Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  At the door of the homeless shelter, Alphonso gently brushed the flour from Raphielli’s face with his fingertips before helping her shrug stiffly into her coat.

  “Still can’t flex your shoulders?”

  “No,” she groaned. “I hate what Salvio did to me, but at least I’m not dead.” She brightened.

  “I’m glad you’re alive. You’re my favorite person.”

  She looked up at him and instead of saying something she bit her lip.

  He broke the moment. “Going back to work now?”

  “No, the women are filling out legal forms with an officer of the court, so I thought I’d go buy a dress for my dinner at the Verona’s tomorrow.”

  “I can go with you.” He pulled the elastic from his hair, combed it with his fingers, and put his hat on.

  “I’d like that.”

  As they left the shelter he asked, “Where are we going?”

  “A tiny boutique that I pass every Sunday when the Dour Doublet escorts me to and from church. I adore the colorful dresses in their window. Much more exciting than the black ones Mama and Nonna always have made for me.”

  “Let me guess. They don’t let you shop there.”

  “Of course not. They have my church dresses made, always complaining I’m getting so fat I won’t be able to fit into a proper dress soon.”

  He eyed her womanly figure surreptitiously. She had a body lots of women would kill for. “No wonder you call them dour. Sounds like they’re just plain mean.”

  “I share your opinion, and I have to confess that I’m going to jettison them from my life. This Sunday I’m going to tell them to stay away from me.”

  “It’s about time you got rid of those two crones, but I’m not someone you should confess to. Shall I call Cardinal Negrali?”

  She swatted at him playfully. “I have another confession. I think dress shopping is intimidating.”

  Gabrieli moved ahead of Casimir and the security guards as they made their way to the helicopter. While he couldn’t read minds, he didn’t have to be psychic to know that he needed to calm Casimir during their one-hour flight to Rome. Climbing aboard, he turned to his bodyguard. “Tiberius, I need to switch seats with you. Take my big seat and I’ll sit in the jump seat across from His Holiness.”

  Tiberius flipped the jump seat across from Casimir’s, and Gabrieli climbed into it. Everyone put their helmets on, fastened their seatbelts, and leaned back for Alberto, the head of Casimir’s papal security team, to double-check their safety restraints. When Alberto moved up front next to the pilot, the helicopter lifted off and sped south.

  Before Casimir could launch into the distressing activities he was about to investigate, Gabrieli reached for his friend’s hands and pressed their palms together. “Let’s say a silent prayer.”

  Gabrieli’s talent from birth was the ability to calm people with his energy and infuse them with love. It was how the Veronas had supported the church, cleared away political roadblocks, and dismantling destructive plots within the Vatican for over a thousand years.

  At the moment he felt fury coming off his beleaguered friend in waves. Gabrieli pushed his gift outward, filling Casimir with a mixture of love and serenity. Casimir’s eyes blinked once slowly, and he let all the air out of his lungs in a sigh. Then Gabrieli pushed out another tide of love, and Casimir responded with another blink. Tiberius looked out the window, scanning for security risks, but his eyes softened and his breathing deepened. Gabrieli knew Alberto and the pilot were also enjoying the calming influence of his gift.

  He said, “Tell me about the situation.”

  Casimir spoke calmly into the helmet microphone hovering at his lips. “This morning, I had just finished my Saphro prayer, and I went to my desk to review the daily Vatican pouch that had just been delivered. I broke the seal, and right under my secretary’s cover letter was an envelope marked ‘Urgent.’ Inside was a paper containing a list of numbers, so I hurried to Vincenzo’s room and woke him to help me. Minutes later I sat with Vincenzo at his desk, and Leonardo joined us via video conference.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Sì. They did their financial sleuthing through bank and real estate records, and before breakfast they discovered I had been given transaction, routing, and account numbers used for the sale of two properties in Germany that did not belong to the Church. Yet, they had been liquidated, and the proceeds passed through the Vatican bank before being deposited into private external trust accounts controlled by a Catholic conclave that I have never heard of. This conclave used the money to purchase two private luxury residences, and only one man had control over these transactions: Cardinal Roberto Marconi.”

  Gabrieli’s heart sank. He’d known Roberto for almost forty years. “This is very disappointing.”

  “How mildly you put it. Someone wanted me to end this scheme. So, on top of what was revealed, there is the matter of a person who succeeded in adding information to my papal file, someone who is making a dangerous power play, and using me to bring down Marconi. I was sick over another incident of plundering and graft, but I am calmer and more focused now. Grazie.”

  “I’ll help put things right.”

  “Grazie a Dio per voi.”

  They reached for one another’s hands again and closed their eyes to pray as the rooftops of Ravenna rushed past beneath them.

  An hour later, Casimir sat on the papal throne with the Vatican scribe seated to his left, and Gabrieli sat near the wall wondering what explanation Cardinal Marconi could offer that would paint this as anything less than theft on a grand scale.

  After serving as pope for thirteen years, Casimir was no stranger to politics. But as time passed, the political landscape within the Vatican was becoming steeper, and the instances of criminal activity were increasing. Gabrieli knew his friend was shrewd, and didn’t hold any illusions that the people who had dedicated their life to the Church were without sin. But while he was high functioning as pontiff, he was relying more heavily on Gabrieli to calm the dangerous political waters. When Casimir was done questioning him, Gabrieli would exert his influence over Marconi.

  He closed his eyes and sat in silent meditation. As the love surged within him, he held it close until it filled his body. Gabrieli opened his eyes as the chamber doors swung wide, and he became alert to the outer world but continued to favor the inner one.

  Cardinal Marconi followed the Swiss Guard into the chamber, and Gabrieli read his expression. He wasn’t nervous. When Marconi noticed Gabrieli, his expression turned to genuine pleasure. He gave a smile and raised his fingers at his side in a tiny wave, then returned his attention to the Holy See and approached the Pope’s dais.

  Casimir lifted a hand, signaling for Marconi to halt. “Cardinal Roberto Marconi, you are summoned to provide specifics on two German real estate transactions.”

  As he addressed Marconi, the scribe’s fingers danced over a stenotype machine, creating a transcript for the papal archive.

  Gabrieli watched Marconi’s face contort in feigned confusion, but he bowed low and raised his hands. “Sua Santità, I’m honored to offer any information that pleases the Church.”

  “Then speak.”

  “Sua Santità, I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “What business has the Church with taking the proceeds from two real estate parcels in Hamburg seventy-two hours ago?”

  “I have no idea. But, I assume the same as with any of our real estate matters.” Marconi’s eyes were alert.

  “What business do you have with real estate at all?”

  “Only to keep Church properties abreast of repairs. The transactions for safety compliance certificates are endless, but they are for the Church properties in Naples and Salerno. This must be what interests you.”

  “Not at all.”

  “No?”

  “Two large plots of land in Hamburg, Germany, currently occupied by lucrative business concerns—none of which belong to the Church—have recen
tly been sold. Those plots are the subjects of this inquiry.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Hamburg transactions were handled by the Church’s attorneys, and the monies were deposited in Istituto per le Opere di Religione.”

  “I don’t know anything about those deposits to the Vatican Bank, Sua Santità.”

  “This is disappointing. You are the head of a newly formed trust, and those funds flowed through Istituto per le Opere di Religione accounts straight into your trust.”

  The cardinal’s jaw went slack. “The bank has made a mistake.”

  “No. Non credo che sia vero. I reject your answer as untruthful, Marconi. I have seen the documents. You personally approved the use of those new trust funds to purchase two villas; one on the edge of lake Cuomo, and another on the cliffs of Menton in France.”

  The cardinal stood with his eyes bulging. “Sua Santità, per favore, I need time to figure out this mistake. There are contracts and paperwork that I’ll need to review, and I ask for time to discover…to familiarize myself…”

  “Your answers are unsatisfactory. This audience is at an end. You are forthwith dismissed, and may God grant you clarity on these matters.”

  As Marconi backed out of the chamber, Gabrieli got up and followed him, pushing his energy outward.

  The cardinal spun around unsteadily in the hallway. “Ah, Gabrieli.” His face was muddy with shock.

  “Come and talk with me, Roberto.” Gabrieli led him to a small side room. As he took a seat on a bench, Marconi stood rocking back and forth on his heels deciding whether or not to come inside.

  “Did you hear that, Gabrieli?” He hesitated in the little doorway and gesticulated wildly. “You are my witness! The Holy See has just attacked me in a private maneuver! It must be a tragic onset of senility!”

  “Roberto, please come in. Together we’ll know how to proceed.”

  The cardinal started forward, but he was still so worked up, he waved his arms dramatically. “You’re the first friend I ever had in the Church. Now I’m afraid it’s going to be the two of us working to oust the mental defective sitting on that throne!”

  “Come sit and gather yourself. Catch your breath.”

  Marconi stepped into the little room, pulling the door closed behind him. He paused as he neared Gabrieli, soaked up his friend’s love, and then exhaled in a long huff. Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, his shoulders relaxed. “Ah, forgive me.” He took another deep breath and his eyes relaxed from their formerly bulging state. “Ah, it’s so good to be here with you.”

  “I feel the same, brother. I know you’ll put this right.”

  “Of course.” Marconi smiled, looking refreshed.

  “There’s nothing we can’t make right if we have enough courage,” Gabrieli soothed. “And with truth, we’ll fix everything.”

  “Sì. You’re so right, Gabrieli.”

  “I have faith in your courage, Roberto.”

  “You always have, Gabe. So good…so good of you.” He was deeply relaxed now and a look of serene happiness settled on his face.

  “Now, I know you can make this right. How can we return the German properties and the villas to their owners?”

  Marconi’s honesty took over and he offered a simple plan. The money was still being held in escrow on all four transactions so, with the payment of some penalties, the money could be withdrawn and all four properties returned to the previous owners. Marconi made some calls to the other cardinals who were involved, and directed them to assist his reversal of the recent transactions.

  Next, Gabrieli walked him to the L’Istituto per le Opere di Religione. The bank president was disturbed by what Marconi was admitting to, but he responded to Gabrieli’s energy and began the necessary corrective transactions and making phone calls to initiate the transfers. The president was serene when the two left.

  Gabrieli then took Marconi to meet with the Church’s senior legal counsel in charge of real estate. He was sensitive to Verona’s gift, and practically swooned until Gabrieli eased his energy back and the old lawyer perked up. When they stood to leave, the law partner came around his desk and hugged Gabrieli tightly. In between alternating kisses on his cheeks, he murmured, “Grazie fratello mio. You fill my heart as did your father before you, and his father before him. Please give my love to your beautiful family. Ti amo, Gabrieli.”

  “Ti amo fratello.” Gabrieli hugged him back and returned a kiss to each of the old man’s cheeks.

  After leaving Marconi to pray for forgiveness and strength, Gabrieli walked past the Prefettura della Casa Pontificia to the Sistine Chapel where he rejoined Casimir.

  “I met with Marconi.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “The transactions are being reversed as we speak, and within the week the properties will be back in the hands of their rightful owners.”

  “I am relieved, but I still need to find a way to move Marconi out of his position of power.”

  “He understands that. Come on, the helicopter’s waiting. We’ll be home in time for dinner.”

  It had been a full day and, by the time they reached the Vatican helipad, Gabrieli had managed to have meaningful exchanges and physical contact with dozens of Vatican staff, workers, and officials. None of them knew why they felt so wonderful.

  Despite the wet, frigid weather, Alphonso was happy to accompany Raphielli on her shopping trip. He had to remind himself that they weren’t on a date as they moved through shopping calles. He discovered that she was quite old-fashioned for someone so young, and he was amused when she shook her head at the clothes in shop windows.

  She stared at a mannequin in a mini-dress. “Where do you suppose the rest of that dress is?”

  He ushered her inside. “Why don’t we find out?”

  The sales girl begged Raphielli to try on a slinky sheath of gold-toned fabric, but she refused. “That wouldn’t fit over one of my thighs much less around my…” She covered her breasts. “And my…bottom.” He imagined her wearing it and his heart almost stopped.

  Raphielli got really excited when they arrived at a boutique with brightly dressed mannequins in the window. “This is the store! I can’t believe I’m actually shopping here! I’m ready for color!”

  To Alphonso’s eye, it looked like a store for older-women who lounged around pools in audacious caftans and wide-brimmed hats. A saleswoman in a red pantsuit looked up as they entered.

  “I’d like a dress,” Raphielli told her.

  “For what occasion?”

  “Dinner at the Verona palazzo.”

  “You’re a lucky woman. I have plenty of dresses that are appropriate for dinner with the Veronas.”

  Raphielli put herself in the woman’s hands as Alphonso stood out of the way, which wasn’t easy given how big he was and that the little boutique was a cramped maze of dress racks, each jammed with outlandishly colored material. When Raphielli was ushered to the minuscule dressing room she stared nervously at the panel of fabric posing as a curtain. “Uh, no door for the changing area?”

  “There’s a curtain,” the woman said.

  “It doesn’t close all the way.”

  Alphonso heard the tremble in her voice, so he waved his phone at her. “I’m going outside to call Zelph.” Another storm was blowing in and the clouds rolled ominously, so he zipped up his coat and hunched over the phone.

  She joined him fifteen minutes later with a satisfied look on her face and raised an electric green shopping bag above her head in triumph. “Mission accomplished! Now I need a pretty pair of shoes.” They were pelted with a few threatening drops, and he had to steady Raphielli a few times as gusts blew down the narrow calles.

  At the shoe store, Raphieli struggled to walk in shoes both he and the salesman liked, but she’d never worn high heels and didn’t like the feel of them. She selected a pair he didn’t find attractive, but she declared to be comfortable. He didn’t mention that her quest had been to find a pretty pair of shoes, no
t to find footwear appropriate for a senior citizen.

  “They’ll go with the dress.” She nodded to herself.

  “That’s good.” Alphonso eyed the orangey creped leather suspiciously. “What color is your dress?”

  “It has a lot of orange, kind of as a background. I’d show you, but the saleswoman wrapped it in tissue and put the store’s seal on it before putting in the box.”

  Alphonso tried not to chuckle. He’d let her think it was like a Christmas gift. He missed what she was saying when the salesman kneeling at her feet began to adoringly stroke her ankle as he removed her shoe. “You have such lovely feet.” He stroked her foot and she drew it away shocked.

  “You are ticklish?” he flirted.

  She gasped, “Isn’t everyone?” She blushed and said, “I’ll take these.”

  Alphonso cleared his throat, “In America you could be sued for doing what you just did.”

  The salesman hurried toward the cash register clutching the shoes and their box.

  Alphonso walked Raphielli home, and as they climbed the steps to her front door, he felt her inch closer to him as she peered at passing boats. No doubt looking for mysterious strangers. He’d worked hard to get her past her paranoia, so he didn’t bring it up.

  As Dante opened the door and reached for the bags, Alphonso glanced over his shoulder and saw a boat sliding under Il ponte Diamante. A boat carrying a man in black disappeared into the shadows. He tensed and then caught himself. Ridiculous. Now she’s got me paranoid. He stepped into the cavernous entry hall and let Dante take his coat.

  “Signor Zelph is in the baùtta room.” He paused. “I confess, I forgot he looks so much like Signor Alphonso, and I mistook him.”

  “It’s okay, you’re not slipping,” Alphonso assured. “Everyone thinks we’re twins.”

  “Why is he in the baùtta room?” asked Raphielli.

  “As we passed it, he caught sight of the carnival masks and wanted to look at them.”

  “Then please show Alphonso there, and tell the cook we’re three for dinner. I’ll join them after I freshen up.”

  “Sì, subito,” Dante said.