Chapter 1

Chapter 1

1680, Firenze, Italy

He was awake.

The air around him felt cold, chillingly so. The scent of disturbed earth filtered in with the feeling, like the cold and smell of earth were unified.

His eyes opened to muted darkness, not even a smidgen of light to be seen, which wasn't right, either. This was assuredly not his bedroom, or any place he immediately recognized. The wooden box around him was tight, suffocating, and he had a moment of panic seize his chest. Without thinking, he levered his knee and fist as best he could, punching upward, and the wood cracked in several places. Panic fueling him, he hit harder. Dirt sifted through the broken wood and fell onto his face, and it made him fight that much more to break free of the confining space.

After an eternity wrapped within a few seconds, he began to see moonlight filter through the falling dirt and cracked wooden top, catching the faintest traces of fresh air. He surged forward, putting all his effort into a strong push, and the lid practically flew off before landing somewhere out of sight, the sound of splintering wood accompanying its impact.

Fernando sat up, brushing off dirt, and turned to look about him. The gentle breeze of the night air bathed him in purifying smells of freshly cut grass and damp earth. Where the hell was he—?

Oh.

He was in a graveyard.

They had buried him. They had buried him alive .

A rage he had never felt before coursed through him. All the loyalty he'd given his family, his wife, and this was his thanks? To be treated so carelessly after that horrible carriage accident, and then dumped into a grave the second he wasn't conscious?

Oh, he'd have words for those bastards. He'd have many, many words, and by the end of it all, they would not be the ones still standing. Especially his bitch of a wife. She was about to taste the full extent of his wrath.

Fernando grabbed the roughened sides of his coffin and dragged himself free, which oddly didn't take as much effort as he would have expected. In fact, he was able to leap clear and onto the grass above his shallow grave without much effort at all. Strange. Especially with his wounds, he should've been struggling. He pushed the thought from his mind and looked about, taking stock of his situation. It appeared to be in the dead of night, the crescent moon high overhead, the graveyard completely silent. Oddly enough, he could see perfectly, despite the thick darkness and shadows that lay over the area. Even better, he knew this cemetery well and instantly recognized where he was, as he'd lived in the area for his entire thirty-eight years. He knew the familial names engraved onto the tombstones surrounding him, recognized the dates of their passing. Realizing he was so close to home, he released a small sigh of relief. At least he hadn't been dumped in a remote village.

Confident in his location, Fernando felt it was now safe to assess his condition. Looking down at himself, he took inventory. That's when he noticed.

Not only had he been cast into a shallow grave, but he wasn't even wearing a formal suit for burial, and instead wore the same tattered gown he'd been dressed in by the physician. It was a silent testament of how little he'd meant to those burying him. The indignity of it all sparked new outrage, anger a live wire beneath his skin. There would be hell to pay for this.

Pushing down the new sense of betrayal, he assessed his condition, everything growing stranger the more he looked. Beyond the offensive gown, he couldn't find a single mark on his exposed skin. He'd had several broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and abrasions all over from the nasty crash, but now his olive skin was pristine. If he hadn't lost too much time while unconscious—and a gut feeling told him he hadn't—then the accident had only been earlier that day. Fully healed over the course of half a day? Impossible.

Fernando looked around him again and paused. He hadn't thought to question it before, but beyond a sliver of moonlight, there wasn't a single lantern or torch about, yet he could see perfectly. His eyesight had never been this good, and in fact, he could see much farther than ever before, down to the individual needles of the cypress trees he knew to be a kilometer away.

What the hell was going on here?

His senses were keener than ever before. He could smell the nuances of the night air in a way he'd never been able to. It was a strange mix of overturned soil, decaying flesh, sharp tobacco, dung from various animals, the mild and woody scents of trees, all of it an overwhelming combination. Fernando nearly gagged and grabbed his nose in reflex, which led to another shock.

Based on feel, the crook in his nose caused by a childhood misadventure was missing, the bump completely gone. Twenty-year-old injuries healed? Enhanced smell and sight? It was all unbelievable. Generations of church teachings whispered in his ear of being unnatural and sinful , but Fernando knew he'd done nothing wrong. No canon laws broken, no sins committed, nothing to subject him to changes on such a fundamental level. Or perhaps someone had cursed him? Considering he'd been buried alive, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he'd earned someone's ire. If that were the case, he already knew who to blame.

But…what if this was a blessing instead? If he'd been gifted a miracle for the wrongs done to him, he'd have to figure out which saint was responsible and give massive donations in thanks.

He'd figure out the why and the extent of his change later. Right now, he wanted revenge and to reclaim what was rightfully his.

Fernando felt the indignity of marching home in only a nightgown to the depths of his being. It was just another insult on top of the many others. Fortunately, at this hour of the night, everyone was in their beds. If anyone saw him, he'd have much to explain and no patience with which to do it.

The graveyard was fortunately only eight blocks from his newly constructed home, and he walked the distance much faster than he normally would have. Or at least, it seemed mere moments before he reached his front door. The cold metal of the knob pressed against his palm, stubborn at first, then he applied more pressure. It wrenched free, making a tortured sound before giving way.

Had he…just broken the lock? That wasn't at all what he'd intended. Was strength another change within him?

The sound of feet hurrying his direction, of slippers slapping against the tiled floors, brought his head up. He saw Franklin, his secretary, racing toward him with a candle held high in front of him. His brown eyes were red rimmed, a sure sign he'd been mournful, which touched Fernando deeply. His thick black hair was a mess, too, like he'd been tossing and turning in bed. Franklin looked like he'd aged beyond his forty years since Fernando last saw him, the change likely due to his blatant grief.

"Master?" Franklin's expression bounced between uncertainty and joy. "Do I dream?"

"If you do," Fernando responded, voice tight with emotion, "then I dream as well. I awoke in a grave."

"That foul woman!" Franklin's expression immediately turned to one of anger. "I knew your wife had pushed the physician into signing your death certificate. Seems she paid off the priest as well. There was no vigil, no mass, nothing more than a graveside prayer. I tried arguing to wait a few more days, but to no avail. I am so sorry, Master. I should have fought harder."

At least Franklin was still loyal to him. Right now, he didn't know who else was. "There was nothing more you could have done. But I appreciate it, Franklin. Tell me, who else honestly mourned my death?"

"Your father and older brother are beside themselves with grief. Some of the servants, as well. I fear…" Franklin grimaced. "Master. I really don't want to tell you this."

"My wife's upstairs with her affair partner, isn't she?"

Franklin grimaced again and nodded. "She is. The second she came home from the funeral, she shed her mourning clothes and locked herself up in her bedchamber with him. Dinner was served, the dishes taken away, but the household at large hasn't seen her since late afternoon."

No doubt celebrating getting rid of her bothersome husband. "I'll deal with her momentarily. But first, my family."

The idea of his father and brother still locked in grief, when he was in fact alive and well, was not to be borne. He wouldn't leave them in that land of pain for even a second longer. Once he had reassured them, they would back him up as he rid himself of the vile creature he was married to.

Fernando went up the stairs two at a time, not even registering his light and soundless steps, and reached the first room on the second floor a moment later. He didn't knock, just entered, heading straight for the bed centered against the far wall.

His father was not sleeping, but instead sat on the edge of the bed, a lit candle on his bedside table illuminating the small portrait in his hands. When his door flew open, his head snapped up, tears immediately falling onto his cheeks.

"Fernando—" he choked out, nearly unable to control his stocky build in his haste to leave the bed. "My son, my son! You live?!"

Fernando caught his father up in a tight embrace, ever so glad he could do this one thing he feared he'd never be able to do again. His father hugged him just as fiercely, and they embraced for a long moment before releasing one another.

His father's hands and blue eyes roved over him from head to toe and back again, confusion and utter joy warring across his features. "You look…well? How are you here?"

"I don't understand it either," Fernando confessed. "I awoke in my grave like this. Papa, my wife buried me alive"

"What?! Why didn't the sexton inform us once the bell rang?"

In his haste to get home, Fernando had overlooked that minute detail. Bells were often placed next to fresh graves, connected to the corpse by a string tied to the finger of the newly deceased, just in case they weren't truly dead. It occasionally happened that someone was buried alive after a misdiagnosis from the physician. The bell was there to alert the graveyard attendant that the person was still alive and needed to be quickly dug back up.

"There was no bell." He hadn't looked for it, but Fernando knew this to be truth. Nothing had been tied to his hands. "Papa. Were you able to attend my funeral?"

"No. We had just missed it, having only arrived after the committal."

"Not only did she bury me in such a poor state, but she did not even wait for my family?"

A sharp breath from the doorway made him spin around. His older brother stood there in his nightgown, framed by the doorway, with Franklin close behind him. His secretary had awoken his brother, and Fernando was glad for it. He really needed to give the man a raise.

"Fernando." Alessandro immediately came to him, hugging him tightly, rocking them back and forth. He was choking back tears, but several wet Fernando's shoulder.

How could he have ever doubted his family's loyalty? Fernando hugged back just as hard, tears in his eyes. "I live, Brother. I live."

"It's a miracle that I will not question." Alessandro stepped back for a moment, looking him over, frown growing as his green eyes turned shrewd. "Why are you in a nightgown? Where's your burial suit?"

"She buried me alive." Every time he said those words, his rage blew even hotter. "She removed the bandages, threw me into a coffin, and buried me as fast as she could manage. Papa said you both arrived after the committal. Today, the two of you were meant to travel to a nearby town for business, correct?"

"Barely made it back in Firenze before sunset. Luckily, the messenger sent by the watchmen caught up to us on the road," Alessandro confirmed. "We got back, were informed we'd missed the rites, and chose to prayed beside your grave. Later we arrived at the home only to be told that your wife was ‘grieving' and had her lover up in her chambers."

"Ha! Grieving, indeed. I'm of a mind to treat my wife the same way I was treated. Toss her out a window, and then shove her still-breathing corpse into the shallow grave she dared resign me to."

Father and sons looked at each other and there was no need for words. They were all of the same accord.

"This family does not suffer fools gladly," Father said softly, his words laced with steel. "The Lombardis hold no grace for those who betray us. Go. Attend to her and her lover at once."

Sounded fine to Fernando. He turned on his heel and marched to his wife's bedchamber nestled at the end of the long hallway. She had chosen that room for its "view of the garden," but he'd later learned it was because she wanted to be on the opposite side of the house from him. When she grew to hate him, and why, he'd never been able to discern. She'd stopped talking to him about anything long ago.

They'd married for love—or so he'd thought. Their marriage wasn't arranged or even suggested; he'd seen her at a social gathering and had immediately pursued her. She'd never demurred or turned him away, seeming eager for his courtship. Being a Lombardi meant plentiful wealth, even though his family were not aristocrats.

All was well their first year of marriage. The second was a little rougher than the first as Giulia began to withdraw, showing glimpses of her true nature. And from there, their relationship slid downward, becoming ever worse until she refused to share a bed with him at all. Luckily, no children were conceived during their few marital duties, as he had no wish to raise a child amidst such a messy marriage. A year ago—four years into their marriage—he' begun to suspect her of infidelity, and in accordance with the church, Fernando had started the process to arrange for separation. Surprisingly, his wife had fought him on that. Seemed she wouldn't have the same access to his money or luxury shops if he put her in a country house.

Then, of course, the carriage accident happened, which he suspected wasn't an accident at all.

The closer he got to her bedchamber, the more he could hear her giggling. Giggling after murdering her husband. She was indeed a snake in the grass, not that he needed it confirmed. Breaking the lock, he threw open her door, only to find her naked and straddling her lover.

Startled, she snatched up sheets, holding them up to cover herself. Her golden-brown eyes flared wide as if she had seen a ghost. Her beautiful black hair was framed messily around her head, no doubt ruffled by the sheets and another man's hands in it. Even from here, Fernando could see the love bites on the column of her fair neck.

"Dearest," he greeted her coldly. "You buried me too soon. That was your mistake, one of many."

"You—! Are you a ghost?" Giulia found her voice, terror shaking it and sending it into a whole other octave. "An apparition meant to torment me? You did that enough when you were alive!"

In four long strides, he crossed the room, seizing her by the throat. He had no desire to listen to anything else she might say.

Her lover scrambled, reaching for her as if to help, but Fernando was having none of that, either. He fixed his eyes on the man and snarled, " Stay ."

The young man froze, like he couldn't move a muscle. Fernando paid him no further mind, instead dragging Giulia by her throat, with her clawing at his wrist and trying to break free. She might as well have been a feather fighting him for all the good it did.

Fernando didn't pause, didn't open the window, none of that. Just hefted her up with one hand and threw her bodily through the pane of glass. She sailed through it, the glass shattering outward in a magnificent display that sent shards in all directions. Giulia screamed as she fell, a sound that abruptly ended when she landed in the garden below, the garden she'd loved so much.

Mmm. That felt so incredibly satisfying. He blew out a breath, then smiled. Just deserts for that bitch. But Fernando wasn't done just yet.

The lover was still kneeling on the bed, shaking, tears streaming down his ruddy face.

"Please, please spare me," he whimpered. "I told her not to kill you, I swear it, but she didn't listen—"

"Don't misunderstand me." Fernando leaned in so that he was eye level with the young man. "I'm not going to kill you because you were in cahoots with my dear wife. I'm going to kill you because you coveted something that wasn't yours and betrayed me in the process. The Lombardis do not suffer fools."

Since the method had worked the first time, he seized the man by the throat and hauled him toward the now shattered window, ignoring the way the man writhed and tried to fight free. Then he tossed him through the window, listening with satisfaction as the man screamed before joining his deceased lover.

The perfect revenge was best served hot.

For a moment, Fernando stood in front of the shattered window, examining his hands as if he had never seen them before. He felt much like a child, having discovered untapped strength within his own body. He felt powerful in a way he'd never experienced before. If he could throw two adults out a window without any real effort, then what else could he do? Just as his other senses had greatly enhanced, what were the limits for his newfound strength?

If this really was a miracle, it seemed the saints had gifted him a true reward.