Chapter 16 #2
Dr. Tarantino beamed at us, his chest puffed with pride. “I have splendid news! Miss Emily is with child!”
“What a surprise,” Malik drawled, his eyes locking onto mine. “Aren’t you surprised, Olivia?”
I lifted my chin. “I’m delighted, is what I am,” I countered, skirting the accusation.
The truth was, I already knew Emily might be pregnant, but I hadn’t dared say anything. If Malik knew, there was a chance he’d refuse to let her time travel—and I wasn’t about to risk that.
Dr. Tarantino held up a small glass container filled with golden liquid. “Her urine told the tale.”
I eyed the jar. “You performed a urinalysis?”
He chuckled. “I’m not so lofty as to call it that,” he said, swirling the liquid gently. “I’m what’s known as a ‘piss prophet.’”
I blinked. “A piss prophet? What on Earth is that?”
Grinning, Dr. Tarantino thrust the jar toward me. “Here. Look.”
I recoiled instinctively, stepping back.
“Note the color,” he continued, holding it dangerously close to my face. “A clear pale-lemon shade, leaning toward eggshell white, with a distinctive cloud on its surface.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I believe you.” I put up a hand, pushing the jar—and its foul stench—away.
Behind me, Malik leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s because you already knew.”
I shivered and stepped forward, brushing off his words and intoxicating scent.
Malik moved toward the foot of the bed, his expression shifting to something softer as he smiled at Emily. “This is wonderful news! Rosie needs a playmate and a friend.”
Dr. Tarantino pulled back the covers and gently palpated Emily’s abdomen. “You’ll need rest, Miss Emily. Rest and good nutrition.” He nodded to himself. “I’d estimate you’re about three months along. May I ask—where is the father?”
Emily’s eyes welled with unshed tears.
“He’s not the man I thought he was,” she whispered. Turning away from all of us, she rolled onto her side, her back a silent barrier. “Can you all please leave? I need to be alone.”
Malik’s gaze flicked to mine, concern deepening the lines on his face.
I mirrored his worry. I was furious that Marcellius had turned to the dark side, but more than that, I was bewildered. How had we been so thoroughly deceived?
Saying nothing, Dr. Tarantino, Malik, and I quietly left the room, descending the grand, curving staircase.
At the bottom, I lingered in the foyer while Malik stepped outside to see the doctor off.
When he returned, I moved toward him—but before I could speak, Giulia hurried toward us, her movements quick and practiced.
She curtsied. “Master, if I may.”
Malik’s expression hardened. “What is it?” His voice was sharp, impatient.
Giulia kept her gaze lowered to the tiled floor. “A gentleman came to see you yesterday.”
Malik’s nostrils flared. “What, gentleman? Who was it?”
She hesitated, then said, “He said his name was Roman Alexander, sir.”
The air between us stilled, thick with something unspoken.
Roman was here.
A rush of emotion slammed into me so hard my knees nearly buckled. My beloved husband, after all this time, was finally here, in Italy, at the same moment as I was. I had to press myself against the wall to keep from collapsing.
“Where is he?” Malik’s eyes blazed with intensity.
Giulia shifted uncomfortably. “He’s gone, sir. I told him you’d return in two days.”
Silence.
Then—
“You what?” Malik’s voice was a dangerous growl, the veins in his neck bulging. “Why didn’t you put him up? That’s what I told you to do! Where did he go?”
I sagged against the wall, too stunned to speak. Did she send Roman away?
Giulia’s voice warbled. “He was with another man. They rode in a fine carriage. When I told him you weren’t here and wouldn’t return for two days, he said he would return and then departed. He didn’t seem upset.”
Malik’s seemed to bubble with fury. “Whether he seemed upset or not is missing the point. You had one job, Giulia—to greet the man I told you was coming and offer him my hospitality.”
Giulia swallowed hard. “B-b-but, sir,” she stammered. “I didn’t think you’d want a stranger—”
“I don’t pay you to think!” Malik thundered. “I hired you because you follow orders. And if you don’t like it, there are plenty of fresh road apples to plow.”
He pointed to the door, his expression like carved stone. “Get out! You’re no longer under my employment!”
Giulia gasped, her hands trembling as she clasped them together.
“B-b-but, sir. My family—”
“Out!” Malik roared. “Get out!”
With a strangled whimper, Giulia rushed from the foyer, the door slamming behind her.
Silence crashed over the room.
That was harsh.
I exhaled, my stomach plummeting. “Was that really necessary, Malik? It was an honest mistake.”
Malik’s gaze locked onto mine, molten and burning with barely restrained fury.
I couldn’t hold it. I slid down the wall, my hands covering my face as I sank onto the floor.
Roman had been here. After months of longing, of aching for him, he was finally here. But where was “here”? Where had he gone?
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to ease my frantic thoughts. “What do we do now?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
Footsteps approached. A warm hand wrapped gently around my wrist.
“Olivia, look at me,” Malik murmured.
I let my hands drift down, my tear-bright eyes meeting his. Despair swelled in the silence between us, thick and suffocating.
Malik cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin. “Sweetheart,” he said softly. “I know you miss Roman. You’ll see him soon.” He promised. “But right now, let’s get in my carriage and retrieve the Sun Dagger, shall we?”
A spark of purpose ignited in my chest.
I scrambled to my feet, nearly knocking him over in my haste. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
***
As the carriage rolled through the countryside, I marveled at the breathtaking green hills and sprawling farms. Wherever we were in Italy, it was nothing like Rome.
Rome was a living, breathing beast—a teeming city of noise and movement. But this? This was different. It was a quiet, nestled town cradled by the hills, beautiful in its own way.
I turned to Malik. “What part of Italy are we in?”
He clucked to the sleek, onyx-colored horses pulling the carriage. “Sicily. My home is at the southern tip of Italy. A land of warmth, scandal, and secrets. The township has everything—gossip, intrigue, political scheming, and all the rest.”
He appeared at ease, guiding the horses along the dirt road beneath the high afternoon sun.
I smiled, the easy camaraderie between us settling comfortably in my chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt nothing could go wrong. We would retrieve the dagger, and I would be one step closer to destroying Balthazar.
The road wound upward, narrowing as Malik steered the carriage along a leaf-strewn drive. At its end, an old Italian villa loomed before us, its weathered stone facade bathed in golden light.
Malik reined in the horses and leaped from his driver’s seat, landing gracefully before extending a hand to me.
I placed my palm in his, allowing him to steady me as I sprang from the carriage.
A raucous commotion shattered the quiet—red hens flapped wildly, screeching as they scattered through the brush.
Then, from around the corner, a hulking hound lunged into view, its deep, guttural barks shaking the air.
“Lupo! Lupo, what is it?!”
A scraggly man scrambled after the beast, bald on top, his clothes rumpled and stained. The moment his eyes met Malik’s cold, unforgiving glare, his face went deathly pale.
“Vincenzo,” Malik sneered.
Vincenzo staggered back as though physically struck. Then, remembering himself, he straightened and bowed stiffly.
“My Lord,” he said, rising. “How may I serve you?”
Malik’s gaze bore into him like molten iron. “I’m here for the Sun Dagger. Alina said she left it here with your father, Giovanni.”
“I…I…” Vincenzo’s gaze darted wildly, his throat working as he struggled for words.
Malik’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, his fury pressing into the ground beneath us. “You what?” He enunciated each word with deadly precision.
Vincenzo quivered, sweat beading on his forehead. His lips trembled as he finally stammered, “I told your friend yesterday I no longer have it!”
Malik’s patience snapped. In a blur, he was upon Vincenzo, gripping his shirt so tightly the fabric strained at the seams.
“What friend is this?!” he snarled, his face inches from Vincenzo’s, his rage a palpable force.
“R-R-Roman Alexander,” Vincenzo stuttered, barely able to breathe. “His name was Roman Alexander!”
Roman!
My heart leaped.
Where was he now?
Malik shook Vincenzo violently. “What do you mean you no longer have the Sun Dagger? You and your father were told to guard it with your lives!”
His grip tightened, fingers curling around Vincenzo’s throat.
Vincenzo wheezed, clawing at Malik’s arm. “My father was killed six months ago! Raul Costa attacked us, took the dagger, and murdered him!”
Malik bared his teeth, his fury crackling. “You imbecile. You were supposed to protect the dagger at all costs. Where is Roman Alexander?”
“I—I don’t know,” Vincenzo choked out, his hands grasping Malik’s ironclad grip.
Malik loomed over him, his presence swelling, dark, and oppressive. It was as if the air itself recoiled from his wrath.
A cold dread seeped into my bones, my knees trembling, my heart hammering in terror.
Malik’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper, his anger so potent that the ground tremored beneath us. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Malik!” I screamed, lunging at him. “Stop!”
In a blur, he turned, his free hand snapping around my throat.
My breath hitched.
His eyes—black as the abyss, bottomless, merciless—locked onto mine.
I felt like I was staring straight into the mouth of hell.
A violent quiver racked through me as I gasped, my hands instinctively flying to his wrist.
“Do not meddle in my affairs,” he warned. “This does not concern you.”
His fingers tightened.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.