Page 52 of The Eagle's Vault

My phone buzzed from the table, tearing me from my thoughts. It was Ann, my stepmother. Her text message was all sunshine and emojis, followed by,How’s your great Roman adventure going, sweetheart?

A brittle laugh escaped my lips. If only she knew.

I rubbed at my temples and stretched out my neck. The anti-inflammatories would kick in any second and dull the ache pounding through my skull.

The reality was far from the trip we’d talked about before I left, but I couldn’t burden her with the truth. The smiley faces and the cute Italian flag emoji—they didn’t need to be smeared with my spiraling anxiety.

I dialed her number and forced a cheerfulness I didn’t feel into my voice. “Hey, Ann. Rome is something else.”

“Tell me all about it.” Her words were smooth, the same positivity as she’d texted me with coloring her tone.

“Well, let’s see.” How many non-nightmare moments had I had? What could I tell her?Make it up, Leigh.“I visited the Catacombs, the Forum, and three different museums.” A small chuckle escaped me as I added, “A real whirlwind of art and history.”

“Wow, that sounds wonderful! And how are your colleagues treating you? The ones Isaac did the safe deposit box test with?”

“They’re great, Ann. Really.” Another half-truth. Yes, they were great in the way a pack of wolves was great: fascinating and fearsome in equal measures.Plus, Isaac didn’t do the test. I did. Believe it or not, Ann.

“That’s my girl, always making friends wherever she goes.” Her words were like a chisel, chipping away at my facade. I couldn’t tell her the truth. It’d worry her, disappoint her. So, I just let out a hollow laugh, pretending to brush off her praise.

“Speaking of new friends, Leigh,” Ann said with an obvious connotation, “met any handsome Italian men yet?”

Images of Declan flashed through my mind. Tall, handsome Declan, who wasn’t local, but spoke the language and knew the city like he could have been. I also wasn’t about to tell her—or anyone—about him. Or his hazel eyes. Or the scruff on his jaw. Or the way he kept wrapping his arm around me.

I’d cooked up a crazy fantasy before leaving the States, one where a passionate Italian man romanced me. He’d whirl me through the narrow streets of Rome on his sleek Vespa, our conversations filled with broken English and sparkling eyes. In my fantasy, we’d make love under a canvas of stars, not a care in the world.

Instead, reality featured a labyrinth of dimly lit tunnels, a notebook worth kidnapping for, and a burgeoning attraction to a guy whose primary conversational topic was vault doors.

“Well, Ann,” I said, my tone careful, “I’ve been working really hard. Mr. Caetani’s safe was a simple patch job and the penetration test at his safe deposit box company went well. I think Isaac learned a lot he could use at home.”

She worked with the family company, so work talk was relevant. And it deflected her away from my nonexistent love life. “And howisIsaac doing? I’ve been trying to reach him, but he hasn’t answered my calls.”

I sighed, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. Isaac wasn’t answering because he didn’t particularly like Ann. He’d never gotten over the loss of our mother. Hell, neither of us had, but while I had a lot of blank spots in my memories, Isaac was older and remembered more. The sting of our father remarrying, of replacing our mother, had never healed for him.

“He’s been busy.” My gaze wandered to a pigeon who’d landed on my windowsill. The window was open, and they didn’t use screens, so the bird could have walked right in. If it did that, I’d have a perfect excuse to get off the phone. “You know, meeting with new clients. They go to a lot of dinners and stuff.”

“One client, you mean?”

“One?” The flurry of meetings Isaac had been part of didn’t add up to just one. Although that might explain why he complained about them so often. “I didn’t realize. He seems busier than that.”

“And speaking of busy, I almost forgot why I called.” Her tone was light as a feather, as always, even though she was avoiding my question. Or didn’t care enough I’d asked. “Your boyfriend, Finn, came by the house looking for you.”

“Finn’s not—” I began, but Ann talked right over me.

“He’s such a handy young man. Did some work for me, even cleaned the gutters.”

I gritted my teeth, listening to the stupid praise. The real Finn was far from the rose-tinted version Ann painted. He was anything but nice, a fact only amplified by the disdain in his eyes when I’d brought home those vault history books, an enthusiastic grin plastered on my face. He’d made me feel small, insignificant, deriding my passion for safes as a daddy’s girl’s obsession.

Better a daddy’s girl than an asshole, Finn.

Unlike Finn, Declan had shown genuine interest in those books. He’d been curious, not dismissive. Why couldn’t I meet a man like that, who appreciated my passion?

I had. I’d met Declan.

But why couldn’t I meet one who didn’t turn my life upside down and send me running from smugglers, the law, and god knows who else?

“I’m done with Finn, Ann.” My words were more forceful than I’d intended. Where had that come from? “I broke up with him before I left.”

“I know, sweetheart.” So why did she call him my boyfriend? “That’s why I was asking if you’ve met anyone over there.”

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