Pushing herself to shake off the remnants of her nap, she headed home for a hot shower and fresh clothes. Plodding over the bridges and along the canals to her house, she made gentle circles with her shoulders and tentatively rolled her neck as her cramped muscles protested. She was going to have to get a bigger couch for the office she shared with Kate. She would have slept in one of the beds, but every last one of them was already in use by women in need. All of the new cribs were occupied too, which made her heart flame with compassion and pride.
Stepping through her front door, Raphielli’s eyes fell on a box of tea sitting on the old-fashioned receiving table. There was only a beat of confusion, and then Gio’s words came back to her. She snatched up the box and raced for her bedroom as her fingers fumbled with the lid. She plucked the note out with hands shaking so badly she left tea scattered in a trail behind her running feet. What? No specifics? Just “He has escaped”? She skidded into her bedroom, raced to the window, and threw open the sash. She leaned out a bit to get some cell reception. Trying to steady her shaking hands so she wouldn’t drop the phone out the window, she called the Little Church.
A voice answered, “Buongiorno, how can I help?”
“Find Cardinal Negrali immediately. Tell him Salvio has escaped!”
She ended the call, but couldn’t remember the detective’s name and number, so she dialed 112 Emergency. After three rings a flat voice came on the line, “Uno uno due, what is your emergency?”
“Please! A killer is loose in Venice!” Then his name came to her. “Tell Detective Luigi Lampani that this is Raphielli Scortini, and Salvio has returned!”
Ending the call, Raphielli was a trembling wreck as her fingers kept accidentally scrolling past Alphonso’s contact. She couldn’t recall how Zelph had taught her to send a text, and she started to cry. This plan is no good! I’m going to get someone killed! Stupid! Stupid! What a fool I was not to have a better plan!
Finally dialing Alphonso, she eyed the water below as his voice message picked up. Hopping foot to foot in frustration, she waited for the beep and then blurted, “It’s me—!”
That was all she got out before she was hit from behind and her ribs were crushed painfully into the windowsill. The phone tumbled to the water below, the air rushed from her lungs, and she felt something tighten around her neck.
“Getting an early start to your day?” Salvio’s voice was eerily solicitous in her ear.
She was dragged backward to a corner of the room. She couldn’t see him, but he seemed to have climbed onto the cedar chest and was hauling her backward by whatever was around her neck. She reached up and clawed at his hands, but he thrashed her side to side until she fell against the wooden chest painfully. As the rope was pulling tighter, he said in a helpful tone, “You should climb up if you don’t want your spine to come apart, you cow.”
Raphielli blindly grabbed at the cord above her head as she felt herself being lifted off her feet. She swung away from the big chest and hung onto the cord with her right hand for dear life. She reached out her other hand as he swung her toward a small, delicate table. He’s not strong enough to lift me like this. He must have thrown the cord over the wrought iron chandelier and is hanging me with his own body weight! Exhausted, she pulled herself up, supporting herself on the table until her feet were teetering on it. The noose pulled her even higher until she pirouetted on the toes of her left foot. She got hold of the cord overhead with both hands now and tried to lift herself a bit to draw in more air.
She heard Salvio hop down to the floor and walk around in front of her. She couldn’t look down to see him; her head was thrown up and back, and the noose was so tight.
“That’s not a very sturdy little table you’ve chosen to hold you, but then I don’t suppose you could have reached the dresser with your stubby legs. I have to leave you now to take care of some business, but I’ll come back. And if God chooses to spare you a hanging death, you’re going to tell me what you’ve been doing since I’ve been away. It seems that I’ve been robbed. Maybe you can shed some light on that crime for me.”
She heard only a few footsteps before she was alone. Her impromptu gallows were unbelievably solid. It held her dangling while her toes cramped in their sockets and her shoulders and forearms burned. She couldn’t draw in more than a sip of air at a time, and her lungs were screaming to be filled. She tried to clear her mind and not think of what it would be like to lose her balance, tip from this table, and choke to death swinging in her late mother-in-law’s bedroom. Then Rosa screamed and Raphielli lost her balance, kicking over the little table.
Gio and Primo were at the front door of the Scortini palazzo pushing their way past the butler when a piercing scream echoed down the empty hallway and then it became a shrieking wail. Gio raced toward the sound and burst into Raphielli’s bedroom where he found an old woman trying to support her mistress, who was kicking and spinning at the end of a noose.
“She was standing on the table!” the maid screamed. “She was about to hang herself!”
“She’s alive!” Gio rushed forward.
He got under Raphielli and supported her on his shoulder as Primo jumped onto a cedar chest, whipped out a knife, and slashed at the cord, releasing the semi-conscious girl. Gio lowered her to the floor. Primo’s fingers gently unwound the cord from her throat while Gio grabbed hold of the maid. “Where is Salvio?”
“He isn’t home.” She looked confused. “He’s been away for weeks now.”
The don looked down at the sweet girl lying on the floor, and felt his rage building. She looked like a raven-haired doll that had been badly misused by a disturbed child. Unable to leave her on the floor, he knelt down, gathered her in his arms, and lifted her onto her bed. Primo covered her with a blanket as she dragged in deep hiccupping breaths only to let out ragged coughs.
Starting toward the bedroom door Gio barked to the maid, “Lock yourself in here with her. Don’t open the door for anyone but the police, or me. And keep an eye on that secret passageway!” Gio pointed to the curtain.
“I don’t know you!” She glanced suspiciously at the curtain and turned to argue. “I won’t let you back in here!”
Gio yelled over his shoulder, “Her husband did this to her! Just don’t let him back in!” He ran out the door with Primo at his heels, and together they stormed into Salvio’s office. It was empty, but the bocce bag sitting on top of the desk told Gio precisely how Salvio had gotten to Venice so quickly.
Primo spotted it too. “Fuck me! Scortini hitched a ride on the heroin express!”
“Hey!” A little servant came skidding into the office. “You don’t belong here!”
“We’re here to save Raphielli!” Gio shouted. “Have you seen Scortini?”
“No, he’s away on a religious pilgrimage.” The man tried to set his quivering jaw. “I can take a message for you. Then you need to leave, you can’t be here without an invitation.”
Gio ignored the valet. “Primo, if no one saw him, he used his secret passage. Let’s go.” He pushed the tapestry aside and they hurried down the dark path, pushed out the door, and found themselves under Il ponte Diamanti. Arriving at the water’s edge, he looked around uncertainly. He heard the strange, repeated sounds of hollow metal banging into stone echoing from off to the left.
Following the sound, Gio and Primo made their way along a footpath and through a short tunnel that went back under the property, and came out past another bridge inside a moss-covered cove. A little boat was being bounced into the stone jetty by a series of wakes coming down the canal. As Gio approached the boat, he saw expensive shoes peeking out from under the edge of a tarp. He jumped down into the boat and lifted the covering. There lay the body of a well-dressed young man, face down. Carefully turning him over, Gio recognized Vincenzo Verona. His injuries were obvious; there was damage to the left side of his head, and his left arm was at an odd angle. But he was still alive.
“Primo, get out of this tunnel and call 112
! Get an ambulance here now. It’s Vincenzo!”
“Okay. I’ll make sure they don’t see me. But, where do you think Scortini went?”
“He’s gotten Vincenzo and Raphielli. Now I bet he’s going after the count.” Gio took off running to get his monster back.
Salvio was jogging across a quiet piazza, he felt robust and righteous. He didn’t know where Gabrieli Verona was, but he knew how to find out. He made a beeline for a youngster on a cell phone and grabbed it from him.
“I need to make an emergency call. I’ll pay you.” He realized he’d forgotten the bocce bag in his house, but from the looks of it, this boy didn’t need any money. He hung up on whoever was on the call, and then stared the kid down as he dialed directory assistance. “Connect me to Verona Enterprises.”
The wimpy kid grumbled loudly and walked over to his friends who were standing nearby, and they all started to make angry taunts and gestures.
When a Verona operator answered, he barked, “Connect me to Gabrieli’s office.” He waited a beat, and when the assistant answered Salvio yelled, “Where is Gabrieli? He’s late!”
“Mi scusi?” Startled, the cool voice quickly recovered. “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Salvio Scortini! I will not stand for incompetence! He’s supposed to be a man of his word!”
“I’m sorry Signor Scortini, I didn’t see you on the meeting agenda, but they are all at Verdu Mer.”
“I know where he’s supposed to be! We are at Verdu Mer, but he’s not here, and we find his unprofessional behavior shocking!”
“Not there? Did you go to the temporary construction office at number six eighty-seven for the—”
Elated, Salvio threw the phone at the youngster, who deftly caught it and flipped him the finger. Salvio took off running at top speed, feeling younger than he had in years. Vitality coursed through his muscles, and he felt loose and happy. He was going to avenge the House of Scortini. Gabrieli was going to be so surprised! Somewhere Salvio registered that he should be tired, but he was bursting with adrenaline as he ran up to the construction gate. He tipped an invisible hat to the guard in the security shack as he raced past.
“I’m late, I know. Number six eighty-seven.”
The guard tossed a construction hat to Salvio, who caught it and clamped it on his head. He slowed to a trot as he headed down a deserted calle. The old access walks to the crumbling houses in this sestiere were tiny. Everything was deserted and boarded up, but ahead on the right he could see sawhorses and orange cones around some expensive-looking equipment. He clutched the hat to his head, and picked up his pace again.
He skidded to a stop outside the door to a makeshift office and peeked into the little space. There was no meeting inside this dim hovel, just some more saw horses, a couple of worktables, and a tin lamp hanging from an extension cord. He inched inside, feeling disappointment begin to curdle his stomach. Then he heard an old man’s voice in the dark.
“Giselle, Gabrieli wanted to go over these notes when they return from the canal survey.”
A smile began on Salvio’s face and then unfurled until it felt like it extended all the way to his ears. He tingled with excitement at the name, and then bent down to pick up a length of rusted rebar. As he moved into the dark room he called, “Giselle Verona?”
“Sì?” a distracted voice answered.
She was in the far corner of the room, standing next to a table that was nothing more than a big board propped on top of a couple of wooden crates. So considerate of her to have her hard hat lying on the table beside her—so much easier to smash her evil, sluttish head in! And that old man leaning on the walker will get to watch!
Directly in front of the corner where the blonde whore and the geezer were now trapped was a big, irregular hole in the broken cement floor. Salvio would have to get her to come to him, or he’d have to get around the hole to her. It made no difference, he could manage it either way.
The old man startled when he saw Salvio. “You look sick, friend.”
“I am not the one who is sick! It’s that piece of degenerate rot you’re standing next to who is sick!”
The slut grabbed hold of the old man.
Salvio snarled, “Keep your filthy hands to yourself, whore!”
The old man raised his walker, extending it in front of them in a feeble show of protection.
“Careful you don’t drop your crutches,” Salvio taunted. “So, are you putting your dick into her putrid place too? Is that it, old man?”
“Giselle, do not worry, he is not going to kill me,” the man said, keeping his eyes on Salvio. “Go get security. Now!”
The force of the old man’s command surprised Salvio, and Giselle obeyed as if slapped. Salvio paused at the edge of the hole, unable to believe his eyes. In a blink, she’d jumped onto the makeshift table and climbed up the broken wall. She seemed to be some sort of a rock-climbing acrobat.
“Oh, but I will kill you, old man, after you watch me ram this rod up her and ream out the ungodliness inside her. You’ll watch me nail her to the floor for her whoring sins!”
He extended the walker a bit farther over the water. “Giselle, go! Now!”
Giselle neatly lifted a panel of corrugated tin out of the ceiling and pulled herself up through it. She’d just crouched on the roof when she heard a gibbering laugh of insanity from below.
“The diseased sow thinks she can escape the hand of the Almighty?”
Next she heard a hollow crack followed by a splash. Giselle dropped to her knees and poked her head back down into the office. There was Yvania, standing proudly on a crate and putting her clogs back on. The little fireplug looked up at Giselle and waved.
“Never have your back to a Chechen in a fight!” she grinned. “You can come back down now.”
Ivar shuffled carefully around the hole toward his wife. “Ah, my girl! You can never take the rebel out of the Chechen!”
Yvania hugged her husband. “This crazy who would murder Giselle is Salvio?”
Giselle called down, “Did you knock him into the canal?”
The Czerneys nodded. “Da, but we do not see him now.”
CHAPTER
18
Vincenzo sat at the low table, the sounds of his classmates nearby, the scent of tempura paints and crayons heavy in his nostrils. Leo was tracing a sun in orange with his brush as Vincenzo added the finishing touches to the blue water on their shared painting, bare knees pressed against one another’s under the table.
Vincenzo ran with all his speed, Leo stride-for-stride by his side, catapulting himself off the cliff, and they both flew, for just moments, before plummeting down and into the sea below. Head bobbing to the surface, gasping for breath, he looked for and found Leonardo, just a few feet away, laughing in the water, eyes shining. His body felt impossibly strong and alive.
Twelve years old, Vincenzo lay in Leonardo’s bed in his childhood home, buried under the warm covers. Inseparable, whispering secrets, their noses touching. Sharing dreams, making plans, holding each other.
Fourteen years old, sculling across the water, seated behind Leonardo, watching the muscles of his back and shoulders work, flexing and stretching. He felt that mixture of calm and excitement spread through his limbs like it always did when he was with Leo. They slid their oars into the water in unison, pulling as a team. Not just when rowing, they were always stronger together.
In the shower, hot water pounding, breathing in the heavy steam, soap lathering and sliding over their skin, Vincenzo looked into his best friend’s eyes and saw his own hunger and readiness reflected back at him. Slowly and tentatively leaning in until his lips reached Leo’s, they fell into each other, kissing with a passion that fed on itself until the hunger was too much. He was enraptured at the things Leonardo was doing to his mouth, and he grasped his best friend to him, plastering their wet bodies together. The last barriers fell away, and he experienced for the first time complete union with another human being.
Seventeen years old, walking into that hospital room, Leo lying in the bed looking so pale and frightened, drains snaking from down in his groin, drips of antibiotic disappearing into the tube in his arm, orange antiseptic stains across his stomach and down both legs, Vincenzo’s heart seized in his chest and then galloped. Sitting by the bed, holding Leo’s hand, not daring to cover him with comforting kisses as he yearned to. He cried when Leo told him, “Impaled on some metal rebar under the water at Verdu Mer, in agony and certain I was going to die, I called for you. Only you. I only wanted you.”
Each day, bringing a bright red balloon, a private token of his love easily dismissed as a boy’s cheerful gift to his friend. One red balloon every day, until the room was so full of red balloons the nurses began threatening to pop them if he didn’t stop. But the boys just held hands and whispered to one another when no one else was around. And Vincenzo kept bringing red balloons.
Visiting Leo at his family home during his long and painful recovery. The red balloons had been banished, but he came every day and always brought something red, if even just a slip of paper. Talking together quietly, worried and wondering what this horrible injury would mean to their passionate physical love for one another. The day they discovered he was as good as new, they recklessly achieved a record number of orgasms by the next morning. Lying in bed together, they laughed at the improbable chance this injury had given them. Everyone assumed Leo would be impotent for life, the perfect cover for their secret relationship. They had always been so lucky. It was as though their union was blessed.
There had never been anyone for Vincenzo but Leonardo, and they loved one another completely. He loved to do little things to make Leo smile. He was warmed by everything Leo did to make their secret apartment a sacred place of sharing. When they had a day alone together, sculling or playing football, having long discussions about books they’d read, cooking, and listening to music—it made life complete. Leonardo was all the goods things in life: laughter, kindness, nurturing, encouragement, strength, excitement, and the strong morals that made him good through and through. Vincenzo wanted to stay enfolded in Leonardo’s scent, wrapped in his strong arms, listening to his laugh, forever.
Stealing Venice Page 32
