the green phone tab. ‘What's Archer's number?'

‘We want the food and water first,' Rosalina said.

‘Give me the number.'

‘No.'

Nox shrugged and began to pull the rope back up.

‘Stop! Wait,' Rosalina said.

He paused to look down at her and she folded her arms across her chest. ‘The number. Now!'

A series of numbers snapped off her tongue and Nox keyed them into the phone. He pressed the speaker button so everyone could listen.

It was answered on the second ring. ‘Rosa? Is that you?' It was Archer. Nox would never forget his vulgar Australian accent.

‘ARCHER,' Rosalina screamed from below.

‘ROSA! Where are you?'

Nox lifted the phone to his lips. ‘She's with me.' He spoke with measured assertion. Archer would remember him; he had no doubt about that.

‘Nox?' Archer said it with the right amount of shock.

‘You got it in one guess.'

‘If you so much as lay a hand on her, I'll kill you.'

‘You can't kill me. Nobody can kill me. But I'll kill both Rosa and her brother if you call the police, do you hear—'

‘Nox is holding us in an old build—'

Nox pressed the red button, cutting off Rosalina's rant. ‘Here's your food.' He dropped the rope and the bucket clattered to the tiled floor. ‘Don't eat it all at once.'

Filippo scurried to the bucket. ‘That's not enough, you bastard.'

‘Yes, it is.' Nox knew from experience it was more than enough. They could live for a week on what he'd just supplied.

‘I need to use a bathroom,' Rosalina yelled up at him.

‘That's what the bucket is for.' Nox cackled. His plan was playing out like a perfectly crafted script.

As Rosalina yelled profanities at him, the phone rang. He recognised the number on the screen, and as he let it ring, Nox turned and left. He could still hear Rosalina yelling even once he'd returned to his meal. As the phone rang over and over, the salami pasta became more and more enjoyable.

Chapter Seventeen

Rosalina accepted half the bread loaf from Filippo and tugged off small chunks to eat. Filippo, on the other hand, took huge bites, devouring it as if it were his first meal in a week. ‘We better save some,' she said. ‘We have no idea when he'll give us more.'

Filippo's mouth gaped, displaying bits of chewed up bread on his tongue. ‘You better not be serious.'

‘You don't know Nox. He's evil.'

Filippo took another bite and washed it down with water. ‘How do
you
know him?

‘It's a very long story.'

Filippo spread his arms wide, bread in one hand, water in the other. ‘Looks like we have all the time in the world.'

Rosalina rose up, put her bread back in the bucket, and used her crutches to return to the window. The sun was setting and the sky had morphed into dusty pinks and purples. The ocean resembled a grand velvet blanket. It was apparent they'd be spending the night here after all.

She curled and uncurled her fists.

It would get cold. The wind had already whipped up since they'd been first thrown into this room and the sound had changed from a high-pitched whistle to a low howl.

She turned from the window and surveyed the room. There were beds—dozens of them, all lined up side by side in three rows with almost equal distance between them. There were a series of cupboards at the far end. She hobbled towards them and opened the doors, one by one. They were crammed with clothes, all very small and all very bland in colour, mostly grey, black, and what used to be white. There were shoes, too, all black and all small. She tried to imagine why these would've been left behind, but couldn't. A small pair of shoes teetered on the front shelf. She lifted them out and placed them in her hand. They barely covered her palm. The child that had owned these was very young.

Rosalina hadn't had much involvement with children. All her nieces and nephews had been born while she was overseas, and the thought of having her own terrified her. Right from the moment her mother had died during childbirth, she'd decided she'd never have children. Thankfully, she'd never needed to admit this fear to Archer. He was too caught up in his treasure hunting to think about having a family.

As she put the shoe back, she wondered what happened here to make them abandon all this clothing, but she quickly shoved the thought aside. She didn't want to know. Especially as they were sleeping here tonight.

‘Filippo.'

‘What?' he said, with a mouthful of bread.

‘It'll be cold in here soon. And dark. I think we should get some things ready now.'

‘Yeah? Like what?'

‘For starters, we'll need a bed each. We could push the sheets and blankets through the bars in the window and shake them out a bit.'

‘You're crazy if you think I'm sleeping in one of them.'

Rosalina just nodded. She'd half expected this response. With the crutches up under her armpits, she hobbled to the very far beds, the ones farthest away from the doorway. If Nox planned on coming in while they were sleeping, then he'd have to navigate all the beds to get to her.

The lump in her throat was as big as an orange. She couldn't breathe; she couldn't swallow. Soon, her chin dimpled and tears streamed down her cheeks. She flicked them away, suddenly angry with herself, furious for letting this happen again. The last time Nox had kidnapped her had been opportunistic. She'd literally walked into him beneath the Church of St Apostoli. This time, however, Nox had planned it.

That made this a whole lot scarier.

She wanted Archer. Needed him. Her heart burned with the agony of it. Emotion trickled through her and the sense of loss felt like tumbling pebbles until she was nothing but a hollow shell.

It was a long while before she was able to mentally slap herself into action. Soon they'd be sitting in the dark, and that image got her moving again.

She chose the fully made-up bed against the wall, tugged off the blanket and linen, and instantly began sneezing from the dust. With the sheets over her arm, she abandoned her crutches and hopped to the window. The glass had long ago fallen out, and fragments of it, big and small, littered the floor. One of the pieces was a pointy triangle. Remnants of an intricate stained-glass pattern in blue and green hues covered half of it. She lowered her sheets to the floor and picked up the glass shard. It would make the perfect weapon. And when the time came, she'd have no hesitation in using it.

She'd killed Nox before—she'd do it again. This time, she'd do it properly.

Rosalina placed the potential weapon on the bed nearest to her and turned her attention back to the sheets. She unravelled one, threaded it between the bars in the window, then she passed it along the outside of the bars so she could spread it as much as possible and shook it out. It billowed like a sail in the wind, and just as another idea came to her, Filippo arrived at her side.

‘Here, let me help you.' He reached for one of the ends, and together they shook all the forgotten years off the sheet. They repeated the process with the rest of the bedding. Filippo then stripped the bed beside the one Rosalina had chosen, and they did the same with his linen.

They moved back to the beds and worked together to flip the mattresses over. Rosalina didn't even want to think of what had happened to the children who'd slept in her bed.

‘Are you going to tell me about Nox?' Filippo asked as Rosalina flicked her sheet out over her mattress.

She didn't want to, but now that Filippo was involved it was only fair that he knew just how dangerous Nox was.

It was hard to know where to start. She decided Archer's necklace, the place where the whole treasure hunt journey started, was the obvious place.

‘Have you noticed the pendant Archer wears around his neck?'

‘The ugly gold thing?'

She chuckled. ‘Yes, that's the one. Archer found it when he was eleven years old. He was scuba diving with his dad when they discovered it off the Greek Islands. But then his dad was killed by a shark.'

‘Oh shit. You never told me that.'

She shrugged one shoulder. ‘You and I rarely talk, so why would I?'

‘That's not my fault. You always hated me.' Filippo tossed his mattress over with unnecessary aggression.

‘I never hated you.' Rosalina palmed her chest. ‘What're you talking about?'

‘You never involved me in anything. I was always the last to hear about whatever was going on. You knew what went on. And now that you know I'm the family bastard, you know why Dad treated me like shit too.'

‘Filippo.' She hopped around the bed, trapping him between her and the wall. ‘Look at me. Filippo, please.' He turned, with anger burning in his eyes. ‘You're still the same brother today as you've always been. Nothing has changed.'

‘Yeah, right. Every time you look at me, you'll know why I'm not like your brothers and sisters.'

‘Our brothers and sisters,' she corrected him.

‘Not according to your father. He tells me I'm not a Calucci.'

Her pulse rocketed. ‘He's wrong. He has no right to say that. You were Mum's child, and that makes you a Calucci.'

The tendons in Filippo's neck bulged. ‘She died because of me!' He shoved Rosa aside to stride to the window.

There were no words that could ever make up for what had happened. ‘Filippo, I can't imagine what you've been through, but—'

‘Nonna had no right to tell you. Now every time you look at me, it'll be different.'

Rosalina hopped towards him. ‘No. It won't.' She reached for his arm, but he snapped it away.

‘I don't want to talk about it.' He strode off again and this time she let him go.

As she watched him walk away, she slumped to the nearest bed. There was no point talking about it while he was churning with fury. It seemed like almost every time she saw him, anger itched at the surface.

Her hand fell on the long, pointy shard of glass she'd placed on the bed earlier. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. With her fingers wrapped around the broader part, she held it like a knife and pretended to stab. She pictured Nox and stabbed again. The edges were sharp; for this to work, she needed to cushion the handle.

Using the glass as a knife, she cut a long, narrow strip from a bed sheet. Once she had enough, she sliced one end of the strip up the middle like a forked tongue. She tied it into a tight knot halfway along the glass, and then wound the strip around and around the shard. At the other end of the strip, she sliced it into a fork, too and tied it around the padding to finish off. She gripped the new weapon, pleased with how well her fingers were protected. All she needed now was an opportunity. But if Nox only spoke to them from four metres up, then there was little chance she would get one.

‘Where'd you get that?' Filippo said.

‘I made it.'

If Filippo was impressed, he didn't say so. But he did bend over and forage for another suitable piece of glass.

While he was searching, Rosalina cut a strip of sheet for his weapon.

‘I thought you'd killed this Nox guy.'

‘Me too.'

‘You must have missed then.' The image of the fishing spear shooting at Nox's belly darted through her brain. She'd seen the 1.5-metre rod hit him. When Nox went overboard, he had a spear still pierced through his torso.

‘No. I didn't miss,' she finally said. ‘Somehow, he survived.'

‘How come he knows so much about the treasure?'

‘We found the first clue to the treasure in the Church of St Apostoli in Florence. That's where we found Nox, too.'