CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The cold wind raced past Christopher as he stood at the head of his army, gazing at the sight of his pathetic brother. A feeling of satisfaction overcame him. When he’d last laid eyes on Oliver it had been on the banks of the River Thames in seventeenth-century London. Oliver had escaped him back then. But here, in sixteenth-century Italy, he would not be so lucky again.
The dark army stood in perfect obedience beside him, waiting for his command. But for the moment, Christopher just wanted to watch, to drink in the sight of Oliver’s fear.
He watched as Oliver and his handful of friends hurried back inside the church building they’d just emerged from. He loved to see his brother cower. It reminded him of when they were kids and Chris would bully him mercilessly. Only
