“Horses.”
“No, I never have. Do you have brothers and sisters there?”
“I did, but I don’t have any family now.” Giselle felt the old twinge of sadness.
“I’m sorry.” Raphielli flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
“That’s okay.” Giselle took a breath. “What about your family?”
“I can sympathize with your loss, my father died when I was six.”
“I’m sorry.” She felt her sadness transform into empathy.
“Grazie, it was fourteen years ago and I still have times when I miss him terribly. He was everything to me. I was a real daddy’s girl. My mother never had time for me. She really wanted a son. The day after my father died, she and my nonna dropped me off at the abbey where I lived until they took me to Scortini Palazzo to announce my engagement to Salvio.”
As the first course plates were removed, all eyes were fixed on the beautiful young heiress in the outlandish dress and no one could think of anything to say. Giselle cast about for a topic to break the uncomfortable mood, but Raphielli seemed to realize a change of subject was needed and turned to Ivar.
“You have the same accent as Markus, but a different last name. Are you related?”
“No. But, I have known Markus since he was born. Back in the Ukraine, Markus’ father was my student for many years. We were very close. When he died, we asked Markus to come and live with us in Paris.”
“Markus needed a family,” Yvania chimed in.
Giselle glanced at Markus. His jaw was tensing.
When the second course arrived, the tension broke and everyone admired the golden puffed pastry drum. As the server cut into it, and the fragrance of exotic spices wafted out, Juliette explained, “This is a timbale of Turkish flavors.”
Yvania said, “At the weekly market we have been meeting a spice lady from a town called Bursa. Best exotic spice blends in worlt. The best!”
Gabrieli turned to Raphielli. “You were raised at an abbey?”
“Sì, Saint Albinus.”
“Then you’ve had quite an education…beyond most universities. What studies did you enjoy?”
“I love old languages, but I haven’t spoken them in the two years since I left school.”
“What was your favorite?”
“Aramaic. I also loved transcribing old scrolls. We sold them to collectors to help support the abbey. My least favorite subjects had to do with numbers.”
“Speaking of numbers,” Juliette said, “You will need someone you can trust to modernize your estate. Leonardo and Vincenzo are at your service.”
“Anytime.” Vincenzo came to life at the prospect. “How did Salvio leave his financial affairs…when he…died?”
“When his parents died he fired their financial advisors, and cut off funding to any charities. He had no will, no friends, no associations, basically no staff, and I’m the only Scortini left.”
“Really?” Vincenzo leaned forward. “Leonardo and I can come by tomorrow to help you put your money to work.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great.”
Giselle found herself stifling a yawn and was ready to call it a night when Raphielli finally said her goodbyes.
Casimir enjoyed his afternoon and evening in Vienna. A number of cardinals had lobbied to have him decline the invitation to this interfaith meeting at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, but he was inspired by the Austrian president’s overture. Tonight’s powerful experience had been broadcast live over the Internet, so anyone could join the leaders from twelve different faiths who came together to raise their voices in praise of peace.
After speaking briefly with each cleric and posing for photos, he followed his security team deeper into the cathedral to meet with Cardinal Negrali whom he had compelled to accompany him. Casimir found him sitting in a small room at the end of the narthex.
“Americo, that was beautiful,” he sighed.
Negrali tipped his head minutely. “I believe the world should come to the Vatican, and not the other way around.”
“Even a conservative like yourself must have felt God’s presence just now.”
“Sua Santità, I feel God in our Catholic services. I have never supported the Nostra Aetate.”
Casimir wasn’t surprised by that statement, but still, he felt stung by Americo’s rejection of his recent Vatican declaration that aligned the Catholic Church with non-Christian religions. “Surely it is only the first step in joining our hearts with people of other faiths and healing mankind.”
Americo nodded. “We are studying your writings on the Nostra Aetate, and the College of Cardinals will discuss your views this winter.”
“I look forward to that. But right now, let us discuss the matter of Marconi’s real estate theft.” Casimir sat down at a narrow table, eager to discuss the disturbing discovery with the College’s leader. “I can hardly believe the extent of Marconi’s corruption.”
“You are certain his transactions were illicit?”
“Absolutely. We need more oversight to prevent Church officials from taking advantage of their positions and extorting people.”
“Sua Santità, we are men. We will always be surrounded by temptation. What are you proposing?”
“I want your advice. What can be done here?”
“I advise against additional bureaucracy, it adds layers that obscure rather than reveal.”
“We must do something. The instances of misconduct and criminal activity by our clergy are increasing.”
“The College will look into it. The fraction of clerics who momentarily lose their way is negligible. I see this as an opportunity for forgiveness and mentorship.”
“I do not agree. I want you to hold an inquest into recent misconduct.”
“As you wish.”
“What does the College need from me to pursue this?”
“Why, nothing.” Negrali looked surprised. “That is our solemn charge.”
“I think Marconi should be moved to somewhere with less temptation.”
“Please leave the matter to us, Sua Santità. The College will determine how best to deal with Marconi. You must concern yourself with growing the church.”
Casimir noticed Alberto signaling from the door that it was time to go so he stood up. “Grazie for meeting with me on the Marconi matter.”
Americo waved a hand. “It’s in the past.”
Casimir paused and then stressed, “Through the assistance of the Verona.”
Americo reached for his hand. “Sì, he serves his divine purpose admirably.” After bowing to kiss Casimir’s ring, he reached for the miter he’d set on the table, placed it squarely on his head, and trailed behind as Casimir followed his security team.
CHAPTER
4
Raphielli kept her eyes on the toes of her rubber boots as she walked home from mass with her mother and grandmother. Even the raised wooden palettes along the calles were slightly submerged, and each step she took made mesmerizing ripples in the water, only to be eradicated by the violent sloshing of the Dour Doublet behind her. They walked single file from church, three short women dressed in black, complete with matching black mantillas on their heads to show that they were in mourning for Salvio. The two kept up a nonstop stream of bickering and badmouthing that had ceased to be hurtful over the past two years because Raphielli no longer listened.
During her recuperation she’d had Dante turn them away, and today was the first time she’d seen them since the attack. When they met her in front of the palazzo, instead of asking how she was, they muttered nasty comments.
“No woman in our family has ever driven someone to try and choke the life out of her before,” her nonna griped.
“This one’s brought such shame on our household,” her mother said. “We secure her the best husband in Europe, and in two years she drives him to violence.”
“I can barely hold my head up for the shame.”
> Raphielli thought back to how Salvio had handled these two. He’d hated them on sight and told them as much when they showed up at the palazzo one day and insisted he invite them in. After his opening volley of invectives, he stared them down and spat his expectations at them as they stood glowering on the palazzo’s threshold. “Apart from chaperoning my wife to and from mass, I forbid you to have anything to do with my household. I’d better never hear that you’ve stepped foot in my home or tried to trade on the Scortini name. If you try me, I’ll make you regret it. Is that clear?”
He meant that last as a rhetorical question because he’d slammed the door in their faces and stormed off, leaving Raphielli standing next to a mortified Dante. She’d felt a mixture of elation at seeing the Dour Doublet put in their place, and horror that she was married to a man with such a filthy temperament.
Now, approaching the palazzo, Raphielli steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation. She knew they’d try to push themselves through her front door. If she let that happen, they’d take over her household and there’d be no getting rid of them. Her life would go back to living under the thumb of someone who enjoyed treating her cruelly. Today she was going to stand up to these women for the first time in her life.
As they reached the front steps, her mother started to push past her, nearly causing Raphielli to fall.
“Now that your husband is dead, we’ll get your house in order.”
“No, Mama.” Raphielli caught hold of her mother’s wrist and pulled her to a stop.
“Ridiculous! You need us. You’re not fit to be the grand lady of a place this size.”
Raphielli lifted her chin. “Well, I am the lady of the house, even if you don’t consider me grand enough.”
Her mother yanked her wrist away and gave her the cold look that used to terrify her. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I am your mother. You do as I say.”
“Not anymore.”
“Who do you think you are?” she snarled.
Raphielli maneuvered to stand a step above her mother. Refusing to tremble, she raised her voice over the canal traffic. “I’m Raphielli Scortini, and I want you to go away. I won’t see you again until I’ve figured out how to forgive you for the way you’ve treated me.”
“How did we raise a barren harpy?” her nonna cried.
“You didn’t raise me. You dropped me off at Saint Albinus, and then I’m pretty sure you brokered me away to my in-laws.”
“You shut that mouth!” Her nonna’s hand shot up to slap her, but Raphielli batted it out of the air.
“Get off my property.” Remembering what her self-defense instructor taught her, Raphielli drew herself up and stood tall.
Her mother turned on her own mother, furious she’d pushed the point too hard and ruined their chances, then looked up at Raphielli. “All that money has gone to your head! You’ll need us sooner than you think! You’ll come begging for our help!”
The pair turned to each other and bickered as they splashed off. “It’s a good thing her father died before she turned into a big-mouthed shrew.”
Raphielli stood under the onyx sculptures of boats and horses chiseled into the threshold of her front door, watching them go. She startled when a loudspeaker squawked, “How lucky! It’s Raphielli Scortini! There she is, wearing her widow’s black! Right there, can you see her?”
She turned and saw a tour boat easing out from under the bridge. Not knowing what to do, she raised her hand in a greeting. Then, ignoring their shouts for photos, she turned and twisted the bell key next to the front door. Dante promptly opened it.
“Signora,” He ignored the tourists as he ushered her inside and took her coat. “Cardinal Negrali is in the receiving room.”
“Grazie.” She kicked her boots off and slid her feet into her house shoes. Her father confessor was the perfect antidote for the frustration she felt, and her outlook brightened as she walked down the hall. Plucking the hairpin out of the crocheted mantilla, she whipped off the hideous head covering and stuffed it up her sleeve. She entered the room and they tried to make themselves comfortable on uncomfortable sofas while Guiseppe poured them glasses of lemon water.
“You look well, child.” Negrali cleared his throat. “Before I hear your confession, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Fine, and I’m happy to be back at work.”
“Sì, the shelter is a great solace for you. Any more nightmares that you recall?”
“No.” She didn’t exactly fib, because she didn’t recall the details.
“Still feeling nervous about being hunted?”
“Not too nervous.”
“So you are troubled.” Negrali picked up on her qualification. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know that you can, padre.” Raphielli put a fingertip in her mouth and then snatched it out. She didn’t need to start biting her nails.
“People stare at your home day and night. Please remind yourself that the men you see are merely tourists who will not harm you.”
“Okay. I do actually have something that I’m looking forward to.”
“Bene. Tell me.” He looked pleased.
“Count Vincenzo and Leonardo Trentori are going to help me with my estate.”
His expression fell into worry lines. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve only just gotten back onto your feet. The Scortini estate can wait until you get your strength back.”
“I feel up to it,” she said. “And Salvio was just hoarding money. After I discovered that he spent a million euros on the day he came to kill me, I changed all the account passwords. But other than using some for my women’s shelter, the money is just sitting there.”
“I’m impressed by your ingenuity, but I advise you not to push yourself. Vincenzo will understand if you delay for a while. Now, let us pray.”
Together they knelt in prayer and afterward, he heard her confession. For having uncharitable thoughts about the Dour Doublet, her penance was to say three rosaries. After he left, Raphielli took lunch in Salvio’s office and began to print out quarterly bank reports. She had no intention of delaying this afternoon’s financial appointment.
Giselle sat next to Vincenzo on the couch, the picture of marital bliss. Gabrieli sat nearby at his partner’s desk across from Papa, the two passing papers and chatting as they worked. Giselle let her mind wander. She was imagining Markus’ hand stroking her thigh, when her erotic reverie was interrupted.
“Ciao, Markus,” Vincenzo said. She looked up and, as always, was struck by the way Markus moved. He was wearing his usual gray cotton button-down shirt, charcoal work pants, and black work boots. He moved with an agile power that made her weak with desire. She clasped her hands in her lap. She wanted to go to him, stroke her fingers over his tightly clipped blonde hair, and run her hands along his muscular body. He gave a slight nod in Vincenzo’s direction, but his eyes were focused on her. Ivar and Yvania trailed behind him.
“Ah, my friends, I’m afraid we’re just leaving,” Gabrieli said, as he and the Pope gathered their papers. “We’ll return for dinner tonight.”
Leonardo appeared in the doorway. “Hello, all. Ready, Vincenzo?”
“Sì. All set.” Vincenzo gave Giselle’s cheek a quick buss and he stood to leave.
“Where are you two going?” she asked.
“The doctor’s going to remove my cast, then we’re going over to Raphielli’s.”
She looked at Markus who was casually spinning a set of keys.
“Would you like to see the work studio?” His voice was low.
“Absolutely!”
As they splashed along, she was carried away by the prospect of working on her art and having intimate time alone with Markus. From the outside, everyone would assume the artists needed a place to work. They would keep pretending to be platonic friends as they’d done in France.
He cleared his throat.
“What?” she asked.
“I do not know how you can be so patient with
him.”
“Vincenzo’s my best friend.”
“If he was worthy of being your best friend, he would stop using you as his beard.”
“Well, I never expected to fall in love, and he held up his end of the bargain. He saved my home and ancestral property by marrying me.”
“You have more than repaid him for that favor.”
“This isn’t quid pro quo, darling.” She was at her wit’s end defending Vincenzo.
“It was convenient for him to marry you and put your home under his name. You are the only one who made a sacrifice.”
“I didn’t consider it a sacrifice until you came along, mon amour. So you, in fact, are the fly in his ointment.”
“Bzzzz,” he said out of frustration.
“Sweetheart, have you never heard that love is patient and kind?”
“Da. And I promise that I will always be patient and kind with you. But I do not love Vincenzo.”
The sun blazed through an opening in the clouds, momentarily blinding them. Markus pulled out his sunglasses, put them on, and then blew into his hands before pushing them back into his pockets. She loved his eyes, but the dark glasses were very sexy, too. She admired him with a sidelong glance but kept her wits about her so she didn’t trip and fall off the little bridge they were crossing—it had no handrails and was famous for mishaps.
“Care to change the subject?” she asked.
“I believe Venice is the coldest place I have ever been.”
“Venice is colder than Ukraine?”
“Zalishchyky gets down to freezing in winter, but not nearly so wet.”
“I’ll warm you up when we get to the studio.”
“Ah, finally you are thinking of me instead of Vincenzo. I feel warmer already.” He flashed her a sexy smile, and she shivered with anticipation.
“Would this studio happen to have a bed, by chance?”
“I had one delivered yesterday, and the landlord put it up in the loft.”
“Oh, good. Not that I would mind another surface.”
“Da, you are very accommodating.” She heard the hitch in his voice and knew he wanted her as much as she did him. “It is one of the many things I love about you.”
Storming Venice Page 9
