Surviving Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  SURVIVING VENICE

  Anna Erikssön Bendewald

  Hudson-Ivy Press

  Surviving Venice

  Copyright © 2019 by Anna Erikssön Bendewald

  Published by Hudson-Ivy Press.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Emily Duong.

  Book design by Maureen Cutajar.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

  Visit AnnaBendewald.com to find a family tree style outline of the main characters of this story.

  ISBN: 9781980460152 (print)

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I was raised in a deeply religious family. My grandfather was a minister, I went to a church school, and I was in church several times a week. And while I feel that church provides a cohesion of community and values and spiritual direction, the church I attended was so rife with hypocrisy and dogma that even as a young girl I knew I was being manipulated and I saw the lies.

  —Anna Erikssön Bendewald

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  “The snake that cannot shed its skin must die, and the mind that cannot change its opinion ceases to be intelligent.”

  —Friedrich Nietzche

  CHAPTER

  1

  Raphielli fought her way out of a dark sleep that clung to her. Reaching for her phone on the bedside table her fingers found something else. She picked up the chunky thing and held it up in the dim light. Salvio’s ring. Detective Lampani had taken the Scortini heirloom off Salvio’s dead hand last night. She glared at the horse and boat emblem before dropping it back on the table with a clunk.

  Her head started pounding and her eyes felt like dried fruit. Then she remembered how she’d acted last night and cringed. Detective Lampani told her Guiseppe had died, and she’d wailed like a baby. When he told her Salvio had hired hit men to kill her, and in an attempt to do just that they’d broken into her Porto delle Donne women’s shelter and killed three of her staff members, she’d gone into hysterics and tried to run over there. But most unforgivable was her reaction when he told her Salvio had been shot to death behind their palazzo—she’d thrown her arms up and shouted in triumph like a crazed sports fan.

  She was a horrible person, piling up a despicable cache of sins these past weeks.

  She rolled over and saw Alphonso looking at her. His smooth skin glowed caramel against the white sheets, and his long muscular limbs were lean and hard. She peeked under the covers at her own short pudgy body, the cellulite on her big hips, her oversized floppy breasts.

  How had one lunch with Giselle Verona and her uninhibited French friends gotten her to toss aside twenty years of righteous living? She’d taken Alphonso, the private detective on her husband’s payroll, as her lover, started wearing expensive clothes, and acting as if the head of the Sicilian Mafia, don Giancarlo Petrosino, was her errand boy. “Take Salvio away! Release him! Now, come kill him!”

  “Looking for your phone?” Alphonso was smoothing long snarls of her dark curls away from her face. “What are the odds I can get you to sleep for another hour?”

  “None.” Her voice sounded flat. “And stop talking about odds, you gave up gambling.” She was surprised at the petty dig that came out of her mouth.

  “Mi dispiace, a figure of speech,” he said softly.

  She squinted around the bedroom area of her suite. Alphonso must have undressed her because her clothes were folded neatly over the back of the nearby settee, whereas her maid, Rosa, would have taken them to be laundered. She blinked slowly. “My eyes feel like raisins.”

  Alphonso got up and walked across the heated carpet runner, got some water from the mini-fridge, and brought it to her.

  “Here, you’re dehydrated. Can I get you something for your head?”

  “No.” She downed the water and placed the glass on the nightstand. “I deserve this pain. I’m a terrible person. My mother and nonna were right. I’m kidding myself to think that I belong in this big palazzo. I’m infertile, a complete failure as a wife. I couldn’t even make Salvio like me. What other wife is so terrible that her husband kills half of Venice trying to murder her?”

  “You’re starting to grieve the people you’ve lost—go easy on yourself, okay? As for your mother and nonna—ha! The Dour Doublet snatched you out of your quiet life in the abbey and married you off to a monster. If they’re right about anything, it certainly isn’t you. They don’t even know you.”

  “They know my kind. I’m as common as dirt and shouldn’t pretend to be grand.”

  He put on a robe, then held one up for her.

  “Come on, let’s get you into a shower and then I’ll take you out for breakfast on your way to the shelter.” He stood there, all towering broad-shouldered, long-haired manliness, and gave her a worried look as he picked up the remote control, ignited the fireplaces, and opened the shades revealing a sleet-frosted wall of windows. The wintry glaze didn’t obscure the arresting view of the lagoon, nor the ominous storm bank bearing down on the Lido from out at sea.

  “Raphielli, stop thinking this was about you. Salvio was a maniac. He killed people who were admired. Count Gabrieli Verona yesterday, that marble artist Reynaldo Falconetti back in the fall. He kept trying to kill Giselle who has adoring fans around the world. Everyone who came up against Salvio became a victim. Except, of course, don Petrosino, who I’m sure put those bullets in his head.” Then, as he helped her into her robe he muttered, “Which I’ll never repeat as long as I live.” To her he said, “I can’t get Lampani’s words out of my head from last night. You’re still in danger. Have you considered his suggestion?”

  “What suggestion?”

  “Getting a bodyguard.”

  “Gabrieli had one. It didn’t keep him alive, and weeks back Salvio killed Vincenzo’s bodyguard. And he killed two of my shelter guards.” She bit the words off as her throat closed up in a sob and Alexi’s face came to her so fresh and earnest.

  “Petro bought Vincenzo enough reaction time to save his life,” Alphonso reasoned.

  “I’m not getting a bodyguard. You already walk me to and from work, and I have people around me all the time. Frankly, it’s getting claustrophobic.” Again, her meanness startled her.

  “We only want to keep you safe.”

  “I know. I’m not myself this morning. Forgive me.”

  She let him lead her to the shower, and after she made herself presentable, they walked through the cavernous black marble halls. Living alone with her tiny staff…now one less…in Venice’s largest and second-oldest palazzo, it felt like an ancient tomb that went on forever. What she wouldn’t give for a warm wooden banister for her hand, or floors that creaked every now and then under her feet.

  Alphonso cleared his throat. “Last night I told Rosa and Dante I’d take you out for breakfast.”

  “They must be devastated.” Her elderly maid and butler had worked with Guiseppe, Salvio’s valet, for years.

  “They’re very sad,” he said as they reached the cloakroom. “I checked on them while you were in the shower. They’re in the kitchen, the cook just arrived and she’s making them eggs
.”

  They let themselves out the big front door into a blowing icy mist. Now, out of habit, she glanced around looking for one of Salvio’s assassins ready to finish the job, but no men in black were lurking about. It was the acqua alta season and large sections of the city were under water after another surge in the early hours. Wooden risers had been placed along the submerged calles, and planks spanned the risers making temporary bridges. She pressed close to Alphonso, and he put a protective arm around her as they passed a tabaccheria with newspapers in the window. Headlines proclaimed VENETIAN BUILDING SCION MURDERS COUNT AND VALET, and SCORTINI MURDERED DURING CRIME SPREE!

  They moved past without comment. Then a woman’s voice called, “Alphonso!” and they heard the sound of heels clacking on the raised boards over the flooded calle. Before Raphielli knew what was happening, a woman with an orange face and a teased platinum hairdo wearing a leopard print rain slicker strutted up to Alphonso like it was her own private catwalk and practically knocked Raphielli off the plank into the water. Raphielli shrank behind the wall that was Alphonso, trying to avoid the woman.

  The floozy opened the collar of her coat—an odd thing to do with the biting cold—and out heaved impressive orange cleavage from a low-cut blouse.

  “Where’ve you been? I’ve missed you! I should be mad, but that’s no fun!” She flung her arms around him, kissed him full on the mouth…and lingered!

  Alphonso detached himself gently and held her at arm’s length. “Donatella, nice to see you. This is Raphielli.”

  He reached back for Raphielli’s hand, but she kept it firmly inside her pocket as she stepped back. She looked down at her sensible winter coat and boots, and felt plain. They were nice, but no one would notice her in this glamazon’s presence.

  The middle-aged hussy didn’t glance her way. She was batting fake eyelashes at Alphonso and cooing, “Ooh! I’m picking Rigo up at the groomers right now. Come with me, he misses his daddy. And I’ve missed you. We’ll catch up.”

  Raphielli started to burn as the woman tried to link arms with him.

  “We don’t have time right now, but it’s good to see you.” He succeeded in grasping Raphielli’s arm, and as they moved off, Donatella called, “I still live in the place you got me. You have my number.”

  As they proceeded through the slushy calles, Raphielli felt herself coming unhinged. Finally, she whirled on Alphonso and glared up at him.

  “I don’t need you to shepherd me. I’m not a sheep or a child. Go catch up with her.”

  He looked caught off guard. “Don’t be silly.”

  “One of your girlfriends?”

  “No,” he said softly. He tried to take her arm to walk on, but she shook him off.

  “Who is she?”

  “A while back, I was hired by a politician’s wife to prove her husband had a mistress.” Raphielli arched a brow. “That was the mistress?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he studied her with his keen private-eye skills. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Only desperate women paste on lashes like that…wear clothes like that.”

  “What?” He sounded uncertain. “She dresses like Carolette.”

  “My friends don’t dress like hookers,” she said while silently conceding that Carolette would have drooled over Donatella’s ensemble.

  “You’re not yourself this morning. It isn’t like you to be mean. Anyway, sì, she was the mistress, and the politician was a psychopath who killed people who crossed him. Donatella risked her life to help me.”

  “Sounds cozy if you gave her your dog.”

  “I got her a dog from the kennel for protection. She needed it. She allowed me to get photos of her in bed with the politician, giving the wife leverage in the divorce. She spied on him for me and got me the key evidence I needed to hand him over to the police. She was brave.”

  “You got her an apartment?” She was so angry she wanted to hit him.

  “He had men trying to kill her, so I found her a safe place.”

  Instead of this making her feel better, she felt a wave of inferiority as she recalled Donatella’s sexy mannerism. Intense jealousy crashed down making her almost burst into tears. Donatella was probably pushing thirty and knew tricks in bed that Raphielli hadn’t learned.

  “She helped you because she was in love with you.”

  “Sì, but I didn’t love her, and I never led her on.”

  Apparently saving ladies from killers was a regular thing with him, and he didn’t have to love them to do it. Visions of Alphonso and Donatella having sex ran through her mind, and she backed away from him. “I need a break from you. Go away! Leave me alone!”

  “Elli…per favore…”

  She ran off as fast as she could, skidding over the planks where the water was deepest. She ran all the way to the next sestiere before the sky got darker and a wind whipped up with such force that she had to lean into. She slipped and fell down on a slush-covered bridge, but there was no one nearby to help her up. Fighting tears, she recovered her purse, picked herself up, and ran on until she was standing breathless in front of the Aman Hotel just as the rainstorm arrived with a vengeance. She had a bad stitch in her side and pressed one hand to it while she pulled out her phone and called him.

  “Eh, Raphielli.”

  She could always hear the smile when he said her name.

  “Gio…I…”

  “Are you all right?” She could tell he’d gone on high alert when he heard her tone. “Where are you?”

  “I’m standing outside the Aman. I heard you mention it to Primo. Are you inside?”

  “Sì.” Then he said to someone nearby, “Raphielli’s outside, bring her in.” Then into the phone he said, “Primo’s coming. You can’t be outside right now. Salvio has a hit out on you.”

  A minute later she saw his son pop out a side door of the hotel, and he ran straight for her. Once he’d hustled her into his father’s room, he stepped out closing the door behind him.

  Gio was wearing a heavy silk robe over pajamas made of some soft material, and his feet were bare. He had nice feet.

  “Ah! You’re soaked! Come ‘ere.”

  Raphielli ran to him and buried her face in his neck. His arms were strong and he smelled incredible.

  He held her and murmured into her hair, “Povera ragazza innocente.”

  “Gio, forgive me. I’ve behaved like a spoiled, depraved…” She couldn’t think of all the terrible things she needed him to absolve her of.

  He laughed lightly, pulled her away from his chest, then unzipped her jacket and peeled it off her shoulders. “You? Never.”

  “I pitted you against my own husband.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  She looked up and saw that he was smiling down at her. “And I’m dripping all over your robe and your floor.” Now she started to smile, too.

  He maneuvered her over to a sofa and sat her down.

  “If you wanted to come see me, I’d have sent Drea in the boat to get you. How’d you get so wet? Did you swim here?”

  “Everything’s flooded and…I thought the storm would hold off on the way to the shelter. I have to check on my residents. I lost people over there, too.”

  “Here, let’s get you dry. We don’t want you catching your death of cold, I’m trying to keep you alive.” He said the last words quietly and very near her ear as he lifted her wet hair off her neck. “They have very nice robes here…”

  Her wet sweater felt too tight. She reached for the side zipper drawing it upward, then raised her arms above her head, offering him a silent invitation with her eyes. As he undressed her, she felt a languorous glow. He offered her his robe, and when she saw the stark desire in his eyes, she pushed the robe away and reached for him.

  Thunder rattled the windows as she gave herself to the hard man who always looked at her as if she melted him. He was a revelation, so sure of himself, with none of the boyishness of Alphonso. He took her again and again as he marveled at her body, p
leasuring her while offering little twinges of pain to bring her nerve endings to attention in a way that was light years from the torture she’d experienced beneath Salvio.

  Lying in his arms afterward, she felt restored to sanity. She’d gotten a grip on her emotions, and now she needed to return to work. The women in her shelter needed her to be strong. Gio had aroused deep feelings in her since she’d first laid eyes on him, and now she knew the feelings were mutual. Remembering the morning’s flights of anger and guilt, she realized the sedative she’d been given last night must have messed with her head. But now her head felt clear. She watched Gio as he twirled ringlets of her black hair.

  “I know a private place we could go for lunch,” he said.

  “I haven’t had breakfast, and I could use a cappuccino.”

  He picked up the room phone. “Continental service, un cappuccino e una caraffa di caffè espresso. Subito.” Then he tossed the phone aside, scooped her up, and began nuzzling her neck. “Let’s go to Palermo this afternoon. I’ll take you home. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Mmm?” Her mind reeled at the proposition as her body responded to him.

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  “What? Aren’t you married? I mean, doesn’t Primo have a mother?”

  “Sì, but I have the perfect house for you, with a nice flower garden and a view of the harbor. I’d move in with you—mostly.”

  She thought of Vincenzo and Leonardo’s apartment that publicly belonged to Leonardo alone.

  “Gio, I can’t leave Venice. This is my home. My work is here, I’ve just got my women’s shelter up and running and we’re finally at full capacity. Today I should be searching for replacements for the staff that were murdered last night.”

  “A job for your manager,” he countered. “What’s her name?”

  “Kate.”

  “Let Kate manage while you get away…at least until someone cancels the orders Salvio’s killers are marching to.”

  “Someone?”

  He gave her an innocent look. “Well, that detective…Luigi…Lampani…he has a lot of clout with Police Chief Inspector Laszlo. And because Salvio made a fool of him, he won’t stop till he’s dragged everyone involved with Salvio to jail. Luigi’s smart, maybe he’ll get these guys. Then again, after our trip to your underwater temple it sounded like the Vatican might stop Salvio’s killers. That cardinal of yours, Negrali, and the pope knew a whole lot about Salvio’s religious mania, his Alithinían Church, and there’s nothing more deadly than a holy war.”