Guiseppe made his way over to her and murmured next to her ear, “Signore has asked me to tell you he has been called away on behalf of the Pope.”
“Oh, my goodness. Was that a letter from the Pope?” she whispered.
“No, signora.”
Salvio speed-walked through the stone lanes of the sestiere, heading for the Chiesa d’Oro. Verona was trying to steal Venice from him, but he was in for a rude awakening if he thought Salvio was going to allow it—to simply put his hands up like some little old lady handing over her pearls. If he hurried, the College of Cardinals would still be in session. His rushed arrival would lend urgency to his request, and the cardinals would have to take what he said more seriously. But it wouldn’t do for him to simply insist that they pressure the Pope on his behalf; he had to give them some probable cause. His mind spun wildly, trying to come up with a strategy that would make them choose him over Verona.
But first he’d have to get past the two ancient administrators who’d been sitting at their post outside the inner sanctum doors since he was a young boy. Salvio attempted to breeze through the entryway, but he was blocked so adroitly they seemed like secret service rather than just two old codgers. He now had two obstacles between himself and the assembled cardinals.
“Signor Scortini, there is no audience with the College of Cardinals today.” One of the administrators advanced, causing Salvio to retreat on the stone floor like a piece in a chess game. “They are in private session.”
Salvio tried to arrange his expression into an appropriately pious composition. “I know! I have just received a message from the College, and I must see them immediately!” He held up the filthy letter. Seeing the distaste on the old men’s faces, he tried to smooth the paper and wipe off the potting soil to show its legitimacy. They remained unimpressed. Unable to contain himself, he broke past them and grabbed hold of the chamber’s door latch. It was locked. He turned around and bluffed, “The College and I are in the midst of critical business on behalf of the Pope! You must open this door!”
“Wait here. I will inform them.”
Still expressionless, the smaller of the two old priests produced a key from the folds of his robe, and in an eerily evasive move, slipped around Salvio, through the door, and locked it again behind him. The maneuver was so fluid that Salvio would have had to tackle the old fool to get through the door. I’ve got to calm down. Injuring one of their administrators—no matter how senile the old codger might be—is no way to get the cardinals on my side.
Gritting his teeth, Salvio stretched his mouth into a smile even though it was the last thing that felt natural. He was furious and desperate, but the heads of the Catholic Church would find those emotions repellant. He looked at the remaining administrator, who stood staring at him with no expression whatsoever. This made him even more uncomfortable, and his lips stretched a bit wider, revealing his teeth in a way Salvio hoped looked friendly.
The first administrator reappeared and opened the door wide. “Signor Scortini, the College of Cardinals will hear you now.”
Salvio pushed past the administrators and strode up the nave. The chairs had been removed, and the cathedral was transformed for the convening of the venerable College. Top cardinals from the most influential dioceses in the world sat stiffly in formal wooden chairs forming a ring around the space. The holy men sat erect, resplendent in their finest cassocks and jewelry, in a timeless theological display worthy of a painting. Salvio refused to be intimidated by the looks of frank annoyance on their faces.
“Grazie for seeing me on such short notice, your most gracious Eminences—”
“Senza preavviso. No notice, Scortini!” a strong voice cut him off. It was Cardinal Negrali, the most powerful cardinal in the world. He was seated on an impressive throne in line with the altar. “You have interrupted sacred business with no notice. We have just sent you our written conclusion.” The usually gentle man raised his voice in a formal decree that filled the chamber. “We are in unanimous support of the Pope’s decision to award Verdu Mer to Count Verona. The College of Cardinals is unwilling to revive this matter.”
Salvio bowed his head and held up both hands. “Wait! What I have to tell you…well…I couldn’t put it in writing or trust it to a messenger! I couldn’t go through the formal channels of requesting an audience with the College, for fear of Gabrieli Verona’s spies catching wind of it. I, myself, I’m reeling from the discovery!”
The entire assembly of cardinals leaned forward in their seats. He’d gotten their full attention when he uttered the name Verona.
“I’ve always been a champion of Verona’s. Gabrieli and I couldn’t be closer…we’re like brothers.”
Negrali’s expression was doubtful. “I had no idea you two were close.”
“Oh, sì! We’re…like brothers! Our families have grown together through the ages, forming the very roots of our great Venice. But now…I’ve uncovered…the awful truth.” Salvio looked at the inquisitive eyes and rapt attention on each holy man’s face, but he couldn’t think of a single action, or even a rumor, he could exploit against Verona.
“What on earth are you talking about, Scortini?” Cardinal Negrali’s voice was choked.
“I’m here to tell you that I’m the only man fit to bear the solemn responsibility of Verdu Mer, as…Verona…he…” Salvio stalled. Unable to meet their eyes, he looked up at the painted ceiling and blinked back tears of frustration at his ineffectiveness. “Oh…all I can say is that Verona is unfit.”
“Count Verona, unfit?” Negrali gasped. “Is his health not sound? What is the affliction?” Color drained from each cardinal’s face, and there was a flutter of hands as they crossed themselves.
Salvio wrung his hands to keep them from shaking. “Oh no, your Eminence, it’s his character that’s unfit. His repugnant sins…they’ve morally corrupted him and affected his mind as well. So thoroughly has Verona demonstrated to me that he is unfit, I suspect that his claimed faith in God is nothing but a mask he wears to gain your protection. He’s exploiting the Catholic Church!”
“Basta! Enough!” Negrali held up his hand. “You are incorrect, Scortini. What has he done?”
“Now isn’t the time…I can’t tell you quite yet. But when I bring you proof—that Verona is unfit and his family is no longer even remotely devout to the Catholic faith—I want your promise to ask our Holy Father to give me the Verdu Mer commission.”
Around the chamber, stunned looks were exchanged, and every single eyebrow was elevated. Negrali placed his fingertips together and looked soberly at Salvio.
“Before we consider revisiting your request for stewardship of the project, you must bring us proof of what you find distressing with regard to Count Verona.”
Warming to the distant glimmer of hope, he nodded. “I will bring you the horrible truth. I beg that you carefully guard my secret visit to you. I’m afraid Verona has become dangerous.”
Salvio turned and hurried out of the church, leaving behind a very disturbed group of holy men.
How has Verona managed to blind them all? Venice belongs in the hands of a Scortini! I’m going to knock that perceived halo off Verona’s head and right onto the Pope’s foot! I’ll find someone to unearth that family’s secrets. They pretend to be so perfect, but inside there is rot!
He didn’t want to return home to a crowd of luncheon guests, but he wasn’t sure where to go. Unlike the Veronas with their pretentious office building, the Scortinis had always run Venice from their palazzo. So he headed to la Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana to think, and on the way, it came to him. Of course! He’d hire a private investigator! He’d get that man who was always bringing down corrupt politicians. What was his name? Alphonso Vitali! It would be easy for Vitali to discover the nasty weakness Verona was hiding, and the Pope would see that he’s not someone to be trusted with a sacred commission like Verdu Mer. Salvio was sick to the point of retching at the way the Pope favored Verona. It was as if the two of them wer
e on first name terms or something. He chuckled at the ridiculous idea of someone being a regular friend of His Holiness. Ha! A good laugh.
Pope Leopold XIV was enjoying tea with his best friend, Gabrieli, in one of the sitting rooms of the Verona palazzo. Casimir was wearing tailored shirt vestments over soft cotton chino pants. He was completely devoted to the Church—body, mind, and spirit—yet in private he saw no need to abandon the pants that had been his favorites since his boyhood in Lublin, Poland.
Casimir secretly stayed with the Veronas whenever his papal schedule allowed, and he was spending quite a bit of time in Venice now that the College of Cardinals was in session here, and the Verdu Mer project was finally under way. Living with the Veronas was incredibly grounding, and his personal security team loved the time they spent here. The palace was a veritable fortress, and no one but the Verona family and their loyal staff knew he was in residence. Popes had been secret guests of the Veronas as far back as he had been able to trace.
Casimir’s relationship with this special family began just as all the other popes’ had. The late Count Fabrizo Verona had been like a second father to him, and his son, Gabrieli, was like a brother. He relied on their excellent judgment, strong character, and unshakable faith in the Church. They were a fountain of love and strength that replenished him without fail.
No one knew the exact time in history when the Verona family first began supporting popes, but Casimir had seen a holy relic in a secret chamber below the Vatican that depicted images of Pope Callixtus the First and a Verona. It bore an etched description: “Saint Callixtus traveling with the Verona from the Iberian Peninsula to Rome for his inauguration.” So he knew his best friend’s family had assisted the papacy since at least the third century. With no concrete proof, Casimir personally believed there must have been a Verona at the time of Jesus the Christ. It just made sense to him that when the Messiah made St. Peter “the Rock” upon which His church was built, He gave Peter a Verona to support him. The idea was comforting.
Traditionally upon the death of a pope, the College of Cardinals undertakes the election process of a new pope. And while Veronas never hold an office of the Church, they are always secretly consulted during the evaluation process. The cardinals universally respect the Veronas, and each new pope naturally gravitates to them as his adopted family. As he undertakes his awesome responsibility, he allows the Veronas to know, support, and nurture him, as everyone else on earth—even his biological family—falls back to a degree. Each pope forms a natural dependence upon the Veronas, who have intimate knowledge of the papal duties and pressures, and who are literally born to understand him.
When Casimir become Pope Leopold XIV, he spent two weeks with the Veronas in their household in Rome. Deep in contemplation and reflection, they’d spent days discussing all of his emotions and hopes. As often as he sought advice from Gabrieli, Casimir also sought support from Gabrieli’s stalwart wife, Contessa Juliette, and their brilliant son, Vincenzo. Vincenzo’s gift for making inspired financial investments was only matched by his philanthropy, which was positively awe-inspiring.
Casimir looked across the table at his best friend and mused, “Last night I saw the new homes of Verdu Mer in a dream, and they had the most graceful arching design.” He traced the shape in the air with his hand. “It was so vivid.”
Gabrieli put down his teacup. “Sounds beautiful. Can you sketch it for me, Casimir?”
“Sì. Good idea.” He tapped the table and nodded happily. “Before it fades from my mind, I will get paper and pencil.”
“I’ll call for some.” Gabrieli reached to pull a corded bell for an assistant.
“Oh, no. You know I like to write in my notebook with special paper.” He hopped up from the table and waved excitedly. “Be right back! Oh! I have a clear picture still in my head.” He moved off down the splendidly carpeted corridor to his private suite, a beautiful haven of green and gold silk furnished with antiques made of burnished alder wood. He crossed the room and leaned over his desk, scooped up his personal notebook, and then returned to Gabrieli.
“Now, let me see if I can put the design onto paper…” As he bent over the book and began sketching, Gabrieli came around to Casimir’s side of the table and watched the sketch began to take shape.
“In my dream, Verdu Mer was really so beautiful. These houses were so…inviting...and I had the awareness that they were energy efficient.”
“Well, the consortium’s architectural team has rejected all the housing designs they’ve received so far. Apparently each design had flaws, so we’ve extended a new submission deadline to architects.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “Oh! And now I must be off. I have a meeting with Chizzoli and his underwater trench team.”
Casimir looked up from his sketch. “You do know I am elated that Verdu Mer is finally underway...”
“Sì...” Gabrieli paused. “Of course.”
“I have been weighed down recently…but it has nothing to do with how the consortium is performing…”
“What is it, Casimir?”
“This disquiet that has sapped my enthusiasm these past days…it is Salvio Scortini’s recent demand to be given the project.”
“Sì, but we both know Salvio’s never been involved in any business of any sort. Even Salvatore never worked with him. You’ve made the right choice.”
“But more than that, I am ashamed to say that on the few occasions when he has been in my presence…even though I have not been able to put my finger on any word or action…I have felt disturbed by him. This feeling of unease has been persistent, making it impossible for me to remain true to the established Vatican relationship with the Scortini family.”
“I share your opinion. But unlike you, I have had several distinctly…bizarre… interactions with him, going back from the time he was young and our fathers worked closely together. I don’t think Salvio even respects the Venetian building establishment. So there’s no way you could consider him to helm Verdu Mer. It would be a disaster. The residents of that decrepit neighborhood have endured enough hardship living in ruins for decades. They shouldn’t have to endure mismanagement during reconstruction.”
Casimir bent over his sketchbook again and came to the heart of the matter. “I do not like to be challenged in this way. It requires me to set aside theological matters on behalf of political efforts.”
“It’s wise to set aside things that take you away from your holy duties.” He gave Casimir’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now I really must be going. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
Moments after Gabrieli left, Juliette and Vincenzo came into the sitting room. Casimir always appreciated their natural blend of calm-yet-vibrant energy. And despite the fact that he’d known him from birth, he was continually startled by Vincenzo’s physical beauty; he was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Except for Vincenzo’s wife, Giselle—now that girl was positively angelic. Casimir couldn’t wait for them to have a baby and make him the happiest godfather in history.
Vincenzo approached, waving his phone. “Oh, Papa! You won’t believe the design for Verdu Mer’s new water system!”
Looking at Vincenzo’s phone, he kidded, “You want me to make a call?”
“No, just tap here. Chizzoli just sent us an animation of his 3D model.”
Casimir poked the screen and watched as a deceptively simple-looking system of locks and channels moved water in great volumes. While he was engrossed in the video, Juliette and Vincenzo perused his drawings.
“Papa, these are beautiful.” Vincenzo gestured to them. “What are they?”
“I had a dream of the houses at Verdu Mer.” He stepped between mother and son, and the three of them studied the sketches. “And this is what came to me.”
“What are these halos?”
“I saw soft glowing lights on the houses.”
“Rather more graceful than the typical Venetian-style home,” Juliette remarked.
Vincenzo added, “And a vast impro
vement over the current hovels that lean so dangerously in that sestiere. Growing up, that was the only area of Venice I was never allowed to go.”
Juliette shuddered. “That was for your safety. One afternoon when I was pregnant with you, I was walking past the neighborhood when a building collapsed, crushing six people.” She crossed herself. “Not to mention what happened to poor Leonardo. I’ll never be so relieved as when it is all rebuilt. No more threat of a piece of rooftop cracking a passerby on the head, or someone falling from inside their home into the canal.” Pointing at Casimir’s drawings, she nodded decisively. “Gabrieli’s consortium is looking for new housing designs. You should send this to them right away.”
Vincenzo agreed. “At least to test the viability of your concept for general housing.”
“Not my concept. It came in a dream, so I will have to offer it to them as divine inspiration.”
Juliette gave that a moment’s thought and nodded. “That may not be fair to the other architects. How can the consortium do anything but accept God’s Dream House as the winner?” She turned away from the drawing. “Now, I shall prepare my squid ink linguine for lunch. Casimir, are you coming to the kitchen to assist me?”
He loved cooking, and he’d learned some of his favorite recipes at Juliette’s side. “There is nothing I would rather do right now. Let me change my shirt.”
“I will go and get started with the preparation.”
“Can we make the calamari fritti, too?”
“Sì, I have just gotten beautiful squid from the Rialto market.”
Raphielli was relieved when the luncheon continued in an even lighter mood after Salvio’s departure. No one seemed to miss her volatile husband. She thoroughly enjoyed the day, and especially the dancing when Mayor Buonocore decided to serve as bandleader. The musicians played song after song that had everyone on the dance floor, which was set between shimmering topiaries. She’d never danced before—it had never been allowed in the abbey, and Salvio had forbidden it at their wedding—but she learned quickly, and Raphielli danced to every song. No one considered leaving the party until after they’d savored the last bites of sweets, and the sun was setting. They were all lightly bronzed by the afternoon sun, and faintly tired from dancing in the rooftop breezes.
Stealing Venice Page 7
