Stealing Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  Markus shoved his hands into his pockets. “And he knows about us.”

  Giselle moved to Vincenzo, wrapped an arm around his waist, and smiled up at him reassuringly. “So, we’ll just have to outsmart him, and make everything we do look normal.”

  “You’re going to have to be more discrete than you’ve been so far.” She could see he was disappointed, and trying not to scold her. “Gigi, I told Markus about Leonardo.”

  “Oh.” She was surprised and then felt relieved. “I’m glad you were honest. And please don’t worry. Your secret is safe with him.”

  Markus seemed puzzled. “I do not understand. There have been homosexuals since the beginning of time. Why must you keep your sexual preference a secret? Even the Catholic Church knows that homosexuality is natural, do they not?”

  Vincenzo answered, “No, the Church does not consider homosexuality natural. In fact it’s considered a sin, and right now I’m concerned about Salvio finding out about Leo. If he does, he’ll twist our transgression into something political. Papa would have no choice but to condemn us as deviants.” He lowered his voice and sounded pained. “Gigi, are you absolutely sure you want to be with Markus? If you’re just having some fun, I understand that. But what we have…”

  “Listen, you selfish…” Markus was glaring at Vincenzo.

  Giselle held up a hand up for silence. “Enough, Markus. V, I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know why. How can I make you understand? I love you—as a brother. You’ve been my favorite person on earth since my family died, and having you as my husband has been enough for me.”

  Markus gave Vincenzo a brooding look. “You are not telling me everything. It is time for you to tell me what the price could be if your homosexuality is discovered, and why the two of you guard it so.”

  Gigi could see Vincenzo begin to retreat behind a mental wall. “Please, V. It’s pointless to try to keep hiding this from Markus. We all have to work together…”

  Vincenzo walked even more slowly to delay their return to the others. “My family…we are the oldest guardians of Catholicism on earth. We serve as the glue that holds the Vatican together, and we work through ancient channels to bring man’s ‘quality of life’ needs before the Church. We orchestrate compromises that are the foundation of charity in the infrastructure of today’s global world. We help when the Church cannot be directly involved in a matter for political or religious reasons.”

  “You are kidding.”

  “No, it’s true.” Giselle nodded solemnly.

  “So your family is personally responsible for making sure that the Catholic Church treats people humanely, and that they help the poor regardless of their religion?” Markus looked incredulous.

  “Sì. But our responsibility is so much more. Each Verona male is born to support the papacy, because one man alone cannot bear the weight of that responsibility. We pray and listen for direction to bring God’s blessings to those who need it most…always to serve the highest good of mankind. We are our planet’s foremost philanthropic force. Above all, our duty is to unite all of the Vatican’s power players. Without our family’s ancient alliances and constant efforts, the Church would turn against itself.”

  Markus raised his brows. “Then I…thank you and your family for this service. But…” He stopped with a sharp intake of breath. “Ah! You believe that the Catholic Church and the whole world would suffer if you were cast away by the Pope?”

  “Mankind would suffer. Without a Verona in place to support him, a pope would be torn apart by fragmenting forces even within the Vatican. You have no idea the corruption within the Holy State. Although I don’t believe that Sua Santità would ‘cast me away’ per se, there would be serious worldwide repercussions.”

  Giselle tried to make Markus understand. “The Pope is truly a father to Vincenzo, and it would break his heart if he had to declare anything against his godson. Papa prays continually for us to give him a grandchild…” Clearing her throat, she continued lamely, “Which neither of us were prepared to face.”

  “I am sorry for you, Vincenzo.” Markus shook his head. “It is not fair for your private love to be a potential weapon to jeopardize your family’s work.”

  “V, I can’t give Markus up.” Giselle spoke tenderly. “I never understood the love I saw between you and Leonardo, I’d never been in love myself.” Her tone lightened and she smiled. “And you’ve been a wonderful husband, V.”

  He smiled back at her, but she could see how conflicted he was.

  Markus cleared his throat. “Vincenzo, you should have no fear of me. I will guard your secret. I will keep what Giselle and I have secret, too. We will be more careful to appear platonic.”

  “Thank you.” Vincenzo looked relieved.

  “That is, until you find a way to release Giselle from this false marriage.” He tucked his chin and gave Vincenzo a serious look from beneath his brows. “You need to tell me more about this Scortini. I will help you as I can.”

  As they arrived at the house, Giselle walked alone to the kitchen to find Carolette and Fauve. Caterers were moving briskly about, carrying bottles of champagne and Pellegrino, and setting up staging areas for chafing dishes, plates, platters, and all manner of crystal glassware. The florist and her team were putting the finishing touches on arrangements and carrying them to the dining room.

  Carolette and Fauve rushed up to her and pulled her into the Moroccan room where they could have some privacy. Pushing Giselle onto a sofa in the corner, Carolette dramatically dropped her head into Giselle’s lap and yelped, “I was about to seduce Markus, and I got caught by the Pope!”

  Fauve fanned Carolette’s head with her hand. “Could she be right? I thought it was just V and his parents coming. Is it true? Is Pope Leopold here? So many people have arrived to set up for the party, I couldn’t have walked past the Pope could I?”

  Carolette huffed her indignance and twisted her head sideways to glare at Fauve. “I may not be the best Catholic, but I know the Pope! My mother has a picture of him above our dinner table.”

  “He’s here.” Giselle patted her prostrate friend’s back. “He came to see my sculpture. We were just out back going over my blueprints, and now he’s conducting some business in the library.”

  “Do we get to meet him?” Fauve lit up with excitement, and then looked down. “Oh, well, apparently Coco’s already met him.”

  Carolette moaned. “Of all the horrible embarrassments in a person’s life, nothing can top this shame!”

  Fauve blurted, “Giselle, she was completely naked, and…you know…putting herself out there for Markus…”

  “Right. You know, I was hoping he’d pounce on me, and I’ve been dieting, and I tell you, my body is looking really good.” Giselle could tell her friend was working herself up for one of her long rambles, but Fauve was really keyed up, too.

  “It’s all that spinning. You do look really good.” Fauve patted her friend’s leg.

  Carolette brightened for a moment. “So I was doing a Playboy pose on the bed, and Markus came into the room, and his body is completely unbelievable, and—”

  “Does he have good abs?” Fauve demanded.

  Carolette made moaning sounds and looked a bit gaga. “Oh, just incredible! He looks like sex on two legs! He has muscles that are totally different than a six pack, more like a twelve pack, and these muscles that run down across the top of his hips—”

  “And, Gigi!” Fauve cut in and then clamped her hand over her mouth, giggling. “She actually asked Markus to have sex with her before dinner!”

  Giselle felt a pang of jealousy. “You did?” She flushed with pride that her lover’s body caused such a reaction. She couldn’t agree more.

  “Boh ouais, I propositioned him. But he looked right past me over to the door, and so I looked over too, and ohmonDieu! the holiest man of God and his guards were standing right there behind my naked butt! I’m emotionally scarred! Oh, please let me wake up. Who does this happen to? No one
in history, I’m certain. How could this happen to me?”

  Giselle was petting her friend’s frizzy blonde hair, trying to smooth it back into her hairpins. “Don’t you worry, Coco. Papa is confronted by big sins constantly. Seeing your body is not the worst that could happen.”

  Fauve agreed. “That’s right. He’s preoccupied with genocide and things. Don’t give it another thought. Your body is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu!” Carolette moaned. “My behavior most certainly is something to be ashamed of! I’ll never be able to eat at my mother’s table again without seeing the Pope staring at me while I was doing a Playboy pose on Markus’ bed!”

  “Well, you certainly went for it, Coco.” Giselle coughed out a laugh.

  “Yeah. I really thought he’d go for me,” she sighed.

  Fauve asked, “Well, what did Markus do exactly?”

  “Other than stand there looking like my perfect sculpted fantasy lover?” Carolette pushed herself upright, forgetting about her humiliation for a moment. “Nothing. He must have walked into the bedroom at exactly the same time as the Pope. But he was naked. Markus—not His Holiness. Oh, my no! Anyway, Markus was naked and well, wow! I’ve never seen a body like his. It’s perfect! And not bulky with muscles. He’s slim without his clothes on, but well, he’s just perfection and his skin is flawless and his dick is good sized even though it was soft! And it was straight. It didn’t bend to the side like some do…”

  “I’m so sorry you had to be embarrassed like that,” Giselle soothed.

  “Oui, the least that one of those guards could have done is whistled or something to make you feel appreciated,” Fauve interjected.

  “I agree! I would have felt appreciated and good about myself if someone had had the decency to whistle…though not the Pope, of course…”

  “Oui, a whistle would have made it better.” Fauve was warming to her bizarre attempt to make Carolette feel better. “Or a compliment. They were just thoughtless.”

  Giselle looked up as Juliette walked into the room with Selma and Ippy. “Come ladies, let us have dinner. Our honored guest must depart, and I am afraid we will return to Italy, as well.” She looked from Carolette to Fauve. “Both of you know how to curtsey?”

  “Sure do, we did them in A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the school play.”

  “Ah, sì. I remember now. Bene, then come.”

  While they followed the contessa into the dining room, Carolette whispered to Giselle, “Laetitia, Solange, and the boys will die when they realize what they’ve missed.”

  “Well, it’s their fault for being in Paris with Pierre today.”

  In the library, the men stood at attention over by an enormous flower arrangement, and as the ladies entered, Henri winked at Fauve who gave him a proud smile. Giselle stood nearby as Juliette presented Selma, Fauve, and Carolette to the Pope. Each of them curtsied, kissed his ring, and received a blessing. When it was Carolette’s turn, after the blessing he leaned forward and murmured, “I hope that you have recovered from your fright.”

  “Can you ever forgive me, Eminence?”

  He looked at her with a mixture of gravity and kindness. “Carolette, I am not called ‘Eminence.’ I ask you to reflect on your life, and make a full confession to your priest. You are in my prayers.”

  “I will. Merci, Holy Father.” She seemed on the verge of grateful tears.

  When Markus was presented, the Pope whispered, “I believe you will be getting married soon, Markus?”

  “That is my hope.”

  Markus sat at the dinner table, relieved to finally understand Giselle and Vincenzo’s relationship. Count Gabrieli Verona brought him out of his reverie.

  “So Markus, I’m pleased to meet you. But I’m disappointed you’d allow my daughter-in-law to handle dangerous chemicals.” Markus was considering a reply when he continued, “That being said, I don’t know anyone who can resist a request made by Giselle.”

  The Pope spoke slowly while looking squarely at his goddaughter. “You follow your own convictions. And if Markus had refused to touch those vials, you would have gone around him to do exactly as you had planned, without his help.” He looked at Markus. “That is the nature of Giselle with her art.” He paused and turned to admire her. “She is all art, all of the time.”

  Giselle bowed her head in acknowledgement.

  “Thank you for understanding,” Markus said. “I have tried to keep her safe.”

  Vincenzo spoke up. “I’m going to ask that you take special care to assure her safety now, and move your things into the château so you can stay close at hand.”

  Markus nodded in unspoken acknowledgement of the favor Vincenzo was doing them.

  “Oh, sì!” Juliette was clearly relieved. “Markus, please stay close to our girl.” Turning to Selma, she asked, “Did Tiberius ask you to set the dogs out to roam the property for as long as Giselle is here?”

  Selma nodded. “Oui, they’re out patrolling now.”

  Satisfied, Juliette turned back to Giselle, “And once you have secured the sculpture, you plan to return to Paris?”

  “Sì.” Vincenzo pressed. “Now that you’re not going to finish the sculpture, you should come back home, darling.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to town and buy a shed enclosure. But there’s still so much we can do on the sculpture that doesn’t involve the spindles. We could stay away from the chemicals, but I—we have come so far to simply stop...”

  The Pope raised his hands in supplication to heaven. “Oh Giselle, please—for my heart’s peace—promise me that you will not continue with the sculpture. I am against you working anywhere near those vials.”

  She ducked her head and answered, “Of course, Papa. How selfish of me. I promise.”

  The count added, “I have no idea how those vials should be disposed of, but for now please keep them locked away.”

  “I will. I promise.” She sounded glum.

  “Is there more irrodium in your father’s laboratory?”

  “A few containers.” It was a whisper.

  Count Verona ran his fingers through his hair and made a gesture to his wife that said, “Kids!”

  Turning to Markus, the Pope asked quietly in Polish, “Do you understand Polish?”

  “Da.”

  The rest of the table knew they were not invited to the private conversation, and went on eating and talking.

  The Pope continued, “Your accent is not Russian. You sound Western Slavic to me.”

  “Pravda, I am not Russian. I am Western Ukrainian,” he replied in Ukrainian.

  The Pope raised both eyebrows and continued in his native tongue. “Ah, then you must find it difficult when people mistake you for Russian.”

  Markus gave him a look that only another Eastern European would understand. “It is because they do not know better. Russia has made my people invisible.”

  The Pope smiled. “You are a tolerant man.” Quietly, almost to himself, “I know there are Ukrainians who would kill for being called a Russian.”

  Markus blew a gush of air between his lips. “Da.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  Don Giancarlo Petrosino looked out over the Tyrrhenian Sea. He was sitting in the office of the cliff-side building that served as his Palermo headquarters. His son, Primo, was giving a business update and his consigliere, Paolo Bianchi, was taking notes. As the richest and most feared Mafia boss in Sicily, Gio kept his finger on the pulse of his empire. It was as natural to him as breathing.

  His pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his cell phone. Glancing down, he was surprised to see the name that appeared on his screen. So, the aloof Venetian is calling me. This should be interesting.

  “Hold on a minute. It’s Salvio Scortini.”

  “That kid’s a bum.” Paolo looked disgusted.

  “Sì, but he’s richer than Midas, and he’s got a few things that I want.”

  “Tell him we know he stole those patents.” His attorn
ey twirled his pen.

  Gio held up a finger and smiled a bad-boy smile. Paolo and Primo fell silent as he answered his phone.

  “Pronto.”

  “Petrosino? Scortini here.”

  “Ah, Salvio. Let me offer my condolences. Your father was a great man.”

  “What?”

  “I enjoyed our time together. I admired Sal’s honesty. And while we never worked together, we would have made great partners.”

  “My father met with you?” He sounded doubtful.

  “You sound surprised. We met, and it was always a pleasure.”

  “This isn’t a social call, Petrosino. I’m about to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “Oh?” Rude little prick.

  “I have a proposition that would bring you into Verdu Mer. If you’re interested, you’ll get on a plane and be at my home before I change my mind.” The call disconnected.

  Gio stood, reached for his suit jacket, and turned to Paolo. “Make those changes to the contracts, and send them off.” Turning to Primo he said, “Get the plane ready. We’re flying to Venice. Scortini is gonna invite us to the Verdu Mer buffet.”

  “That’s a very big buffet.” Paolo smiled, then he pulled a face. “But that kid has no class.”

  Primo was already out the door, signaling for their driver to pull up, and dialing their pilot. Gio climbed into the back seat of the car and thought about his past attempts at getting a foothold in Venice’s building infrastructure. He’d always failed to close a deal there because of the iron grip Salvatore Scortini had on construction. Sal was a gentleman and took his calls. Sal had even had dinner with him in public on occasion as Gio tried to explore ways they could work together. But while Sal was respectful and even nice to him, he made it clear that the Mafia wouldn’t be given an inch in Venice. Gio had made a few small moves in Venice on his own to see what the Brotherhood of Iron Workers would do, and unfortunately they did exactly what Sal had predicted—they clung to the Scortini coattails and froze Gio out. He came very close to getting his hands on some lucrative patents that would have given him some real bargaining leverage, but the Brotherhood signed them away to Sal and put an end to his plans. Gio had ended up in court, but he’d been acquitted.