Page 1 of Chasing Caine

Chapter 1

Antonio

August28,PompeiiArchaeologicalPark, Naples, Italy.

One day before the end ofBurning Caine…

My phone was fortunate I was in the crowded laboratory building. Had I been alone, I would have smashed it against the wall, stomped on it, and called it the pezzo di merda it was.

“No luck?” My cousin Mario appeared at the door of the office I was using for my calls and leaned against the frame, casually folding his arms. Tall and muscular with dark hair and our grandmother’s cheekbones, we were often told we looked eerily similar. He wore navy slacks and a primrose pink collared shirt under his lab jacket.

And he was too calm about the situation.

I’d arrived in Napoli three days ago and had spent most of my waking hours in Pompeii. Meeting the team my father and Mario had hired for my conservation project, inspecting the newly excavated Casa di Marte where we would work, and reacquainting myself with the city.

In July, I would have called this the perfect way to spend the next four months. I would have been ecstatic about my father and cousin planning all this behind my back. And a critical piece of equipment missing from yesterday’s delivery would have been little more than an inconvenience. I wouldn’t have spent two hours on the phone trying to get a replacement. A delay would have extended my stay in this amazing city, a problem I’d gladly accept.

But in August, I met Samantha Caine and everything changed. My life was at home in Michigan with her, not here in Italia. How could I win her back from so far away?

I dropped the phone to the desk and dragged my hands through my hair. “Marone, none at all. I’ve been trying to pull every string attached to the Ferraro name, to no avail. A college in Paris has one, but they can’t release it for a month. The best option was Delaware, who could do a week and a half.”

“Roma?”

“Niente!” I picked the phone up again, just to wake the screen. On it, a photo of a newspaper clipping, of Samantha and me dancing together at a charity gala. She’d blushed through our dances, voice trembling, heart pounding as strong as mine. I could still smell her, remember the feel of her in my arms last Friday night at my parents’ house.

But then she found the Chagall in their private gallery and realized I’d been lying to her almost since the day we met. We’d gone from such a high to such a low. To her never wanting to see me again.

Mario moved soundlessly, withdrawing the phone from my grip before I realized he’d crossed the room. “Stop staring at her photo. She doesn’t have that modulator or gas or whatever—”

“You have not listened to a word I’ve said since I arrived.” I snatched the phone from him, placing it facedown so Samantha couldn’t look at me. “You were supposed to read my dissertation before we started. It’s a specific lens for the laser, used to focus the—”

“That’s more like my Antonio!” His irritating lip twitched and he flicked a hand toward the phone. “Stop your ridiculous pining for this woman. She turned you down—”

“Did not.”

“—and we’re going out to La Fiamma tonight. I have a few candidates to introduce you to.” He bit his bottom lip and did a horrific version of the Cabbage Patch.

“I don’t need another woman.” My hand crept across the desk to rest on the phone, as though it brought me closer to her. I hadn’t texted her since I left the States on Tuesday, praying she’d get in touch. My only response was three days of silence. Enough time had passed. I should call her again. “I can’t give up on her, Mario. She’s the one.”

He sat on the edge of the desk and shook his head. “How did you get so stubborn?”

“Do you remember I told you about a girl from college—”

“You’ve told me about alotof women, Antonio. College, graduate school, Italia, America, Francia—”

I shoved him off the desk and he laughed at me, practically inviting me to hit him. “Roman Art Girl. Do you remember me speaking of her?”

“Sì, this one, I do.” He threw his hands wide as he said to the ceiling, “The magical creature who shares all your interests and passions. She who is as beautiful as the sunrise, whose voice—”

“Stop,” I said, tossing a pen at him and trying not to laugh.

He grinned at me and sat back down on the edge of the desk.

“This—” I turned my phone over and woke the lock screen. “—is her.”

He flipped the phone back down. “This is an obsession.”

“No, Mario. Literally. It’s her. And she’s all those things, plus so much more. She’s perfect for me.” I let out a long sigh. She was so much more than I’d dreamed of all those years since we first met in college. There had to be something I could do to fix this rift between us.

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