restâ. Whatever that was.
He needed this Italianâs help. But it was a weird partnership. They were in love with the same woman and now he wasnât so sure he could let her go. Things may get messy.
The distress over anything happening to Rosalina, even a single finger laid on her, made him clench his jaw so hard it burned. Heâd kill anyone who hurt her.
***
Rosalina snapped her eyes open and blinked at the cold stone floor. It took a couple of panic-filled seconds to recall where she was. Pins and needles in her arm convinced her sheâd been lying in the same position for some time. She rolled to her knees and, fighting a wave of nausea, pushed to her feet. She quickly glanced around the dimly lit room. She was alone. Thank God . The anguish over that man watching as she lay unconscious made her skin crawl. She scrubbed at her arms, trying to rid the filthy man from her skin. Her head pounded and her eye hurt. She reached up and felt a large lump below her eyebrow. Thankfully there was no blood, but by the feel of the bump, before long, she wouldnât be able to see out of that eye.
Shaking off her dizziness, she strode to the doors and banged on the blackened wood until her fists hurt and her throat burned from screaming. It was useless. She replayed the events in her mind and tried to judge how far sheâd been dragged. Am I still in the church?
She remembered her phone and reached into her jeans pocket, but it was gone. Racking her brain, she suddenly recalled that creep snatching it from her when it rang.
Archer or Alessandro would have called her again. Did the creep answer her phone? She bet he did. Sheâd only seen Archer angry a couple of times â his fury wouldâve hit a whole new level when she didnât answer her mobile. And Alessandro, for that matter. He probably showed a new side to him that sheâd never seen before. One thing she knew for certain â both of them would be coming for her.
Trying to ward off the cold, she hugged herself as she examined the room. Other than the door she came in through, there was only one other door at the far end of the room. It was equally as formidable as the first. Both doors were solid wood, possibly inches thick. Both looked as ancient as the church itself.
The room was as big as a twenty-table restaurant. There were no windows, and the walls were built with enormous stone bricks, each one, she guessed, would weigh as much as a baby elephant. A couple of those ugly naked light bulbs that lined the corridors were in here, casting dark shadows at random intervals.
The ceiling was a series of scalloped arches that she could almost touch at the bottom of the arch. Six large columns, intricately decorated with carvings and mosaics, held up the ceiling. The expert craftsmanship wasnât lost on her. Having spent many hours listening to Alessandro drool over architecture, she knew this room was highly significant. She suspected the enormous stone tomb centred in the middle was the reason.
The floor was made of ancient cobblestones, rough and uneven, but she did notice a worn path that led from one door to the other, passing by the tomb. Obviously at some point in history a lot of people had walked through here to view the tomb.
She placed her hand on the sarcophagus. It was cold. Very cold, actually, as if a frigid energy was being released from within. The untimely thought tumbled from nowhere and she quickly cast it aside, chastising herself for being ridiculous. She ran her finger along the carvings decorating the crypt and read the inscription: Roberto DâAngiò, Robert the Wise, King of Naples, Count of Provence and Forcalquier, 1277 to 1343.
âYou were obviously very important.â Her voice sounded flat in the enclosed space. The effigy lying atop the tomb depicted a knight holding his hands in prayer. His expression was one of deep satisfaction. At his side were his sword and shield. Examining the
He needed this Italianâs help. But it was a weird partnership. They were in love with the same woman and now he wasnât so sure he could let her go. Things may get messy.
The distress over anything happening to Rosalina, even a single finger laid on her, made him clench his jaw so hard it burned. Heâd kill anyone who hurt her.
***
Rosalina snapped her eyes open and blinked at the cold stone floor. It took a couple of panic-filled seconds to recall where she was. Pins and needles in her arm convinced her sheâd been lying in the same position for some time. She rolled to her knees and, fighting a wave of nausea, pushed to her feet. She quickly glanced around the dimly lit room. She was alone. Thank God . The anguish over that man watching as she lay unconscious made her skin crawl. She scrubbed at her arms, trying to rid the filthy man from her skin. Her head pounded and her eye hurt. She reached up and felt a large lump below her eyebrow. Thankfully there was no blood, but by the feel of the bump, before long, she wouldnât be able to see out of that eye.
Shaking off her dizziness, she strode to the doors and banged on the blackened wood until her fists hurt and her throat burned from screaming. It was useless. She replayed the events in her mind and tried to judge how far sheâd been dragged. Am I still in the church?
She remembered her phone and reached into her jeans pocket, but it was gone. Racking her brain, she suddenly recalled that creep snatching it from her when it rang.
Archer or Alessandro would have called her again. Did the creep answer her phone? She bet he did. Sheâd only seen Archer angry a couple of times â his fury wouldâve hit a whole new level when she didnât answer her mobile. And Alessandro, for that matter. He probably showed a new side to him that sheâd never seen before. One thing she knew for certain â both of them would be coming for her.
Trying to ward off the cold, she hugged herself as she examined the room. Other than the door she came in through, there was only one other door at the far end of the room. It was equally as formidable as the first. Both doors were solid wood, possibly inches thick. Both looked as ancient as the church itself.
The room was as big as a twenty-table restaurant. There were no windows, and the walls were built with enormous stone bricks, each one, she guessed, would weigh as much as a baby elephant. A couple of those ugly naked light bulbs that lined the corridors were in here, casting dark shadows at random intervals.
The ceiling was a series of scalloped arches that she could almost touch at the bottom of the arch. Six large columns, intricately decorated with carvings and mosaics, held up the ceiling. The expert craftsmanship wasnât lost on her. Having spent many hours listening to Alessandro drool over architecture, she knew this room was highly significant. She suspected the enormous stone tomb centred in the middle was the reason.
The floor was made of ancient cobblestones, rough and uneven, but she did notice a worn path that led from one door to the other, passing by the tomb. Obviously at some point in history a lot of people had walked through here to view the tomb.
She placed her hand on the sarcophagus. It was cold. Very cold, actually, as if a frigid energy was being released from within. The untimely thought tumbled from nowhere and she quickly cast it aside, chastising herself for being ridiculous. She ran her finger along the carvings decorating the crypt and read the inscription: Roberto DâAngiò, Robert the Wise, King of Naples, Count of Provence and Forcalquier, 1277 to 1343.
âYou were obviously very important.â Her voice sounded flat in the enclosed space. The effigy lying atop the tomb depicted a knight holding his hands in prayer. His expression was one of deep satisfaction. At his side were his sword and shield. Examining the
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