Treasured Dreams (5 page)

Nurse Isabella was a stick-thin waif of a woman who was a jittery rattle of nerves. Nox always wondered if she'd been taking her own concoction of drugs to put her in that state, but if not, maybe she ought to.

Isabella's job had been a busy one. With more than one hundred boys in the orphanage, there was always some incident or illness that had needed tending to. Nox had had his share of bloody injuries, most at the hands of his regular tormentors. They were incidents that everyone, including Nurse Isabella, had neglected to report. Nobody had wanted to cast a shadow over the orphanage, especially after the first orphanage he went to had been shut down because of illicit activity.

If he ran into Isabella, he'd have no qualms about smacking an apology out of her, too.

Nox paused at the edge of a poorly lit tunnel and listened. This was one of the places that cast voices from afar. Right now though, there wasn't even a whisper of noise. The entire establishment was holding its breath, or so it seemed. He stepped from the shadows and walked with a measured pace towards the nurse's office. At the door, he didn't bother knocking; he pulled down the handle and pushed. It was locked.

‘Damn it.'

Nox didn't even contemplate breaking through the door. It would be at least three inches of solid wood.

The nurse's office was manned twenty-four hours a day, so that meant the nurse was out, tending to someone. All Nox had to do was wait. He thought about going back to his old bedroom, but with Linchin's lifeless body lying inside, that wasn't an option. Instead, he decided to head towards the Esagonale room. It was one his other favourite rooms in the ancient building.

Nox stepped up to the door and listened. As he expected, he heard nothing, so he opened it and entered the hexagonal-shaped room, closed the door behind him, and flicked on the light switch.

Everything was as he'd left it. Of course it would be—this room was rarely used and had probably looked the same for hundreds of years. The chunky wooden table accompanied with the just as solid and elaborately decorated wooden chairs were all centuries old, as was the wax encumbered candelabrum dangling from the ceiling. Nox tugged out one of the heavy seats and sat on the cold wood.

He twisted his antique ring around his finger. The three red stones dominating the ring glimmered in the dim light. He took that as a sign—a glimmer of hope that he was nearing the end. Thirty years was long enough, and he was so close he could almost taste the gold on his tongue. Although he'd been closer before. He'd literally had his hands on his precious pieces. Before the bitch speared him, that was.

Nox heard laughter and jumped up to switch off the light. Plunged into darkness, he slunk back against the wall as the laughter grew louder. A man and a woman. He couldn't believe it when the door swung open and they stepped into the room. They shut the door, and no sooner were they in there than Nox heard them kissing. Heavy breathing mingled with lip sucking. He was disgusted.

His brain ticked over his options. He could let them go on and hope they simply left once they were finished. Or he could attack them in the dark, and they'd have no idea what hit them.

‘Oh, Isabella. You smell so beautiful tonight.'

Isabella. The scrawny nurse
. Nox couldn't believe his ears.

Chairs scraped back, and he was horrified that they intended to have sex on the table.
His
table.

‘And you taste lovely,' she whispered.

Nox had had enough. He searched the wall in the darkness, looking for a weapon. Dozens of times he'd been in the room, and yet he couldn't recall seeing anything other than the table and chairs.

Their breathing became fervid, their moaning deeper, longer. A zipper glided, and Nox gritted his teeth in revulsion.

‘What's that?' The woman had fear etched into her voice.

‘What?'

‘That … that smell.'

Suddenly Nox realised his body odour was his enemy. He had to act now.

At that very moment, his foot touched something on the floor, and he knew exactly what it was. The small cast-iron statue had probably been used as a door stop for centuries, though at some point in its history it had most likely held a much more glorious posting. Nox picked it up from the floor and, upon feeling its significant weight, he knew the little statue was about to
make
history.

The element of surprise was in his favour, and Nox wasted no time. He stepped forward and swung blindly in the darkness at the table. The statue thumped into something solid. It wasn't wood. There was another load moan, not one of sexual arousal, either.

‘Niccolo, are you okay?'

‘No, he's not.' Nox stepped towards her voice, and as she screamed, he brought down the statue. The scream died and he hit her again, just to make sure she was dead too. Silence returned to the room. Nox let out the breath he'd been holding and when he inhaled again, he sucked in the metallic smell of blood mingled with his own fishy odour.

It was time to get the keys to the nurse's station, and as much as he didn't want to, he had to turn on the light. He took another deep breath to calm himself, and with the statue poised above his head in case either of his victims moved, he flicked the switch.

It was gruesome. The sight of blood and other mangled bits made his stomach buckle.

He held his breath and cringed while feeling along the woman's body. It was an eternity before he located the jingling keys in her coat. With the keys secured in his pocket, Nox wiped his fingerprints off the little statue and returned it to the floor. Then he flicked off the light with his knuckle, left the Esagonale room and closed the door, and using Isabella's keys, he locked it.

The nurse's station was only a short walk, and once there he tried six keys before he unlocked the door. He shut the door behind him and turned on the light.

Nox went straight for the medicine cabinet and again fiddled with the keys until he located the right one to open the door. He stuffed a couple of syringes into his pocket, along with bottles of morphine, and a few other bottles with names he couldn't pronounce.

He took a moment to go through then nurse's desk drawers in the hope of finding cash. In the bottom drawer, he found something that was so much better.

A gun.

Nox drew the small weapon out from beneath the paperwork and turned it over in his hands. He would never have guessed a woman like Isabella would obtain a weapon. Then again, he would never have imagined her having sex on the ancient table in the Esagonale room either.

He checked the other drawers and found a chocolate bar, but nothing else of interest. He stood to leave, and that was when he noticed a handbag hanging on a hook on the back of the door. He spilled the contents onto the table and rummaged through the purse. Nox smiled at the one hundred and sixty euro slotted into the side. It was more cash than he'd held in months. Hell, it could be years.

Nox put the gun, money, drugs, syringes and his scroll into the bag. Then he took off his coat. He slung the bag over his shoulder and put his coat back on. Now all his worldly possessions were tucked up nicely near his armpit and away from view. For the third time that night, Nox wiped down the surfaces he'd touched and left the room.

With multiple weapons in his possession, the only thing left to do was kidnap Rosalina. For months he'd stewed over a suitable place to keep her captive once he'd kidnapped her. The answer had come to him one afternoon a couple of weeks ago while he'd been sitting in a sun-drenched Rome street begging for food. An old man and little boy had approached him to toss a few coins into his lap. When Nox had glanced up to thank them, he'd looked into the eyes of a man who had ruined many young boy's lives.

Father Domenico Zanobi. The name had frozen on his lips at the sight of the paedophile.

Nox had gone unnoticed. Of course he had. It was more than thirty years since Zanobi had laid eyes on him. But Nox could remember it like it was yesterday. Zanobi had had a penchant for glaring down at the orphaned boys from the curved balcony that hovered over their dormitory beds. Most of the children would be asleep when Zanobi scanned from one sleeping child to the next.

Nox had wanted to be chosen. He'd wanted to spend time with Zanobi, as most of the other boys had done. When Zanobi's eyes fell on Nox, his childish breath had caught in his throat.

Finally, one night, he'd thought it was his turn. But no, Zanobi simply sneered and moved onto the next bed.

When Zanobi had tossed those coins into his lap in Rome, Nox had glanced at the young boy holding the old man's hand. The child had looked blissfully happy.

Nox had never had that pleasure.

He'd followed Zanobi that day in Rome. Watched him hold the little boy's hand as he led him through the cobbled streets. When the old predator went along a narrow alley and disappeared up a set of ancient stairs, Nox had followed him up there, too. Later that day, after the young boy left with a new pair of white shoes, Nox had gone into Zanobi's room and reacquainted himself with the old bastard.

Zanobi would never get to choose another boy again.

That freak encounter in the stifling afternoon sun in Rome had been another sign of destiny. It had helped Nox work out where he was going to take Rosalina once he kidnapped her.

The old orphanage.

The one that had been abandoned in a hurry one sunny morning thirty years ago. Until that day in Rome, he'd forgotten all about it. He just hoped they hadn't demolished it.

Nox felt for the gun in the bag beneath his armpit as he ate the chocolate bar and worked his way along the tunnels beneath the church. He would have no hesitation using the weapon if he needed to. Rosalina had turned out to be a strong one. She'd nearly strangled him the last time he'd captured her. She would not get that opportunity again.

Ever since Rosalina had shot him with that spear, she'd hit the top of his revenge list. Once he'd finished using her, he was looking forward to watching her die a slow and agonising death.

Chapter Seven

Rosalina dragged her eyes away from the twinkling lights on the neighbouring yacht outside
Evangeline
's window to stir the garlic and butter with her wooden spoon. The aromas were just beginning to release when she tossed in the onion and stirred it quickly to coat it in the butter.

‘That smells great.' Ginger sidled up beside her. She had already learnt so much from Rosalina about cooking, and yet she never seemed to tire of it.

‘Tip the rice in,' Rosalina instructed.

Ginger poured in the Arborio rice as Rosalina continued to stir. ‘So we coat all the grains in the butter first, and they will soon become a little translucent.'

‘Okay.' Ginger rose up on her toes to look into the pot.

‘The trick with a good risotto is to allow the grains of rice to absorb all the moisture before you add any more liquid,' Rosalina said.

In another pot on the stove she had her homemade duck stock already simmering. The duck meat was resting beneath foil on a plate in the oven.

‘Now we increase the heat and pour in the red wine.'

Rosalina took a quick sip first. She couldn't help herself. Made from Villa Pandolfini's own grapes, the wine had a deep pomegranate colour and offered subtle aromas of oak and raspberry. She would never tire of its exquisite taste.

‘How are
le mie belle signore
going in the kitchen?' Alessandro swanned up to them, draped his arms over both Rosalina's and Ginger's shoulders, and kissed each of them on the cheek. His long lashes lowered and his chocolate-coloured eyes softened as he turned his attention to Ginger.

‘Rosa's teaching me how to make duck risotto.' Ginger cast Alessandro a sparkling glance and a crimson tide coloured her creamy skin. Rosalina turned away, grinning.

‘Oh
delizioso
. I'm so hungry.' Alessandro loved his food, which had always made him the perfect slave for Rosalina's creative cuisine.

‘How are you boys going?' Rosalina glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘Solved all the problems of the world?'

‘Some … yes. Some not quite yet.' He laughed as he reached for the bottle of wine at her side and brought it to his nose. ‘Mmmm.' The sound of appreciation tumbled from his throat as he poured a good splash into a glass he'd plucked off the kitchen bench.

‘Here, Ginger, see how all the wine has evaporated from the rice?' Rosalina pointed at the grains in the pot.

‘Yes.'

‘Now we add the duck stock, one ladleful at a time. But we must keep stirring, otherwise the grains will burn. Here, you take over.'

The ladies swapped places, and Rosalina waddled to the bench and sat on one of the bar stools.

‘Alessandro, how about you set the table? Ginger and I will have dinner ready in about twenty minutes. It's all in here.' Rosalina had a basket ready with cutlery, bread plates, pasta bowls, butter, and a fresh sourdough, wrapped in a tea towel that she'd taken out of the oven just ten minutes earlier.

‘Oh sure.' He gave Ginger a kiss on the cheek then, juggling the basket and his wine, he headed towards the stairs.

‘I think this is ready for more stock,' Ginger said.

‘Okay. Put in another ladle.'

‘You don't want to check it?'

‘No.' Rosalina offered Ginger a reassuring smile. The young Australian needed regular encouragement when she was in the kitchen.

‘Oh, okay. Cool.'

Ginger scooped the duck stock from the saucepan and tipped it over the rice. Once she'd stirred it a couple of times, she looked over at Rosalina, and the corners of her lips curled to a smile. ‘This smells so yummy.'

‘Wait till you taste it. Would you mind getting the duck meat out of the oven for me? I might as well shred it while I'm sitting here.'

‘Sure.' Ginger reached for an oven mitt and opened the door, releasing the earthy sweet aroma of the roasted duck.