Of Blood and Bone (The Minaldi Legacy) Read online

  “If you walk down the road about one and a half kilometers, you’ll find a little bistro on the beach. You will love it. Marianne owns the place. Just tell her that I sent you and she’ll take special care of you, because she holds a special place in her heart for me.” His faded eyes are twinkling now. “Would you like for me to take you right now?”

  He looks at me with kind eyes and I would love to go and eat with him because I get the feeling that he is lonely. But I’m still so tired.

  “Tomas, I’ll take a rain-check on that. I still feel pretty exhausted and I want to unpack a little and shower before I eat, but I would love to have dinner with you sometime soon.”

  He nods understandingly. “Of course, Eva. I’ll get out of your hair now and let you settle in. But I’ll check in on your from time to time. And of course, you will owe me a dinner date. I’ll come around to collect on that. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

  I smile and agree and walk him to the door where he kisses both of my cheeks in the European fashion before he leaves.

  Regardless of my rumbling tummy, I find that I am simply too tired to be of much good. The jet-lag has gotten to me. I grab a crocheted blanket from the back of the couch and curl up for a nap. To my complete surprise, I don’t wake up for six hours, when it is once again evening.

  Jet lag has truly wiped me out, I decide as I sit up and stretch, then drag myself from the small couch.

  I make my way into the tiny bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. Traveling around the world does tend to make a person happy for the small things in life. I have decided that clean teeth and clean underwear are two of the most important things in the world. Without them, I feel less than human.

  I put my clothing away in the little dresser in the bedroom and then set up an office area in the little kitchenette. It is dark outside but my stomach is rumbling louder than ever and I find myself wondering how long the little bistro that Tomas told me about will stay open tonight. Since I am famished and don’t have any food in the house yet, I decide to find out.

  Despite my long nap, I’m too weary to walk so I examine the little scooter. Figuring out how to work it is a challenging feat in the dark, especially since there isn’t a porch light. But once I figure out the various buttons, I roll down the curving road in the direction that Tomas had pointed earlier. At just around the kilometer and a half mark, just like Tomas said, I find a small path that leads down to the beach and I nose the little scooter downward.

  When I get to the sand, I park it and walk since I know there is no way that the wheels would make it on the beach. As I walk along, a scream emanates from the dark.

  I stop still in my tracks and glance around nervously, as the hair raises on my neck.

  There’s no one here but me. The only movement is the sea sliding back and forth along the foamy lip of the shore, and the trees rustling quietly along the craggy cliffs above.

  It’s quiet now. And I wonder if perhaps someone was playing. Maybe a child? It sounded like a woman, but I can’t really be sure. And it’s gone now. So it must’ve been nothing. If it were something, she’d still be screaming. And like usual, I am over-analyzing the situation. I smile to myself because that’s an occupational hazard and keep walking because I can see a little café a hundred yards or so away. Its welcoming light shines onto the beach around it like a beacon, drawing me to it.

  I step inside and find that it is empty. There is not a soul seated among the little tables and cozy booths. A candle flickers at each table, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere and I am instantly in love with this place. I already know that I will spend many evenings here because I am not much one for cooking.

  I walk to the front and stand by the cash register, waiting for someone to notice me. It doesn’t take long for a tiny woman to emerge from a swinging door. She can’t be any taller than five feet tall, her white hair cut into a fashionable bob. Her ice blue eyes meet mine and she smiles welcomingly.

  “Welcome. Table for one?” She looks past me questioningly.

  I nod. “Yes. Table for one. How late are you open?”

  “Oh, we’re open until midnight,” she answers warmly. “Don’t worry about that.”

  I glance at my watch, an expensive medical school graduation gift from my father. Its silver hands tell me that it is 11:00 pm. I slept all day and evening, which is very unlike me.

  Marianne leads me to a little booth and sits me down, fussing over me as she does.

  “What is a pretty thing like you doing out in the dark alone?” she asks as she hands me a menu. But then she just as quickly takes it away. “I know just what you need,” she winks. “Our special of the day is just what the doctor ordered for you, bella. You need some meat on your bones.”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to argue, instead she is gone before I even know it. And I love how everyone refers to women as ‘bella’ here. Beautiful. It is endearing.

  Marianne is back within a minute with a glass of red wine and a basket of fragrant bread.

  “Eat, eat,” she waves her hands. And then she promptly sits down in the empty seat across from me. “You don’t mind, do you?” she raises an eyebrow.

  “Of course not,” I answer. “Please sit.”

  She smiles, because she knows as well as I do that she was planning to sit regardless of what I said. She watches as I make short work of a breadstick and half of my glass of wine. She looks satisfied by that and only then does she try to engage me in conversation, asking where I’m from, why I’m here, and what my plans are. I answer her and she is visibly impressed.

  “A psychiatrist?” she repeats. “You must be a smart girl. Beautiful and smart. Your parents must be proud.”

  Someone from the kitchen brings out a steaming bowl of fettuccine and the smells make my mouth instantly water. Yes, I will be spending quite a few evenings here. I already know it.

  Marianne watches me eat, a small smile on her face.

  “Do you know a Luca Minaldi?” I ask curiously in between bites. She looks instantly intrigued.

  “Why do you ask?” she inquires.

  I shake my head. “Just curious. I met him last night. He was out jogging and heard me screaming about a spider.” I tell her about the incident and she laughs.

  “Yes, those are nasty little creatures,” she agrees. “And I’m from here. I’ve never gotten used to them. It surprises me, however, that Luca Minaldi would approach you. He tends to stay to himself.”

  And that intrigues me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. Marianne shrugs.

  “You’d think someone in his standing would come to all of the important social functions, but he seldom does. His family has been here in Valletta for generations. They own Minaldi Shipping and their ships can be seen all over the world. Yet, he doesn’t seem to be much of a people person. It’s too bad, really. With his looks and money, he truly is Malta’s most eligible bachelor.”

  “He’s single?”

  I ask the question before I even think about it. Shit.

  Marianne smiles. “Yes, my dear. He’s single. He would have to come out and meet people in order to become married and he doesn’t do much of that. He lives outside of town on the coast on an estate called Chessarae. It’s a beautiful property, really. Although he never hosts any functions there anymore. Not since his mother is no longer well. She used to be quite the socialite. But no more… not since Nicolas died.”

  “Nicolas was Luca’s father?” I take a guess. She nods.

  “Yes. Nicolas died some years ago. Melina became a recluse of sorts after that. She stays on the property now. No one has seen her in a year or two.”

  “She lives with Luca?” I ask. For some reason, this surprises me. He seemed so self-sufficient. Power practically emanates from his pores, not the kind of person you would think lives with his mother.

  Marianne smiles again.

  “Eva, you are no longer in America. Things are done differently here. Families o
ften live together because family is very important to us. When all is said and gone, family is what will remain. And besides, Chessarae is so large that there is room for five families to live there comfortably. But as it was, for years, it was just the three Minaldi boys and their parents. But then Nicolas died, and Christoph and Damien moved away, working in other Minaldi Shipping locations. Luca is the only one still at the house.”

  “Does he also work for the family business?” I don’t know why I’m curious. I just am.

  Marianne nods again. “Yes, he does.”

  Interesting.

  I’m too interested. And I know that I’m not going to let it go. I need a follow-up meeting with him. His personality is just too interesting. There are too many facets to it that I can’t put my finger on. And the things that I can pinpoint are fascinating. I tell myself that I am only interested in his mind, his personality, and definitely only in the medical sense, but I’m not sure that I believe it.

  “How can I go about setting up a meeting with him?” I ask Marianne. She grins.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” she laughs and refills my wine glass.

  “You can either show up at their home unannounced,” she tells me. “Or you can finagle a meeting at the library in town. His family is a patron of the library and one of the few things that he comes into town for are the board meetings. As it happens, I also am on the board, so I can tell you when to come ‘bump’ into him.”

  I feel slightly lecherous in trying to plan a chance meeting with the town’s most eligible bachelor in such a way. And I tell Marianne so. She just laughs.

  “My sweet, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. If he isn’t coming to you, go to him. Make it happen.”

  I don’t bother to explain why I want to meet with him again. This is a cultural thing, I know. She assumes that I am fascinated with him as potential husband material. And so I let her believe that. And honestly, her notion is only half false. I’m not in the market for a husband, but I am certainly fascinated by him.

  But the conversation topic changes and before I know it, I find that I have made a new friend and we have chatted until well past midnight. After I have finished six breadsticks and we have split two bottles of wine, I finally have to insist that I am going home. I promise Marianne that I will be back very soon and she promises me that she will come by the cottage with the library board meeting schedule.

  The trail home is dark and breezy and I ride quickly. It feels eerie out here in the dark, borderline spooky, although I don’t know why. I almost miss the trail that leads back up to the road, but I see it just in time and make my way back to my little cottage.

  And even though I had slept all day, I find that I am still tired enough to sleep. In an effort to thwart a little of my jet-lag, however, I decide that I should stay up for a little while longer, just to make sure that I sleep through the night. I’ve got to get my body back in sync with the clock.

  So, I try to stay awake and read, but my thoughts keep drifting to Luca Minaldi.

  I truly have never met someone like him before and so I can’t shake the thoughts that keep passing through my mind. The dark, dark energy that seemed to surround him, commanding the room. The way his thigh seemed so strong when it brushed against mine, the way the muscle moved in his arm, the way he seemed so lithe and powerful. I could practically see the individual muscles rippling in his shoulders through his shirt as he bent outside of my house. It was apparent that he is very, very fit. His stomach is rock hard, perfectly flat. As I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands across that flat expanse of muscle, my breath quickens at the thought.

  His face was so, so handsome and the way the moonlight slanted against it only enhanced that and made him seem even more mysterious. Even now, the mere memory of it, of him, stirs fluttery feelings in my belly. I place my hand there, as if to suppress those stirrings, but the feeling of my fingers on my bare skin gives me a better idea.

  I slide my hand downward.

  In my head, my hand transforms into Luca’s, sliding down my stomach, then along my leg, whispering into my ear as his fingers grasp the tender flesh of my inner thigh.

  Eva, you are so beautiful. Let me touch you.

  His hand continues moving, until it glides to a stop when he reaches there, a place that hasn’t been touched in far too long.

  The breath catches in my throat as his fingers gently massage the most sensitive part of me. He moves in a circle, his fingers as skilled as I thought they would be.

  He looks into my eyes and his are as black and dangerous as they were last night. His body is naked and hard as it slides against mine.

  I want you, Eva. His lips are perfect and full as they mouth the words to me. I nod, giving my consent and he slips his fingers into me, moving them at just the right speed. He moves faster just when I need him to, and I hold my breath and close my eyes, picturing his other hand cupping my breast before he bends his dark head and sucks my nipple.

  It is my undoing and my head throws back as I come against my own fingers.

  I fall limply back against my pillows and calm my ragged breathing.

  As I do, I remind myself that this was just a fantasy. A far-fetched fantasy, at that. Luca wouldn’t even call me Eva…because we aren’t yet friends. I roll my eyes in the dark and curl onto my side. I don’t know why he has fascinated me to the point of sexual fantasy. There’s no way he would be in my bed. Even still, the last things I think about before I sleep are Luca’s strong hands and his dark and mysterious eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Luca

  I see her.

  I know I am dreaming, but it is as real as anything I’ve ever seen. She’s standing in front of me, her red hair gleaming in the moonlight. She turns her face and her skin is creamy white in the dark. She seems too beautiful to be real, ethereal almost. I take a step toward her and then stop.

  Because I know I must.

  Her intriguing eyes, not quite gray but not quite green, stare into mine and I can’t help but to walk toward her. She’s drawing me to her and she’s doing it on purpose. She senses the danger, I can tell. But she doesn’t care. I swallow hard. If she doesn’t care, it makes it more difficult for me to do so.

  “Luca, it’s okay. Come to me,” she pleads.

  I know better, but I go anyway.

  I touch her hand and she grabs mine, pulling me to her with desperation and need. She clutches my hair, covering my mouth with hers until we are kissing in a way that should light the nearby shrubbery on fire. She tastes like wine and her lips are full and swollen. She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  She rocks against me, and I am instantly hard. She slides against my body, pushing ever closer. I press my erection against her, nudging it firmly between her thighs. She smiles knowingly, her lips moving against my neck, as she grabs my hand and places it directly between her thighs. She is wet. She wants me.

  And I want her.

  She knows that I want her.

  “Fuck me, Luca,” she whispers, as her eyes meet mine.

  I start to pull her closer to me, to pull her clothing off of her body, when her eyes widen as she stares at something behind me.

  And then she begins to scream.

  Her scream is terrified and horrified and the breath lodges in my throat. I am frozen and I don’t want to look.

  But I do.

  I turn, hesitant because I am afraid of what I will find. And it is worse than I feared.

  Stacks of bodies, of bloodied and bruised women, are piled behind me on the darkened beach and I clench my jaw in horror. I know I did that. I hurt them. But I don’t remember any of it. And that is the worst nightmare of all.

  She is staring at me in horror as she backs away, her eyes condemning me for being what I am.

  A monster.

  And then I’m awake.

  I sit straight up in my bed and my sheets are damp from a terror-induced sweat. My fingers are curled around my p
illow, clutching it for dear life. This is a familiar dream. I dream it often, almost every night, which is one of the reasons that I dread the night. Tonight, however, there was an addition to my dream.

  Her.

  Evangeline.

  Her name is soft on my tongue and I say it aloud, quietly in the darkness of my suite. Shadows fall around me, against my walls and my bed, but that is fine. I enjoy it that way. I belong in them. I have known that since I was small and as long as I am awake, I feel comfortable there.

  I reach for a glass on my bed stand and take a big gulp of water, allowing the sleep to fade away so that I can think more clearly.

  I am intrigued by this new woman, by her open and curious face, by her interesting eyes, by her beauty.

  I want her. This dream was a testament to that. And I haven’t wanted anything for a very long time.

  The knowledge is startling.

  I can’t fool myself into thinking that her beauty does not play a part in my fascination. Of course it does. She is breathtaking. But it isn’t just that. She’s smart and confident in a way that I haven’t quite seen before. She’s a very capable person. Except when she’s dealing with a spider.

  I smile at the memory and realize that I’m once again gripping my pillow. I release it, tossing it to the other side of the bed. I flex my fingers and as I do I see that there is blood beneath my fingernails.

  I cringe, the familiar horror lodged in my chest, surrounding my heart. I numbly rise from bed and walk quietly into my bathroom, scrubbing my hands as vigorously as I can. I’m surprised I don’t take the skin from the bone, but it remains firmly attached to my hand. It wouldn’t matter to me either way at this point.

  I stare into the mirror and like always, I don’t like what I see. I saw my reflection in Evangeline’s horrified stare. She saw me for what I am. I don’t give a fuck if it was a dream. She can see through me.