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THE DRIVE TO THE VATICAN from Dominic’s apartment was uneventful. One quick call from Celent and a sleek black Mercedes Benz arrived at Dominic’s apartment in little time. Tonita could not help but stare out the window as the driver maneuvered the Mercedes through the now clogged streets of Rome. She watched every passerby and every car that came alongside the vehicle analyzing the situation. She was prepared to scream out at any moment, should anything or anyone appear suspicious to her. But no danger, or presumed danger, presented itself. And she, Celent, Dominic, and the driver all arrived, passing through the gate to the Vatican without incident.
The driver stopped the car at the doorway to Celent’s apartment, and after climbing the stairs to the second story flat, Dominic fell into the first chair he saw, nearly collapsing. Celent immediately picked up the telephone. It was a gilded and ivory handset with a dark mahogany base, which looked as though it belonged in the mansions of the Vanderbilt’s or the Getty’s or the royal palace of some old Italian aristocrat. Celent spoke in a direct tone into the telephone, as Tonita wandered about the apartment, she could clearly over hear the call. Just as he had promised, Celent had called the Vatican infirmary for supplies.
In short time, Tonita had Dominic patched up and resting comfortably. She, however, could not sit still, and kept bouncing from the chair to the settee to the sofa, in an endless migration around the room. She could barely restrain herself any longer. When Celent returned from the small kitchen of the apartment, rolling a serving table topped with tea and biscuits, she pounced. “All right, want a full explanation.”
“I thought that perhaps you might be hungry after the events of the day and appreciate some tea.” Tonita’s long hard stare convinced Celent to abandon the ploy immediately. “I’m sorry, you’re right, Tonita, you do deserve an explanation,” Celent said, as he pushed the rolling cart to the side of the sofa and sat down. “Some tea?” He picked up the pot and poured a cup. The comforting smell of Earl Grey wafted up, as the steam rose from the cup and pot.
“No thank you,” Tonita snapped.
“Dominic? It’s my favorite.” Celent held up a cup by the saucer.
“Yeah, sure, and Tonita will have a cup.” Dominic shot a quick glance her way.
Tonita caught the look in Dominic’s expression and reconsidered. “Yes, on second thought I will.”
“Excellent.” Celent filled two more cups, keeping one for himself and handing the others to Tonita and Dominic. “Sugar or milk?”
“Straight is fine for me,” Dominic said, as he breathed in the aroma.
Tonita just shook her head, placing the cup of tea onto a side table.
“Charles Grey, the British Prime Minister and the 2nd Earl Grey, his father being the first, was given the recipe for this tea by a Chinese mandarin with whom he was friends, and whose life he had saved.” Celent sipped the dark hot liquid. “Much as I am doing for you.” He sipped again.
Dominic glanced to Tonita. “By bringing us here?”
“That is part of it. I can assure you that if you did not accompany me and you remained at your flat.” He took another sip from the cup. “You would be dead by now.”
“Enough of this.” Tonita waved a hand in the air. “Dominic’s injuries may be painful, but they were not life threatening. I could have fixed him up right there at his place. I just needed the supplies. We didn’t need to move him.”
“You could have applied the proper gauze and bandages to him, Tonita. In that, you’re right. But you could not have saved his life.” Celent paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued, “Even as we sit here enjoying the peaceful surroundings of the Vatican and the protection it affords us, you are being stalked.”
Dominic set his cup of tea down onto the small, elegantly crafted, coffee table positioned in front of the chair, splashing some of the liquid onto the table, as his pectoral muscles pinched from the heavy tape covering the wound. “I’m being stalked?”
“Hasn’t that been evident?” Celent cocked his head.
“There definitely have been some strange goings. But stalked?”
“You deny the obvious, Dominic? Just like you deny your religion?”
Dominic rose, a little too quickly, and clutched at the gauze-wrapped wound on his chest. “That is not true. And that was out of line.”
“Dominic, ease up. You don’t want to start bleeding again,” Tonita said moving toward him.
“A couple of strange occurrences, and I’m being stalked,” Dominic said as he moved away, stepping to the window.
“Nervous?” Celent spoke softly.
“No.”
“Then why the sudden interest in the window?”
Dominic turned and stared into Celent’s dark eyes. “You misread me. I’m angry. Not concerned.”
“Well, son, I would advise you to remain concerned, and to come to terms with your anger.”
“My anger is in control and meant for you.”
Celent picked up the teapot and filled his cup. “Only because I state the truth.”
Dominic bit his lip and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it off of his face. “Come on, Tonita. We’re out of here.” He moved toward the door. Tonita was at the door, just as Dominic reached it.
“Thanks for your help. We’ll manage on our own.” Dominic pulled down on the golden lever of the door handle. The door swung open.
“Leave if you must. It is your free will. But Dominic, I will not be able to save you a third time.”
Dominic turned to the Celent.
“The monk that attacked you in your apartment acted once before. He was stopped. But the priest who saved you then, gave up his own life for yours.”
Dominic paused reflecting back. “The man...the priest,” he corrected “in my apartment?”
“He saved you.” Celent struggled a bit as he stood, he took a step toward Dominic, “Imploratio Adiumentum. Ue Bonfjote. Tazor Li.”
“You know what he said?”
“Of course.” Cardinal Celent smiled. “I gave him those words. I sent him to watch over you and to warn you.”
Dominic stood at the door for several minutes. Silent. Then he closed the door and stepped the few feet to where Celent sat. “You’re not a priest?”
“Of course I am. I have been for quite a long time.”
“A priest would not have an apartment, on the Vatican grounds,” he glanced around the comfortable living quarters. “Not one like this. He would not have a driver and a car at and he would not be wearing that ring.” He grasped Celent’s hand and brought it up. His anger faded, replaced by resurgence of faith and the comfort it afforded. Dominic looked up from the ring and stared into Celent’s eyes. For the moment he gave himself back to the church and holding Celent’s hand he dropped to his knee. He kept his head down and brought the hand to his face, allowing his lips to lightly brush the rectangular gold ring, which was set with a large sapphire and worn on the fourth finger of the right hand.
A Cardinal’s ring.
Cardinal Celent placed his other hand gently onto Dominic’s head. “Stay. I have much to explain.”