Page 92 of Forging Caine

Where were we? So long as they weren’t jamming his phone, Antonio would be able to find out if we found some privacy.

The ring of trees blocked out the view of any other houses. The sun was overhead, but without knowing how long the flight had taken, it was impossible to tell which direction we’d gone. A speedboat came into view, then a jet ski. Wherever we were, it wasn’t completely isolated.

Antonio tapped me. He sat forward, with his headset off, and I removed mine. “It’s good to see your face again.”

“Did you seriously fall asleep?”

He shrugged. “I was busy last night and didn’t get enough rest.”

The engine shut down and the rotors slowed, ceasing their overwhelming noise.

“Welcome to your new home!” Fiori slid out of the helicopter with the help of a middle-aged man in the blue uniform. At least it wasn’t another bodyguard.

Baptiste and the two guards followed, and they all waited for us, ringed by five male staff members.

I hopped out, trying to gain my bearings. There had to be a clue somewhere about where we were. Probably inside, but it was unlikely we’d have the run of the place to find out. “What are the rules?”

“Don’t go beyond the tree line, don’t call anyone, and be respectful of other people’s things.”

Respectful? Really?

Antonio joined me and brushed off his navy blazer. “We’ll need resources to do our work.”

“Within reason and with all your promises in place.” Fiori lifted a hand, inviting us to walk with him. “You’ll have your own room and I’ve supplied clothes which should fit. There are tennis courts, a basketball court, and a gym. The weather’s not optimal, but we also have a heated outdoor pool and one indoors.”

Baptiste, the guards, and the staff followed as we approached the house.

Fiori pointed to the left. “There’s also a pond with a small rowboat, a media room, and a well-stocked bar and kitchen.”

It sounded more like a luxury hotel than the prison it was.

We passed onto a sprawling terrace at the back of the house, with five-foot-long rectangular stone slabs floating on a layer of pea gravel. Two fountains, a post-modern sculpture of a tree sprouting from someone’s head, and two separate stone tables surrounded by metal chairs.

A staffer opened the door for us into a garden room with white wicker furniture, a travertine floor, and a twenty-foot arched ceiling. More sculptures decorated the room; a red inverted V, a bronze woman in a flowing gown, three Greek water carriers.

Through paned glass doors, he walked us into a carpeted room with the same high ceilings. More sculptures, small pieces on end tables, and two metallic acrobats hung from the ceiling. The walls showcased stunning post-modern pieces, including a graffiti-inspired black and neon piece that must have been a Basquiat—which tickled the back of my brain—over a marble fireplace.

Antonio walked next to me, his hand resting at the small of my back. Now and then, it urged me forward when I stopped too long to admire something.

Elliot had said Fiori was a massive collector. How did he have the time to smuggle anything when he was showcasing so much art around his house? And why was I so transfixed by it all?

“Do you like my collection?” Fiori led us down a wallpapered hallway, past a bathroom and another closed door, to an open staircase next to twenty-foot tall windows. More paintings. Another sculpture—this time of random shapes reminding me of a wave crowned by bull’s horns—rose ten feet at the center of the curved staircase.

“It reminds me of the Gardner.” I climbed the stairs behind Fiori, Antonio still next to me. “Like a living museum.”

Fiori stopped short and turned to face me from four stairs up. “Exactly my goal. Thank you.”

Giovanni’s estate had felt claustrophobic. Eyes everywhere, thick stone walls, tiny balconies. But Fiori’s home was expansive and light. White walls decorated with explosions of colors and plants in every window.

He resumed the climb. “Antonio, what would you like to see first? The room where you’ll be working or the one where you’ll be staying?”

“Will it be just the two of us?”

“No, no. I have two other restorers working here. Neither is your caliber, although one is a second generation.” He crested the top of the stairs and stopped. “Not as good as third, like you, though?”

“I’d like to shower and change, to be honest.” Antonio had tried to convince me to share the shower in the morning, but our stateroom bathroom was far too small to fit both of us. “You said you have things for us to wear?”

Fiori nodded and pointed to one of the goons behind us. “Show them to their room, then bring them to the conservation lab in an hour.”

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