Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  She called don Petrosino. He answered at once, his voice sounding smooth. “Ciao, Raphielli. My people tell me Salvio’s transfer went smoothly. Are you pleased?”

  “No, the police lost him!”

  “What happened?” His voice had a hard edge. “Where did they lose him?”

  “Here in Venice.”

  She heard him give orders to call his private jet. Into the phone, he said, “I’m on my way.”

  “I’m sorry I asked you to give him up. How soon can you get here?”

  “No time at all. And I need you to release me from my promise. When I find him, I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Sì, sì. I know you can’t keep that promise now. If you confront him, it’ll be your life or his.”

  “I’ll be in touch when I have news.”

  “You know if you tell me his whereabouts, I’ll have to share it with the police.”

  “That’s fine with me. He’ll be dead.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You too. He’s coming to kill you.”

  “He won’t get me, Gio. I’m at Luna Hotel Baglioni, in the Sansovino Grand Lagoon Suite.”

  “Nice choice. A big step up from that depressing old bedroom. Be smart, stay hidden.” And with that, he was gone.

  The room’s telephone chirped, and she answered it. “Signora, the front desk has a request for admittance. We have a pair of twins—Vitali is the name on their identification wishing to visit you.”

  “Sì, grazie send them up.”

  Alphonso was the first through the door. His face anguished, he scooped her into a bear hug. Her feet dangled inches off the floor, and she could feel his breath coming in gasps as if he were sobbing.

  “I’ve got you now,” he breathed into her ear, then planted kisses wherever he could land them—her cheek, her nose, her ear, her mouth. “Where should we go? How about someplace warm? Do you like Sri Lanka?”

  Zelph was pressing in and petting her head, squeezing her shoulder, arm, hand—wherever he could get hold of her. “Bora Bora’s nice. We’ve got our passports. I can go to your place and get yours right now.”

  “Please put me down. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Alphonso set her down, and she found herself staring up at two incredulous men who were so intense, they looked intimidating even to her.

  “Please, sit down.” She drew herself up to her full height and raised her chin.

  “Right, let’s sit.” Alphonso took her by the hand and walked over to a sitting area as if he was leading a truculent child. “Of course we’re leaving.”

  Zelph seemed angry. “And staying gone until the police catch him.”

  “No, I prefer to stand. You two sit.” She pointed to the big white chairs and felt calm begin to radiate through her from that area in her solar plexus. “I’m not letting that bully scare me out of my city.”

  “He’s not a bully, he’s a homicidal maniac,” Alphonso clarified.

  “I’m through being frightened of him.”

  They both stared at her.

  “Do you hear me?” She put her hands on her hips. “Through.”

  Alphonso said, “There are things that a person should be frightened of, and a maniac who wants to kill you is one of them.”

  Zelph gave her a pleading look. “We won’t have to leave for long, I bet. Let’s just get you away for a vacation.”

  “I’ve already had three weeks in bed recuperating, and years away from the life I should have been living, courtesy of that brute they married me off to. I refuse to run scurrying like a rabbit from a ferret. I’m smart, I have a purpose, and I’m working up some pretty heady anger of my own. I tell you, the way I feel right now, I’m starting to think Salvio should be afraid of what I’ll do. I’ve had it! I’m done being his victim!” She ended with a shout.

  “But Raphielli…”

  “Done!” She shouted again.

  “How are we supposed to keep you safe?” Alphonso asked.

  “You can follow me everywhere I go, you can add locks to the palazzo, and we have personal alarms, don’t we?”

  “Sì, sì, they’re more like pagers.”

  “He’s opportunistic, not Houdini,” she said.

  “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” Zelph flinched when he saw the look in her eyes. Flustered, he got up and went to the bar. “I need a drink. What can I pour you two?”

  “Pellegrino with some lemon-lime soda, grazie.” Then she settled herself back into a chair, pulled off her shoes, and tucked her feet under her.

  Alphonso said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, Zelph.” He unfolded a throw, wrapped it around her, and his expression was worried. “You’ve had too much to bear. I respect that you’re looking to draw a line in the sand but, cara, let’s call Detective Lampani and learn exactly what he knows before we decide to stay in Venice.”

  She accepted her drink and pointed to her phone on the table by the window. “He’s in my contacts.”

  Alphonso took a swig of some dark liquid and called Lampani, putting the phone on speaker.

  “Pronto? Raphielli?”

  “Sì, Detective,” she said. “I’ve got Alphonso and Zelph Vitali on the line with me. They’re helping me with security. Can we get an update?”

  “Other than that we don’t know where Salvio is? I’ve got nada.”

  “Where are you looking?”

  “Like last time, I believe he’ll take a lap to try to get at one of his targets—either you or a Verona—but if he can’t get to a target fast he won’t risk staying in Venice. He’ll take off somewhere with less police interest. Same thing he did after he killed Reynaldo Falconetti. He’ll lie low somewhere and plan his next move. Okay, gotta go.”

  Alphonso looked resigned. “Lampani’s logic is flawed. He doesn’t know that Salvio didn’t take off after he killed Reynaldo. He left Venice, but not of his own volition, Giancarlo Petrosino kidnapped him.”

  She put her hand on the back of her neck and rubbed a muscle that throbbed. “Salvio’s not stupid, though. I think Lampani’s right.”

  “Come here, let me work on that for you.” Alphonso finished his drink in one gulp and patted the seat next to him.

  She went over and offered him her back and shoulders. His talented fingers started rubbing and kneading the sore muscles. “Zelph and I aren’t going to fight with you about this. We’re here to protect you.”

  “Thanks, Al,” she said. “I don’t want to fight with you, and I’m serious about standing my ground.”

  “I respect your conviction. Now, let’s get some dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure.”

  “Goddamn, this scotch is smoother than a stripper’s thighs.” Zelph enthused as he grabbed Alphonso’s empty glass and went back to the minibar.

  The naughty comment broke the tension and when Raphielli and Alphonso exchanged looks they broke up laughing. Then a bizarre impromptu slumber party began. They ordered room service, watched movies, and generally talked each other off the ledge of conjecture. They finally climbed into the enormous bed after abandoning harebrained schemes to set a trap for Salvio.

  On the edge of sleep, Raphielli murmured, “My neck can’t take another assault.”

  Spooning her, Alphonso snuggled her into his chest, wrapped a muscled arm around her protectively and whispered, “That’ll never happen. I’ll kill him first.”

  Zelph yawned from the other side of the bed. “Get in line.”

  After stabbing his seed into the vessel, Salvio stalked back to the shower and completed his scrubbing ritual. The hot water punished as he rhythmically scraped stiff bristles against his skin until it was pulsing and his nerve endings cried out.

  He had bad news for Mateo. The vessel would only have one more chance at obedience and then he may need another candidate. She’d been compliant, averted her eyes and lay unmoving on the table, but she’d shed tears and exhibited detectable emotion, both intolerable offenses. If she did either again, he�
�d kill her. Even in his current state of elation, he’d only barely contained his fury at the distractions.

  Nonetheless, he felt refreshed by the time he donned the black clothes and shiny footwear they’d provided and went to meet his orator, Nejla, in a small, spare chapel below the house. Salvio had never heard of an unassuming house in the Venetian region having a dry room beneath the water level, but Venetian builders were nothing if not ingenious.

  “So, this temple is not just figuratively underground,” he commented to Nejla.

  “It was created in the spirit of the golden temple in your palazzo where we all used to worship in secret. But as you see here, there was no option to have a pool—not the aquatic space our past generations were used to, unfortunately. Since your palazzo’s pool was off limits, we wear glossy shoes as a memory of our wet feet. It is one way we recognize each other. Tonight, we’ll hold a full service in your honor. We see that you have been robbed of your medallion,” she eyed his chest. “But, mercifully, you still have the ring of Sinope.”

  Careful not to show his unfamiliarity with the Alithinían Church, he looked around the crowded chamber and counted nineteen people, all dressed exactly as he was and regarding him with wonder. He took his place on a high-backed chair and watched the rituals of an ancient church service that followed Jesus’ teachings, but was also very metaphysical. He felt at home, and he memorized everything he heard and saw.

  Nejla, keeper of the unwritten texts, looked like any other conservative Italian woman dressed in black. There was nothing remarkable in her appearance, and perhaps that was why she was chosen. Salvio focused mainly on her, immersing his mind in the fountain of knowledge that poured from her mouth every time she opened it. Salvio loved the simplicity of the Alithinían Church service and knew this was how Christ had worshiped. Here everyone was one with God. By comparison, Catholic worship was convoluted and the Pope set himself above everyone, coming between the faithful and their creator.

  After the service, Salvio followed Mateo out of the temple and up a few stairs to an antechamber where the worshipers lined up to pay their respects. The first person to approach him murmured something, bent forward, and kissed his boat-and-horse ring, then moved off. Each person did likewise. He found the close proximity of their lips repellant, and the soft “smek-smek” sound of their kisses disgusting, but the physical proof of their fidelity was powerful. He learned from the symbols in the temple that the Scortini family crest on his ring was Paul’s horse and Marcion of Sinope’s boat. He’d never known their significance.

  Rajim appeared before Salvio and dropped to his knees. “Your presence honors our humble place of worship. It is nothing as glorious as the underwater temple in your palazzo,” he said before kissing the ring.

  How had he never found the temple? Is that why his parents had sent him to school in Bologna? To keep him out of the house for most of his life? Was it over in that entertainment wing with the theater stages and concert hall? Was there a pool under the old menagerie in the wing that stunk of feral cats? He felt his anger rising and tried to tamp down the fury, but suddenly he was consumed with hatred for his parents. They’d purposely kept his divinity from him! Fighting to appear unmoved, he slapped a neutral expression on his face and asked, “What do you know about my underwater temple?”

  Mateo’s face grew eager, and he pressed in close to answer for Rajim. “We have the paintings and drawings.” Mateo walked him over to a painting of a temple with a golden dome that was partially underwater. While Salvio studied its symbols, which were the same as the ones depicted on posters in this chapel, Mateo was flipping pages in a book he’d selected from a shelf. Finding what he was seeking, he held it up to Salvio. “We have these, the building plans from the Scortini temple.”

  Salvio’s eyes seized on the fantastical sketch, particularly a feature at the side of the floor plan. He ran his fingers over the drawing, engrossed.

  “Ah, the scivolo.” Mateo’s voice conveyed his awe. “Ingenious. I can’t wait for you to take us to the Scortini temple.”

  Salvio traced his fingertip along the sketch, following the scivolo, but the markings ended at the edge of the page.

  Mateo became animated. “Not that I’m meant to use it, but as a child I fantasized about the scivolo!”

  Salvio looked up from the image. “What kind of fantasies?”

  “That I was the chosen one, and that we were all worshipping, and the Catholic guards had found out about the temple, so I got over to the boat symbol and jumped.”

  “Jumped?”

  “Sì!” His eyes got a faraway look. “Even the least adventurous among us wanted to know what it would be like. I tell you, I could feel the pressure of the water tentacle and I’d take a quick deep breath and clamp my arms to my sides and point my toes and jump right down onto the water membrane and whoosh!”

  Salvio closed the book and got down to more practical matters.

  “What do you know of the crimes the police are charging me with?”

  “Lydia, our mole in the department says they plan to charge you with the death of Petro Caliverizzi, a Verona bodyguard, the attempted murders of your wife and Vincenzo Verona, and that you’re suspected in the death of a marble worker named Reynaldo Falconetti. She’s been watching a detective named Lampani who she believes is obsessed with you.”

  How disappointing! I failed to kill any significant target! Well, this time I’ll act quickly and spare no savagery.

  That evening when Salvio fell into bed, he slept secure in his destiny to liberate the world from Catholic oppression and outsmart Detective Lampani.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Luigi was grateful that Inspector Laszlo had moved heaven and earth politically to mobilize law enforcement overnight. He’d put the Venetian police department on high alert, and every single officer was searching for Salvio. Even officers on furlough were recalled. They’d searched the Scortini palazzo and even left a unit in Salvio’s office overnight, but he hadn’t shown. Raphielli was safely holed up, so he went to pay the Veronas a visit. Count Gabrieli told him that Contessa Juliette was indisposed, so Luigi sat down to have a heart-to-heart with the count.

  “I appreciate your seeing me.”

  “Of course.” The count gave him an expectant look. “How did this happen? How could Scortini elude the police for weeks? Not to mention our divers who were all over Verdu Mer where he was last seen falling into the water…unconscious. You told the press he was dead.”

  Luigi wasn’t entirely comfortable sitting down with someone of Verona’s pedigree and wondered if he was supposed to follow some protocol. “Count, may I speak plainly?”

  “Of course,” he said again.

  “When a body isn’t recovered from a crime scene, there’s always the chance the individual isn’t dead. In this case, I believe he wasn’t unconscious when he fell into the water, and he swam underwater until he found a place to surface unseen.”

  “But how could he have walked out of Verdu Mer without being spotted by the workers? Or security?”

  Luigi consulted his notebook before answering. He knew the details by heart, but when in the presence of an interested party, he felt documentation lent his words credence. “The morning of his last crime spree—”

  “Last? You make it sound as if you expect another.”

  “I do.”

  “Why? He’s never been violent before. A nasty tempered and socially awkward man, sure, but never violent before that morning.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true, actually,” Luigi said.

  The count started to say something and then stopped so abruptly he looked as if he’d bitten his tongue. He winced, “Say again?”

  “He killed Reynaldo Falconetti.”

  The count put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “Maria madre misericordiosa.”

  “Now, because I don’t believe he’s finished with his crime spree, I want to talk to you about secur
ity.”

  “We’re safe here.”

  “Salvio’s extremely slippery, and I think he has people helping him. I mean no disrespect to your security efforts, but I wouldn’t consider any home safe. Perhaps you and your family could take a trip until we apprehend Salvio. Somewhere he wouldn’t expect.”

  The count sat up, then sat back, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “Detective, I appreciate your instincts.”

  “Grazie.”

  “And I appreciate your time.”

  That sounded like he was about to be dismissed, but it would be disrespectful to interrupt.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I won’t consider leaving Venice. This palazzo is a fortress—it’s impregnable, built and staffed to withstand a siege if it came to that. And at your last urging, I have increased our household security. With the new police watch outside and on the calles of Venice, I believe that if Salvio were to come anywhere near us, he would be apprehended immediately. So, I am setting your advice aside.”

  “Well, then. I did what I came here to do—warn you as best I could.”

  “I appreciate your efforts.”

  With that, they shook hands and he was escorted out by a butler.

  Salvio slept fitfully on a mattress that was too soft. At some point during the night, he realized that he preferred the ground he’d grown accustomed to in the cistern and moved to the floor. When dawn broke he went down the hall and told Mateo to have the girl prepared for another attempt at an heir, then he returned to his room and performed a punishing set of deep-knee bends to force the needles of gout from his leg joints. After filling the vessel—who stayed satisfactorily inert—he showered and then broke his fast at the kitchen table. He ate alone, and after finishing his plain crackers, dates, and black lentils, he acknowledged his disciples who’d been hovering just outside in the hallway.

  “Come in. I need a computer to access my bank accounts, and I want an update.”

  Benjamin stepped away, while Mateo and Rajim came and sat at the table. Mateo began, “Two Mafiosos have arrived from Sicily, and they’re asking questions about you all over Venice.”