The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter XI

A/N: Not sure if there's still  interest in this, but I decided to post another chapter.  :) Please note, the MA rating of this story is for E/C sexual situations but also other adult matter, like the following...(the E/C manip of picture and all of them you see in my stories is made by me - otherwise known as honey or honeyphan. Please don't use without my permission.)

XI

In music one must think with the heart and feel with the brain.
- George Szell

xXx

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Miguel strode through the inner corridors of the villa, keeping a watchful eye out for danger. The majority of his men feared the Don and dared not risk becoming a harbinger of bad news, in the event that he might wield his terrible wrath against them. In that respect, Migeul was safe from discovery. The Don, himself, currently kept attendance at a private fiesta, and Miguel didn't expect his master's return until the early morning hours, where he would then collapse onto his bed, likely inebriated and with a whore in attendance. His nocturnal interests didn't always involve the helpless or bereft, but included whoever was available as prey to his lascivious desires at the time.

It was those with hearts as evil as the Don's whom he must now evade. He may be a leader, but his presence in this wing would doubtless arouse suspicion. And, for those soldiers unafraid of the Don and wishing to become firmly entrenched in his good graces, (whatever good graces such a man could possess), one blunder could provide such men with an opportunity to condemn Miguel to the Don, and subsequently, to his death. With the knowledge that he must always be on his guard, he'd been careful.

Tonight, however, Miguel left caution behind.

His men still searched for the gypsy camp, widening their perimeter at his command. Miguel had abstained from heading the search and sent a trusted junior officer in his stead. He no longer had the stomach for trapping innocents and bringing them bound hand and foot to the villa. His conscience, which had become his relentless foe, took him to the east wing of the building now.

He must find the small child. He had obtained little sleep through many nights enduring all manner of imagined atrocities upon the girl, each more horrible than the last. Before daybreak, he'd awoken from the most recent nightmare, sitting straight up in bed and screaming out in terror: in his dream his granddaughter's face had taken the place of Luminitsa's. His wife had held him, insisting to know what bound Miguel up in such fetters of guilt. Powerless to refrain from pouring out his heart when he'd been in such a vulnerable state of emotion, he told her the truth about Luminitsa, without revealing the depth of his own sins in relation to the Don. Her horror had scalded him. Had he told her everything she would come to despise him. And because of his gentle wife's persuasive counsel, he now searched, to seek out the fate of the child.

Miguel strode through the last inner passageway, remote and dimly lit with three low flames shedding light from the lamp on the adobe wall. He approached an armed guard who sat near the locked area of internment. He knew, beyond the wooden door, the young women and children of the Romani made their quarters.

The young man stood at Miguel's approach, startled to see him there, and gave a hasty salute. Miguel recognized him as Marcelo, an excellent sharpshooter, though easily cowed and known to cave in under pressure. He had little concern for humanity, unless it was to save his own skin.

This was not a good sign, though it could work in his favor.

"Open the door," Miguel ordered the soldier, who seemed agitated though he didn't move a muscle.