The Dark Heart of Florence by Tasha Alexander (ebook reader screen TXT) 📕

“Not if we want to make sure Darius doesn’t get to it first. If he does, he’ll have the resources to flee and never pay for what he’s done.”

Signore Bastieri shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “It is not worth the risk. My Lena is dead. Catching him will not change that. If any of you is injured—or, heaven forbid, killed—trying to stop him, I will never forgive myself.”

“Whatever happens, none of this is your fault,” Tessa said.

“She’s correct,” I said. “Furthermore, we have no reason to believe he knows to look in the dome,” I said. “To learn what we have, he’d have to come here first and study the graffiti. If we’re here when he arrives, and it’s before the police have come, that could be dangerous.”

“There are always many tourists in the Duomo,” Tessa said. “We will be in no danger there.”

Signore Bastieri nodded. “That is true. We will come for you after we’ve handed Signore Benton-Smith over to the police.”

We all left the house together, separating only when we’d reached the end of the street. Signore Tazzera took four steps away from us before turning around, dashing back, and kissing Cécile.

“Be careful,” he told her, and then ran to catch up with Signore Bastieri. My friend said nothing, but the slightest smile curled her lips.

The Duomo was only a short walk from the palazzo. We went inside and headed straight for the narrow stone steps that would take us to the top of the cupola. We climbed and climbed, the stairway becoming increasingly narrow the higher we got.

“Four hundred and sixty-three steps,” Tessa said. “Let’s hope the treasure isn’t at the very top.”

We didn’t rush. Instead, we took our time, inspecting the walls around us for any sign that we were on the right track. I almost missed the first: a bat, just like that on the top of the coat of arms, carved into the riser of a winder step. Around it, I found no sign of a hiding place. We continued on, encouraged. Tessa found a second sign—an arrow—carved into the riser of another winder step. Again, I could see nowhere to hide anything. Would a caltrap, the third sign from the coat of arms, mark the spot?

We climbed higher, until the stairs briefly flattened. A short corridor took us back into the interior of the cathedral, opening onto a walkway that ran around the base of the dome, just beneath Giorgio Vasari’s enormous fresco of The Last Judgement. The artist died before he’d finished the work, which took Federico Zuccaro five more years to complete. Centuries of soot and grime now darkened it, but from where we stood, that only made Vasari’s hell appear more ominous. We paused to catch our breath and were so distracted by the painting above that I almost didn’t notice two figures on the other side of the whispering gallery: Colin and Darius. The expression on my husband’s face made it clear they were arguing.

“Let’s creep around slowly, approaching them so that we come up behind Darius,” I said. “He won’t be able to see us unless he turns around.” We had made it no more than ten yards when Cécile stopped.

“I can’t go on, Kallista,” Cécile said. “The height is giving me vertigo. I feel like I’m spinning.” The cathedral’s altar was nearly two hundred feet below us.

“I’ll take her back if you’d like,” Tessa said. “It makes better sense for only one of us to go. Much more discreet.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Thank you.”

She took Cécile’s hand and they hugged the wall as they made their way to the doorway. I continued on. Colin spotted me when I was about thirty yards away. He fixed his eyes on Darius and made a subtle gesture with one hand, signaling me to go back.

Something about the walls of domes makes them excellent conductors of sound. In any other sort of space, I would not have been able to hear their conversation, but here, even though they kept their voices low, every word was clear. I crept forward, only far enough that I was firmly out of Darius’s line of sight. I pressed my back against the wall and listened.

“You should have asked for help,” Colin was saying. “I could have—”

“I couldn’t risk asking you for anything,” Darius said. “You still don’t understand the danger, do you? We are headed for a disastrous confrontation with Germany, one that can only be stopped by making victory impossible for either side. If two enemies have the same weapons and the same capabilities, they will have to face the reality that neither can win and find some other, less destructive way, to live in the world together.”

“You are betraying your country,” Colin said.

“It is the only way to save it.”

“You needn’t have killed Lena.”

“But you don’t object to my eliminating Marzo?” Darius laughed softly. “He was useful to us for a long time, but then he started demanding more money. More than Britain would pay, and more than I had to give. I’ve spent every penny of my inheritance funding this venture. That’s how important it is to me. I may be bankrupt, but it’s worth it to serve my cause. He was nothing but a mercenary.”

“Most men like him are.”

“Which makes them expendable,” Darius said. “The house next door to yours has an attic window that opens onto your roof. I had Marzo meet me in that attic. I would have done nothing more than cut ties with him if he hadn’t made overtures to the Russians, but he did, so I killed him. The next day, when you arrived in Florence, I dragged his body over to your roof and tied it with a rope I’d frayed so that he’d fall into the courtyard only after I had joined you at the house. It was a bit complicated, I suppose, but I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. At any rate, Marzo had to be