was hustled into another, unmarked car, shooting off in the opposite direction.
It happened so quickly. One minute she was in the cool lobby of her building and a heartbeat later, she was hustled through the intense heat and into the air-conditioned car, speeding away. The golden evening turned dim through the smoked windows. She was wedged between two large, armed men on the backseat. They had their weapons at the ready and were turned away from her, intent on the road outside. No one spoke.
The driver drove at breakneck speed, back-tracking several times so quickly she leaned into the officers at her sides as the car rounded corners sharply, tires protesting. Jamie’s eyes widened when she saw the building where the driver finally brought the car to an abrupt halt.
Palazzo Ravizza. A gorgeous baroque palace still inhabited by the original family, the princes of Calderone. It was the most private of private clubs, with only a few dining tables available by reservation only, and only if the prince approved. The chef had been lured away from the Tour d’Argent in Paris and a meal could cost a month’s wages.
Again, she was hustled into the building surrounded by a living wall of broad-shouldered men. But just outside the enormous, ancient wood doors with iron studs and lit torches on either side, the officers stopped then stepped back.
She was on her own.
It felt like more than a step into a building, it felt like entering a new world. Clutching her small evening bag, Jamie took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
She was in an inner courtyard, blue-tiled walls with arabesque designs rising high, the only illumination huge, flickering torches set in wrought iron brackets on the walls. Under arches on the second story, a string quartet in formal evening wear played, the silver notes shimmering in the air as if they were torchlight made music.
A man emerged from the shadows, tall, silver-haired, in formal eveningwear.
“Ms. McIntyre. Welcome to Palazzo Ravizza.” His voice was low and pleasant. He brought her hand to his lips, released it, stepped back and smiled into her eyes. She’d seen his handsome face in countless articles in upscale travel magazines. What the photographs hadn’t shown was the utter charm of the man.
Jamie looked around at the sumptuous setting. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Prince.”
The man bowed his head, eyes crinkling. “Francesco, please, my dear. It’s an honor to have you.”
She blinked. “How so, Prince? Er, Francesco?”
He bowed his head again. “You are Judge Leone’s honored guest and therefore mine. We owe much to Stefano. He is helping to rid my beloved Sicily of a scourge. He has a standing invitation yet very rarely accepts. I was delighted to learn that he’d be dining with us tonight with a guest.” His smile broadened. “And now that I see his guest, I understand completely why he has come out of isolation.”
It was a gift Italian men had, to make compliments without sounding smarmy. “Thank you.”
The smile disappeared. “No,” he said soberly. “It is I who must thank you. Stefano is working much too hard. Anything that gives him an hour or two of peace is to be welcomed. But enough of this. Come, he is waiting for you. Allow me to escort you?” He held out an arm.
Jamie took it, feeling very much as if she were in a Regency novel. A Regency set in Palermo.
They walked up the dramatic flight of stone steps leading to the second floor, high enough to be the fourth floor in a modern building. The string quartet grew louder as they ascended. The musicians had been playing Mozart but as Jamie ascended, they started playing Pachelbel’s Canon , one of her favorites. She often put it on a loop when in the early stages of creating a new design. It calmed her then and it calmed her now.
Because, well…her nerves were on fire.
That was new.
Jamie didn’t do nerves on dates. She either liked the man or didn’t and rarely worried about what
It happened so quickly. One minute she was in the cool lobby of her building and a heartbeat later, she was hustled through the intense heat and into the air-conditioned car, speeding away. The golden evening turned dim through the smoked windows. She was wedged between two large, armed men on the backseat. They had their weapons at the ready and were turned away from her, intent on the road outside. No one spoke.
The driver drove at breakneck speed, back-tracking several times so quickly she leaned into the officers at her sides as the car rounded corners sharply, tires protesting. Jamie’s eyes widened when she saw the building where the driver finally brought the car to an abrupt halt.
Palazzo Ravizza. A gorgeous baroque palace still inhabited by the original family, the princes of Calderone. It was the most private of private clubs, with only a few dining tables available by reservation only, and only if the prince approved. The chef had been lured away from the Tour d’Argent in Paris and a meal could cost a month’s wages.
Again, she was hustled into the building surrounded by a living wall of broad-shouldered men. But just outside the enormous, ancient wood doors with iron studs and lit torches on either side, the officers stopped then stepped back.
She was on her own.
It felt like more than a step into a building, it felt like entering a new world. Clutching her small evening bag, Jamie took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
She was in an inner courtyard, blue-tiled walls with arabesque designs rising high, the only illumination huge, flickering torches set in wrought iron brackets on the walls. Under arches on the second story, a string quartet in formal evening wear played, the silver notes shimmering in the air as if they were torchlight made music.
A man emerged from the shadows, tall, silver-haired, in formal eveningwear.
“Ms. McIntyre. Welcome to Palazzo Ravizza.” His voice was low and pleasant. He brought her hand to his lips, released it, stepped back and smiled into her eyes. She’d seen his handsome face in countless articles in upscale travel magazines. What the photographs hadn’t shown was the utter charm of the man.
Jamie looked around at the sumptuous setting. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Prince.”
The man bowed his head, eyes crinkling. “Francesco, please, my dear. It’s an honor to have you.”
She blinked. “How so, Prince? Er, Francesco?”
He bowed his head again. “You are Judge Leone’s honored guest and therefore mine. We owe much to Stefano. He is helping to rid my beloved Sicily of a scourge. He has a standing invitation yet very rarely accepts. I was delighted to learn that he’d be dining with us tonight with a guest.” His smile broadened. “And now that I see his guest, I understand completely why he has come out of isolation.”
It was a gift Italian men had, to make compliments without sounding smarmy. “Thank you.”
The smile disappeared. “No,” he said soberly. “It is I who must thank you. Stefano is working much too hard. Anything that gives him an hour or two of peace is to be welcomed. But enough of this. Come, he is waiting for you. Allow me to escort you?” He held out an arm.
Jamie took it, feeling very much as if she were in a Regency novel. A Regency set in Palermo.
They walked up the dramatic flight of stone steps leading to the second floor, high enough to be the fourth floor in a modern building. The string quartet grew louder as they ascended. The musicians had been playing Mozart but as Jamie ascended, they started playing Pachelbel’s Canon , one of her favorites. She often put it on a loop when in the early stages of creating a new design. It calmed her then and it calmed her now.
Because, well…her nerves were on fire.
That was new.
Jamie didn’t do nerves on dates. She either liked the man or didn’t and rarely worried about what
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