Read Online The Forgotten Locket by Lisa Mangum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Mangum
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flushed and looked down, confused and embarrassed.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Orlando took a step forward, managing to angle his body so he was partway between me and Lorenzo.
“Neither are you.”
Orlando frowned.
“Besides, is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be?” Lorenzo took a step closer to the angel statue, lounging against the wings. The angel rocked a little on the base, unsettled by the extra weight. “Maybe someplace darker? Less sacred? Am I defiling this holy church simply by being here?”
With each mocking question Lorenzo asked, Orlando inched closer to him, his right hand locking into a fist.
“Tell me, Orlando. Why, exactly, are you surprised to see me?”
“Because—” He shot a look at me over his shoulder and then lowered his voice. “Because I thought—”
“You thought I was in prison.”
The truth turned Orlando’s face red, and I stifled a gasp, looking between the two men.
“And yet, you are the one standing here in chains.” Lorenzo nodded to the black bands around Orlando’s wrists. “After what you’ve done, I’m surprised they allowed you to walk free. Then again, I know more about what you’ve done than you think.”
I looked from Lorenzo to Orlando. What had they done?
Lorenzo turned to me, his dark eyes snapping with a wild light. “How much do you know about Orlando? Because he is not who he appears to be.”
“He’s not?” I blinked. That strange discordant note of warning sounded in my head again, but before I could focus on it, Lorenzo continued speaking, his words clipped.
“Orlando and I have a long history together,” he said. “I know he’s not above lying to achieve his own purposes. I know he would hurt those closest to him if he thought it would benefit him in the end.” He turned a sharp smile to Orlando. “I know he turned in his own brother to the authorities on a charge of treason.”
“That’s a lie!” Orlando snapped, his face mottled with rage. “You leave my brother out of this!”
Lorenzo’s smile turned into a grin. “We used to be called the Sons of Italy. But he had a problem with authority—with commitment—and was asked to leave the brotherhood.” Lorenzo looked at me. “He is unstable and unreliable. He is not to be trusted.”
“Who are the Sons of Italy?” I asked. The name didn’t sound familiar, but so much of my memory was still blocked or shrouded in darkness.
“We were patriots. Good men who deserved better than to count Orlando di Alessandro Casella among our number.”
“They were murderers and liars,” Orlando countered.
“You would know,” Lorenzo murmured. “Tell me, what did you exchange for your freedom, Orlando? Was it worth it? Has it made you happy?” He pushed away from the angel, closing the distance in a single long stride. “Did it finally make you feel like a hero?”
Orlando’s voice erupted from his throat in a wordless roar. He charged at Lorenzo, who moved out of the way so fast that his black robe seemed only his shadow.
Lorenzo laughed, the sound reaching high into the rafters like a song. “Ah, there’s the Orlando I remember. You were always the bear in battle. It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your edge along with everything else.”
The two men circled each other, each one placing his feet carefully, unwilling to turn his back to the other.
I crept away from the action, huddling close to the angel for protection.
“Why?” Orlando spat. “Why did you do it?”
“I did what had to be done. Believe me, if you had been in my place, you would have done the same thing.”
Orlando shook his head. “I thought we were friends.”
“I was never your friend, Orlando. I was your leader. Your superior.” Lorenzo arched an eyebrow. “I always have been; I always will be.”
“I should never have listened to you.” Orlando
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Orlando took a step forward, managing to angle his body so he was partway between me and Lorenzo.
“Neither are you.”
Orlando frowned.
“Besides, is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be?” Lorenzo took a step closer to the angel statue, lounging against the wings. The angel rocked a little on the base, unsettled by the extra weight. “Maybe someplace darker? Less sacred? Am I defiling this holy church simply by being here?”
With each mocking question Lorenzo asked, Orlando inched closer to him, his right hand locking into a fist.
“Tell me, Orlando. Why, exactly, are you surprised to see me?”
“Because—” He shot a look at me over his shoulder and then lowered his voice. “Because I thought—”
“You thought I was in prison.”
The truth turned Orlando’s face red, and I stifled a gasp, looking between the two men.
“And yet, you are the one standing here in chains.” Lorenzo nodded to the black bands around Orlando’s wrists. “After what you’ve done, I’m surprised they allowed you to walk free. Then again, I know more about what you’ve done than you think.”
I looked from Lorenzo to Orlando. What had they done?
Lorenzo turned to me, his dark eyes snapping with a wild light. “How much do you know about Orlando? Because he is not who he appears to be.”
“He’s not?” I blinked. That strange discordant note of warning sounded in my head again, but before I could focus on it, Lorenzo continued speaking, his words clipped.
“Orlando and I have a long history together,” he said. “I know he’s not above lying to achieve his own purposes. I know he would hurt those closest to him if he thought it would benefit him in the end.” He turned a sharp smile to Orlando. “I know he turned in his own brother to the authorities on a charge of treason.”
“That’s a lie!” Orlando snapped, his face mottled with rage. “You leave my brother out of this!”
Lorenzo’s smile turned into a grin. “We used to be called the Sons of Italy. But he had a problem with authority—with commitment—and was asked to leave the brotherhood.” Lorenzo looked at me. “He is unstable and unreliable. He is not to be trusted.”
“Who are the Sons of Italy?” I asked. The name didn’t sound familiar, but so much of my memory was still blocked or shrouded in darkness.
“We were patriots. Good men who deserved better than to count Orlando di Alessandro Casella among our number.”
“They were murderers and liars,” Orlando countered.
“You would know,” Lorenzo murmured. “Tell me, what did you exchange for your freedom, Orlando? Was it worth it? Has it made you happy?” He pushed away from the angel, closing the distance in a single long stride. “Did it finally make you feel like a hero?”
Orlando’s voice erupted from his throat in a wordless roar. He charged at Lorenzo, who moved out of the way so fast that his black robe seemed only his shadow.
Lorenzo laughed, the sound reaching high into the rafters like a song. “Ah, there’s the Orlando I remember. You were always the bear in battle. It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your edge along with everything else.”
The two men circled each other, each one placing his feet carefully, unwilling to turn his back to the other.
I crept away from the action, huddling close to the angel for protection.
“Why?” Orlando spat. “Why did you do it?”
“I did what had to be done. Believe me, if you had been in my place, you would have done the same thing.”
Orlando shook his head. “I thought we were friends.”
“I was never your friend, Orlando. I was your leader. Your superior.” Lorenzo arched an eyebrow. “I always have been; I always will be.”
“I should never have listened to you.” Orlando
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