“A charitable rich man, I suppose…” Tears loom in my eyes as I question Samyaza’s whereabouts last evening. He was not at Bella’s ball when somewhere, the great Syneca Fiori chose to take her life.
An ominous dark thought sifts over me, but I cannot bring myself to speak the words.
Fabrizio smooths his hand over his jawline. “Where did you hear this? Who gave you the good news?” he asks.
“The countess,” I reply with a vacant stare. “She knows many things.”
“We must find him. We must thank this anonymous benefactor…” My brother’s happiness withers as concern takes over his frame of mind.
“Must we?” I turn. “What if this great man bestowed such kindness upon us poor orphans as retribution for his sins?”
Fabrizio frowns and purses his lips. “Sleep Letizia, this gloomy mood will soon go away.” He steps into the corridor and closes the door.
My heart shudders as I slip into the bed. Pulling the covers over my head, the words echo in my head in a relentless cycle:
The Queen is dead.
Long live the Queen.
I want to believe it’s all a bad dream, a hideous nightmare. The harrowing vision of Syneca’s funeral cortege still haunts me to this day, but even more appalling is the monstrosity living within me.
I want to believe it’s no more than an illusion, but as I open my eyes to a new day, that wretched feeling is still there. My shameful joy no longer lurks within my soul, but now wanders in the open, proud and gleeful.
A full month has passed since the death of Syneca Fiori, and in that time, Fabrizio’s omen has been proven true again and again. Offers from the most renowned opera houses have been laid at my feet; composers and famous direttores have come to visit me in our recently recovered home—yes, Monsieur Bonnemaison’s favor quickened the pace of my endeavors, and Ca’ di Leone is once again in our hands.
The view from the quadriphora is one I had missed immensely. In the distance, the Salute’s dome rises as the crown of the Punta della Dogana. I lean against the single-mullioned window while the torrent of torturing thoughts blunder in my mind.
“Signorina…” The footman stands by the door. “Signor Manetti is here to see you.”
“Manetti?” I say, driven by curiosity. “It took him long enough to make his mind… I suppose I must see him. Please, send him in.”
Out of all the visitors to walk through my door since the tragic incident that changed my life forever, there is but one whom I actually look forward to meeting. He now stands at the doorway, and that makes me the happiest woman who ever lived.
“Signor Manetti…” I greet him. “Please, come in.”
“Grazie, Signorina Leone.” A swift bow and he settles in the bench by the hearth, so I do the same and sit before him.
“I must congratulate you on your appointment as the Scuola Veneziana’s direttore,” I begin. “Giasone should have been a great success, I am sorry it was not so.”
Manetti bites his lower lip. “The people were not pleased… Syneca Fiori’s absence hurt the season more than I would care to admit.”
“I would say it hurt more than that, signore.” I give him a knowing look. “Your reputation has been tainted irreparably, I fear… Not the best start for your career.”
“Indeed…” Manetti clears his throat. He pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket’s pocket and clears the sweat off his brow with a quick swipe. “The scandal of Syneca’s death forced us to end the season earlier than anticipated.”
“Mm… Yes. I can see how that would be a problem for you,” I add, clasping my hands over my lap. “What will you do now, Signor Manetti?”
“Ah, that is the very reason for my presence here,” he says, leaning forward. “I believe I may have found a solution that will suit both of our interests.”
“Have you?” I ask, intrigued. “Please, go on.”
“I have a proposal for you,” he says, confident in his bearing. “Your name in our libretto would infuse new life into the Scuola Veneziana dell’ Opera… Giasone would shine in our theater as it should have.”
“Certainly.” I hint a mischievous smile. “And how would that benefit me, signore? Forgive my bluntness, but I am a woman who cares little for preambles.”
“A quality any man can surely appreciate…” The insolence of Manetti vexes me more than I am willing to show. “In return, we would feature your name, exposing it to the mob in the height of the carnivale.”
“You would do that for me?” I press my hand against my chest. “I am most obliged, sir.”
My reply feeds his confidence. “It is entirely my pleasure, Signorina Leone.” A smug look surfaces in his countenance as he leans back in the seat.
“Mm… Since it is clear that my name is the sole reprieve to your tumbling prestige, you may have it for the season.” I pause. “I will give you what you wish, signore—”
“Good, very good!” he boasts, getting on his feet.
“—but only if I get something in return,” I add.
“Ah, of course…” he says. He clears his throat. “I assure you, you can rely all financial matters on my hands. You shall be treated fairly.”
“That is entirely out of the question…” I say, spreading my hands over my lap. “I will personally fix the amount to be paid.”
“Surely we can come to an agreement…” he stammers.
“There will be no agreement, sir.” I rise from the bench. “Either you accept my conditions or there will be no deal at all.”
“And, what are your conditions?” he asks with a frown.
“There will be no Giasone,” I plainly say.
“Would you prefer L’Orfeo?” Manetti slips his hands into his pockets. “I am on good speaking terms with Carlo Ricci. I am sure he will—“
“There will be no opera during the season.” I’m adamant.
“What is the meaning of this? No opera?” His arms fling in the air. “Are you mocking me, Signorina Leone?”
“You will announce an exclusive performance by the prima donna Letizia Leone. The repertoire will include famous arias, popular songs that will suit the people’s liking. It shall be the talk of the season.”
“A single event?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “We would need more than that to make up for the opera house’s expenses…”
“Which will be considered in the billing of the tickets.” I pause, standing by the quadriphora, my glance locks in the flawless dome of the Salute… I shall become such a crown to the Scuola Veneziana. “Do you not see, signore? If this is to work, exclusivity is key.”
“Mm… People want what they cannot have…” he muses, stroking his dark beard.
“Several other opera houses expect my answer to their proposals as we speak, you understand…” I add with an air of indolence. “The Scuola Veneziana opened its doors to me when I needed it the most, and all things considered, I would very much like to give it something in return—especially now that it faces imminent foreclosure.”
Manetti’s eyes widen. “You are well informed.”
“Do we have a deal then?” I ask, knowing full well that he has no other option but to take my offer.
Holding his hat against his chest, Manetti takes a deep breath. “We have a deal, Signorina Leone.” His posture stiffens seconds after he bows.
“Always a pleasure, signore.” I give him a swift curtsey.
Manetti’s manners are somewhat rough around the edges. He takes my hand, pulls it close as if he were about to kiss it when the most strange words form on his lips.
“That is a beautiful ring…” he muses. “An heirloom?” he adds, turning towards me.
“Surely so,” I say, retrieving my hand slowly. “Passed on to me by a dear friend.”
“I would never have parted with such a gem,” he whispers.
“Letizia, are you ready to go? We do not want to keep Carina waiting…” Fabrizio peers into the room. “Oh, I can see you are busy.”
“Please, signore.” Manetti slips the hat on. “I was about to leave. Buonasera.” He bows and passes by Fabrizio’s side in a sudden hurry.
“You look positively immaculate in that suit,” I tease, sweeping with a glance my brother’s lavish dark blue coat and matching breeches. Fortune smiles upon us again.
“I am more anxious than you know…” He sniggers. “Do you think her father will approve the match?”
“Fabrizio…” I hold his hands dearly. “You are the most eligible bachelor in La Serenissima. The constancy of your affections towards Carina is proof of it. She is lucky to have you.”
A brief smile of his shows me that I have made my point. And despite the sinister foundations of my joy, I cannot help being happy. At last, the tables have turned. Fabrizio and I have recovered our home; he will marry Carina, and I shall pursue the spoils offered to me by singing.
But for all my good fortune, there is something wanting. Samyaza’s absence this past few weeks came unexpectedly and wounds me deeply.
I stretch my fingers against the window. The ring’s precious stone gleams with the last rays of the dying sun. Lorenzo’s words resonate in my mind. This ring would always lead him back to me, he had said. I had only to speak his True Name.
“Samyaza…” I whisper, heaving a heavy sigh.
“Letizia, are you alright?” Fabrizio’s blue eyes flash before me, pulling me out of my detachment.
“Yes, of course,” I say, slipping on my gloves. “We should go.”
“Signor Garzolo is a good man,” I whisper into my brother’s ear. “You have nothing to fear.”
As we draw closer to Carina’s home, I cannot help glancing at the house where we used to live but a few weeks ago. And though it has been refurbished since we reclaimed its ownership, and tenants now inhabit the old place, a strange wave of nostalgia shakes me to the core—the worst and best of memories are contained within those walls.
My pace quickens and I reach the house sooner than Fabrizio. And as I reach to pull the bell, the door suddenly opens. The soft fragrance of sandalwood fills my lungs. I am faced with the chest of a man standing before me.
“Scusami, signorina…” he says in a hoarse whisper.
His pale blue silk vest is embroidered in silver thread, and he wears the most exquisite laced cravat. When our eyes finally meet, time runs slowly until it ceases to exist.
My lips part, my tongue holds too many words but none come through. His eyes widen with delight, the dark ponds of his pupils growing wider still.
“Letizia, this is a pleasant surprise. I must tell you—”
“Duque Contarini,” I interrupt, stepping back. “Do you remember my brother, Fabrizio?”
“Certainly,” he replies. “Buonasera.”
Haste takes over my brother’s manners. A quick bow and a swift greeting suffice for him to move through the doorway, leaving Lorenzo and me alone.
The corner of his lips curl, hinting a tantalizing smile. “It has been too long,” he whispers. Seizing the moment, Lorenzo holds my hand fast.
“It has…” I say, still dazed by his presence. Warmth rises to my cheeks. “Have you been abroad?”
“Mm…” He nods. “I was forced to leave La Serenissima on business… I hope you can forgive me for disappearing so unexpectedly. A duque’s obligations are far too many and too dull to discuss, but I—”
“Please, there is no need…” I lower my gaze, unable to hold his. “Are you acquainted with the Garzolo’s?”
“Only with Signor Garzolo…” A simple, earnest reply. “I only arrived this morning. I meant to see you as soon as possible.” He pauses. “Meeting you here is a happy coincidence.”
“Is it?” I muse, wondering if the ruby ring had played any part in our fortunate encounter.
Lorenzo leans closer, inches away from smoothing his hand over my jawline. “I want to kiss you… so badly.”
His words are scintillating cinders that spark the flames of desire inside me. And although I ache for the touch of his fingers and the warmth of a dozen of his kisses, the common rules of propriety prevent me from it.
My gaze drifts to our old house. “I must thank you, Lorenzo.”
“Why would you say that, tesoro mio?” he whispers, drawing closer still.
“That house right there,” I say, pointing towards the lodgings we once leased. “It belongs to my family once more, and so does Ca di Leone, where we now live…” Unable to contain myself, I turn to him. “Samyaza, I know what you did.”
His gaze now drifts away as he bites his lower lip. “I have done nothing,” he says. “Nothing at all.”
“Well, I know you have.” I hold his hand between mine. “You saved me and my brother from certain destitution.”
Moved to the point where his eyes glisten, with a soft tug, he takes my gloved hand to his mouth and kisses it. Aware of the forwardness of his action, he’s quick to step back.
“Make no mention of it, please… It does not signify.” The muscles of his neck tighten along with his jaw. “Trust Mattia Moretti’s viperine tongue to have slipped that knowledge against my every warning…” he muses.
“I want you to know that I will pay you back,” I say. “All of it.”
“That is completely unnecessary,” Samyaza says, wounded in his pride.
“But I—”
“I hear you’ve been commissioned by Mssr. Bonnemaison,” he adds, steering the conversation away from the subject.
“A privilege I owe exclusively to Bella’s intervention.” A hint of distrust pours into my voice.
“Bella wants you to succeed.” He smiles. Is there a conciliatory tone beneath those words?
“To ingratiate herself with you, I am certain,” I muse, raising my brow. I have known her long enough to discover that beneath Bella’s affection towards Samyaza—her beloved friend, Lorenzo Contarini—there’s more than cordial friendship. She covets him like a precious jewel.
“Julien Bonnemaison is a generous man,” Samyaza adds, disregarding my last remark. “He’s known for having a keen eye for recognizing talent and spoiling his proteges with the most peculiar eccentricities.” He smirks. “You will want for nothing from now on.”
“I suppose I should be happy then,” I say.
“And why would you not be?” he asks, genuinely concerned. “Do you realize how much your life has changed? The great Syneca Fiori is dead. More than ever, the people need someone to admire, and that someone is now you.”
“Don’t say that…” I muse.
“Why not?” he asks with an air of naiveté.
“It is too unsettling a thought—considering my fortune rests on another’s demise.” Lowering my gaze, I clasp my hands over my gown.
“The truth is often unsettling, my love.” Samyaza gives me a knowing look. “Would you have me lie to you instead? I could, you know.”
How he enjoys teasing me.
“You would never deceive me,” I say, adjusting my gloves.
“Mm… I admire your certainty.” He purses his lips. “Please relay my congratulations to your brother and his future wife.” Samyaza slips on his hat and nods. “I will see you soon, Signorina Leone.”
As he takes one more step into the street, I am compelled to speak, to keep his company if only a few more minutes. “I’ll give a special performance at the Scuola’s theatre, have you heard?” I say.
He turns back, pleased by my announcement.
“I know everything, tesoro mio. You shall see me there!” Then, turning once more, he walks across the narrow bridge. And as I watch him leave, my heart is quickened with new life.
Success does not begin to describe the evening. A house full to the brim, with not a single seat empty, each one of them here for the sole purpose of listening to the prima donna Letizia Leone’s performance.
This is my moment. Enough time has passed for the people to mourn the loss of Syneca Fiori. The strange circumstances surrounding her death are no longer central the
me of La Serenissima’s conversations.
Echoes of the ongoing ovation follow me through the backstage corridor on my way to the dressing room. Immense joy fills my heart, although I never thought I’d set a foot in this theater again—not since I discovered Signor Giovanni’s corpse hanging above the stage.
Still, a clear serenity lingers in the air, a peacefulness such that it’s almost tangible. I dare say a few faces seem relieved by Syneca’s absence—a terrible thought, no matter how true. But there it is.
“Letizia,” a woman’s voice says. A gentle hand lands on my shoulder.
Looking back I’m met with the breathtaking view of a woman with wavy red hair and flaming green eyes; her skin is pale as porcelain and smooth as marble. Her countenance is a pleasing sight to behold. The corner of my lips curls into the hint of a smile.
“Bella, I did not expect to see you here.” I press both hands against my gown. Her penetrating gaze is unsettling. I’m convinced Bella sees past the cobwebs in my heart.
“Are you being serious, dear? I would not miss this evening for the world!” she says, amused. “I have snuck back here rather easily, I must say… Oh, how I longed to see you!”
“It has been a while, true.” A brief smile. Inside me brews uncertainty. I listen to the reasons for her presence but my instincts tell me differently. Bella expects more from this encounter, more so than a social visit.
“A solo performance in the Scuola Veneziana’s theater…” Bella says with a flick of her fan. “Mm… Your luck has recently taken the best of turns, has it not?”
“I do not understand what you mean…” I regret every word almost immediately, but it’s too late now.
“Oh, really?” She frowns. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that Syneca’s death occurred the evening before her rebirth on the stage? And what about Signor Giovanni’s suicide?”
“What are you saying, Bella?” My arms and hands grow cold.
“Oh! Please, Letizia. You cannot be so naive…” she says, covering her mouth with the spread fan. “Dear, oh dear… You must truly love him. It is either that or you are absolutely blind, child.”
The Devil's Song Page 12
