Chapter 2
The man's presence filled the small studio, every muscle coiled with a potential for violence that was terrifyingly controlled. Serafina stood her ground, her mind racing to process his words. "The first person in centuries to see the symbol and live to talk about it." The statement hung in the air, a chilling testament to the danger she had stumbled into.
"Who are you?" she asked again, her voice barely a whisper. She was no longer just curious; she was terrified.
"Dante," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "And you have something that belongs to me."
"The painting?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "It's an artifact. It belongs to the world."
Dante let out a humorless laugh. "The painting is a distraction. The symbol, the mark—that is what I own. And you saw it." He stepped forward, closing the final bit of distance between them. Serafina could smell his scent now—a clean, masculine smell mixed with something else, something dangerous and unfamiliar.
He reached out a hand, and for a split second, Serafina thought he was going to touch her. Instead, he reached past her, his long fingers brushing against her arm as he picked up her phone from the desk. He flipped it open, his thumb moving with a practiced ease.
"Your police lie was good," he said, his eyes on the screen. "But you're too smart to be careless. You have a sister, Sofia. You're due to call her." He held up the phone to show her the screen. He had already found her call log.
The blood drained from Serafina's face. He knew her name. He knew about Sofia. He had not only been watching her, but he had also done his research. The meticulous, controlled nature of his surveillance was more terrifying than any direct threat.
"Don't touch my family," she said, her voice laced with a raw fury that surprised even herself. "Don't you dare."
Dante looked up from the phone, a flicker of something she couldn't quite decipher in his dark eyes. It was a cold curiosity, as if he were studying a new species. "You have fire," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "I didn't expect that."
He put the phone down and turned his attention back to the painting. He leaned in, his gaze tracing the hidden symbol with an intensity that matched her own. "This isn't just a symbol," he said, more to himself than to her. "It's a key. It's a map."
"A map to what?" Serafina asked, her fear giving way to a desperate curiosity.
He didn't answer her directly. Instead, he looked at her with a new intensity. "You didn't just stumble upon this, did you? You saw it. You felt it. You knew it was there."
Serafina hesitated, then nodded. "It felt like a whisper. Something hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be found."
Dante smiled then, a genuine, if brief, flash of teeth. It was a devastating smile, one that transformed his hard face into something almost beautiful. "You and I are the same, Serafina. We see what's hidden." He turned his back to her and walked to the window, staring out at the twinkling lights of Florence. "I won't kill you tonight," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you will come with me."
Serafina's heart pounded. "Where?"
"To find the rest of the map," he said, turning back to face her. "We will find the secrets of the thorn and the arrow together. If you try to run, I will find you. And I will find your sister."
He walked out of the studio, leaving her alone in the silence, the painting with its dangerous secret glowing under the lamp, and her phone, a stark reminder of the terrible choice she was being forced to make. She was no longer a restorer of ancient art; she was now part of it, a player in a game that was centuries old, and her life, and her sister's, depended on her next move.