He has the same barrier all of you have, so the Jaguar genetics run deep in him. Byron materialized in front of Christopher Demonesini, waving his hand for silence and staring deep into the man’s eyes. Antonietta, merged so deeply with Byron, received the flow of information as Byron extracted it.
Christopher Demonesini lived with a monster. His father was ruthless with his fists and ruled his household as a dictator. There was no memory of a jaguar or killing people, but his father had ordered him to marry Natasha Scarletti-Fontaine. It seemed to be part of a plan for a merger of the two shipping businesses. Christopher was afraid of his father and would go to any lengths to prove himself to the man.
Byron moved some distance away, veiling Christopher’s sight and removing all traces of his memory of sharing his thoughts. Christopher shook his head repeatedly, cursed as he rubbed his throat, and hurried back through the maze, retracing his steps.
Antonietta leaned against Byron. “How awful to grow up like that. I’m ashamed of myself for disliking him so intensely. He had little chance to be anything but like his father.”
“Tasha is not like her father. We all have choices, Antonietta. At some point we have to take responsibility for our own lives. Christopher is capable of becoming a monster every bit as ugly as his father. Diego will have to watch himself in his career. Christopher will never forget what happened here today. Still, as much as I wish to have found it, I could see no trace of the jaguar in him, although the genetics are clearly present as they are in you. How strong, I do not know. We cannot rule him out as the animal, but I detected no conspiracy for murder or even for theft.”
“His father is a horrible man. I can remember him coming to visit when I was a teenager. Our families travel in the same social circles, so he was often at parties and charity events. He always touched me. Brushing his hands accidentally against my breasts. Standing behind me and pushing against me, rubbing his body against mine. He made me ill. If I said anything, he always acted as if I were a child, misinterpreting what happened. Accidents, you know, and I was blind and couldn’t see what happened. Then he actually tried to court me. I had such an aversion to him, I wouldn’t even stay in the same room alone with him. I made poor Tasha stay right by my side every second. Tasha never let me down. Not once. The don would do his best to get her out of the room, but she stuck like glue.” A shudder ran through her body. “I always know when he comes in a room. Every hair on my body stands up, and I get that strange itching under my skin I always associate with the jaguar wanting to come out.”
Byron smiled. She had the instant impression of teeth bared. “I look forward to meeting Christopher’s father. He should meet a real monster and learn the rules of the jungle.”
Antonietta wrapped her arms around Byron’s neck. “I don’t want you to do anything at all. I have you, and his family can’t hurt us. They’re desperate for a way to save their business, but it won’t be through a Scarletti.”
His kiss was tender, loving. “I want to speak to your grandfather and arrange our wedding immediately.”
“He’ll ask you to sign a prenuptial agreement.”
“I am a gem-caller, Antonietta. I find rare gems. I do not need nor want the Scarletti fortune. You do not need it either. What I have is yours. I will be more than happy to sign whatever agreement your grandfather deems necessary, as long as he has it drawn up immediately.” He took her hand as they made their way through the twists and turns of the maze.
In the courtyard, Josef stood before an easel gazing up at the battlements. He wore his beret at a jaunty angle and a bright kerchief tied around his neck. Splashes of paint dotted his face and were smeared on his smocklike shirt. He is clearly in his painter period. Byron was sarcastic. He seems to go through stages like no other child in history.
Antonietta studied the painting. Actually, he’s not bad. He has talent.
Of course he has talent. Eleanor raised him. She would make certain he had every opportunity to develop whatever gift he had. He is just such a…
Boy? Antonietta laughed softly in Byron’s mind. Isn’t he supposed to be one?
Josef put down his paintbrush and went over to the side of the palazzo, studying the smooth walls, the wealth of sculptures and stained glass. For a moment his form shimmered, wavered, then he was crouched on the side of the palazzo, clinging with hands and feet, a human spider dressed in black with a webbed mask over his face.
What in the world is he doing?
Byron scanned his nephew’s mind and sighed loudly. Vincente and Margurite shared an American comic book with him. He is Spiderman, racing up the side of the building to rescue the maiden in distress.
What maiden?
Tasha. She just does not know she is the figment of his boyish dreams. It is not dark enough for him to be trying such a stunt, and he is not able to do more than one thing at a time, so he cannot cloak himself from human eyes. Your grandfather is in the courtyard looking at his flowers. All he has to do is look up, and he would see Josef.
Antonietta studied the images in Byron’s mind. Josef moved up the side of the second story, much like Dracula in the movies. His form shimmered, shifted, went from webbed mask to startled horror. He slid down the sheer wall, bumped a window ledge, and plummeted to the courtyard below.
Swearing, Byron bounced airwaves, cushioning the boy’s fall. Josef landed hard enough to knock the wind out of him but obviously wasn’t seriously hurt. Don Giovanni heard the impact as Josef crashed through a low shrub, breaking several branches.
“What happened, young Josef? Did you trip? Are you hurt?”
Josef climbed gingerly to his feet, rubbing his posterior as he did so. “Just my pride. I can’t seem to get anything right these days.”
“I had a good look at your painting a few minutes ago, and it seemed quite good to me. I don’t know all that much about art, but Tasha does. She’ll have to take a look at it for you.”
Josef followed the older man over to his easel and picked up a brush. “Do you really think she’ll like it?” He splashed more paint on the canvas, choosing a bright, vivid red for droplets that ran over the entire painting.
Don Giovanni frowned and studied the work from various angles. “The picture was very authentic until you did that. What is the reasoning behind the red?”
Oh no. Byron groaned and covered his face. Do you mind very much if I strangle the kid and stuff him in the laundry chute?
Antonietta did her best not to laugh. Practicing to maintain invisibility and then giving the entire thing away by laughing wouldn’t earn her too many points. You said the key was not reacting to anything.
That was the rule before Josef came into the world. Now it’s kill or be killed, the way of the jungle.
“It’s blood, of course. See up here, looming over the palazzo, the eyes of a predator? That’s the vampire cloaked in darkness. He’s made his kill up on the battlements.”
Don Giovanni struggled to keep his face blank. “Very imaginative. I have seen few villas with vampires on the battlements.”
Josef shrugged his shoulders. “The hunters do a fairly good job of keeping the numbers down. I would make a great hunter, but my mother won’t hear of it.” For a moment he stared deliberately at Don Giovanni, his eyes glowing red, his face contorting into a mask of evil.
Don Giovanni took a step back, blinked to bring Josef back in focus, and saw only a grinning, boyish face.
Byron waved his hand to veil Don Giovanni’s mind, holding him still within a thrall. Positioning himself in front of his nephew, he shifted the shape of his head.
Don’t do it. Antonietta cautioned, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. It’s so undignified to stoop to his level.
Josef reached up with his paintbrush to add a finishing touch to one of the droplets. The muzzle of a wolf came at his face, bared teeth, dripping with saliva, snapped, eyes red and wicked, glowing in the dusk. Josef stumbled backward, stabbing at the wolf’s head with his paintbru
sh as he did so, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the lawn screaming, crab-walking backward.
In the blink of an eye, Byron disappeared, and Don Giovanni was staring down at Josef with a strange expression. “You need to get off the drugs boy, no good comes of using that stuff. You have a good family. You don’t want to bring them sorrow.”
Josef looked around himself cautiously. “Has my family been here? My father or my uncle?” He dusted off his clothes meticulously.
“Not yet, but they’ll probably come soon. You should think about what I said, Josef. Take it from an old man who has lived a long time. Drugs tear apart families.”
“Yes, sir.” Josef said politely, “you’re absolutely right.”
Byron and Antonietta strolled out of the maze, hand in hand. “Good evening, Don Giovanni, Josef.” Byron’s white teeth flashed. “How is Paul this evening?”
“He woke only a short time ago. He slept all day and is still refusing to have us call a doctor. He said he would wait for you and Antonietta. He looked pale to me, but he isn’t running a temperature, thank the good Dio.” Don Giovanni took Antonietta’s hand and drew her to him. “You look lovely, my dear. Byron is good for you.”
“I would like to speak to you about my feelings for Antonietta,” Byron said. “Would you mind walking with us?”
The older Scarletti lifted a hand toward Josef even as he retained possession of Antonietta. “You’re thinking of stealing my granddaughter from me.”
“Never that, old friend. She would be far too unhappy away from you. I can do my work here as well as in my homeland. Short trips away only. I would like your permission to marry her. More than anything, we would want your blessing.”
Don Giovanni tucked Antonietta’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “This is what you want? You’re certain?”
“Absolutely, Nonno. We’re good together. I trust him completely, and I’m very much in love with him.”
“Where would you live?”
“I’ve asked Byron to live here at the palazzo, and he agreed.”
“We can maintain more than one residence. I will have to make trips to my homeland, but the palazzo can be our main residence. I would prefer and would insist on a ground-floor suite of rooms. And we hope to marry as soon as it can be arranged.”
“The lawyers will demand a standard prenuptial agreement, stating everything belongs to Antonietta.”
“I expected no less. I will not ask one of Antoinetta in return. What is mine, I share with her. We have no need of her money, but she will want it for the children.” In his mind Antonietta gasped. Byron grinned boyishly. “Should there be any.”
“I had hoped you two would fall in love.” Don Giovanni hugged Byron, kissed him on either cheek. “I will arrange it. I’m grateful you aren’t taking her away from me. I hope to live out my years with her close.”
“I’ll always be close,” Antonietta assured him.
“That dog of yours has been pacing for the last couple of hours. He was fine with Vincente and Margurite, keeping them company, and then just about sunset he seemed agitated. Even Marita seems to like that dog. She didn’t say a single word when the dog showed up in their rooms and stayed close to the children.”
“Is Marita home, Nonno?”
“Yes. She seems different. Sad. She went to the small chapel right after dinner was served and remains there. I haven’t heard her speak a single word all day. The police captain has been here asking more questions. Alfredo took to his bed, and that young man in the kitchen had to try his hand at cooking. What’s his name? He prepared a very passable meal, although with Paul so ill, no one felt like eating.”
“Esteben. He’s related to Helena. She’s always good in a crisis, so he must get it from her. I’ll have to thank her for recommending him.”
“The house is filled with flowers from Christopher. He’s been calling for hours and begging to come over to speak with Tasha. I hope she has better sense than to take him back. She threw the first six bouquets away, but after that she gave up getting rid of them. The palazzo smells like a garden.”
“At least the man has good taste in flowers,” Antonietta said. “I need to speak to Marita. Would you mind telling Tasha I’ll be in a little later?”
“Tasha will want to hear your news right away. She’s been anxious about you. Between her and that dog, I haven’t had a moments’ peace.”
Antonietta kissed Don Giovanni’s cheek. “I’ll be right in, I promise.”
18
Shadows filled the chapel. The only light came from the flickering candles in a small alcove. The dancing light washed over the sculpted face of the Madonna recessed into the wall above the rows of candles. Marita was seated in a pew in front of the life-sized sculpture, weeping softly, a rosary wrapped around her hands. Tears poured down her face. Byron thought she looked haunted.
Byron and Antonietta slipped into the pew beside her. She kept her head down. “I knew you would come today. I knew you would have to come.” Her voice was very low. “I was going to leave this morning, but I knew I owed you an explanation.”
“Marita, this is your home. No one has asked you to leave.” Antonietta searched carefully to find the right words. “We’re family. Whatever is wrong, tell us and let us help you fix it.”
“It can never be fixed. Never. I can’t undo what happened, and no matter what, Franco will never forgive me.”
Antonietta reached for Marita’s hand. In the dark of the chapel, through the dark glasses Byron had given her, she could see the tear-ravaged face of her sister-in-law. Lights burst around her and made her stomach lurch, but she concentrated on Marita, willing herself to get past the dizzy shapes coming at her and see only her cousin’s wife. “Let me help you, Marita. I’m asking you, one sister to another. I love Franco and the children. They need you. Going away isn’t your answer, and I think you know that.”
“Margurite is not Franco’s child.” The confession burst from Marita, horror she could no longer contain. She erupted into another storm of weeping, burying her face in her hands, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.
Antonietta tried not to show her shock. It was the last thing she expected from Marita. “That can’t be. It’s not possible.”
“Years ago at a party at the Demonesini palazzo, Don Demonesini raped me. I was thrilled to be invited.” Marita shook her head. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t remember much at all. Don Demonesini paid me so much attention. He gave me drinks. I wasn’t drinking alcohol, so I don’t even have that excuse. I remember him taking me to a room. I tried to say no, I tried to push him away, but I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t move. He did horrible things to me. There was someone in the room with us, someone taking pictures. It was a nightmare that will never go away.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rage swept through Antonietta, a violent swirl of emotions. She couldn’t tell if it was her feelings or Byron’s, but a demon lifted its head and roared for release. For retribution.
“How could I tell anyone? I was so ashamed. My head hurt for days afterward, and I was sick to my stomach. And a month later I was late with my period. I didn’t make love to Franco for a couple of weeks after the party, I couldn’t bear him to touch me. I felt filthy. How could Margurite be his? He loves her so much. He was so happy when I was pregnant with her. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t break his heart.”
“Marita, it wasn’t your fault,” Antonietta said. “There are tests to determine paternity.”
“No! I won’t do that to her. Margurite loves Franco, and Don Demonesini is a monster. I will never, never let her know she is his.”
“I do not think she is Demonesini’s child,” Byron said. Margurite’s thought patterns are the same as yours and that of your cousins. Christopher’s barriers were a bit different as are some of your servants. Helena’s thought patterns are closer than Christopher’s. I do not think it is possible Margurite is a Demonesini.
“Does Demonesini know yo
u suspect Margurite is his child?” Antonietta asked.
“He’s mentioned her age numerous times and says she has Christopher’s eyes. I lied and said I went to a doctor and made certain there was no baby, but I didn’t. I didn’t.” She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “He had the pictures of me. He threatened to sell them to a tabloid. It would ruin Franco. You know it would. And the children would see—”
“So he told you to talk Franco into giving him the information he wanted to underbid us on the contract with the Drange Company five years ago,” Antonietta guessed.
“Franco would never have given them the information. Never, ever in a million years. He lied to protect me. I went to his office and I found the papers Demonesini told me would be there, I copied them and took them to him.” She slumped back in the pew. “He knew, when it all came out, Franco knew I had to have done it. He lied to the family, and I let him. I let you all think he was a traitor to his own family. You should have seen his face when he found out, the way he looked at me.” She covered her face with her hands again. “I broke his heart.”
Antonietta shook her head. “What reason did you give Franco for doing such a thing?”
“I was hysterical when he confronted me. I was certain he would find out about the rape, and Demonesini would sell the photographs. I think he was afraid he would have to put me in a hospital. Franco just stopped questioning me and told me not to say anything no matter what happened.”
“And the Handel score?”
“I thought if I could give Demonesini something worth a lot of money, he would give me the pictures.”
“Did you take anything else from the palazzo to give him, Marita?” Antonietta’s tone was very gentle, but Byron could hear the compulsion already buried deep within her voice.
Marita shook her head. “No, I don’t know why I thought of the Handel score. I heard you working on it with Justine, and the idea suddenly came to me. I just waited until I had the opportunity to visit Don Giovanni and I asked him to put my necklace in his safe. He opened the safe with me standing right there. Trusting me.” She pressed her hand to her temple. “I’m glad you caught me. I’m glad you found out the truth. When I leave, you can tell Franco about the pictures. Don’t tell him about Margurite. It would break both their hearts, and if Don Demonesini insisted on his rights, poor little Margurite would be in his hands.”
Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS Page 32
