They walked through the private family areas of the palace and she found her eyes wandering high up on the walls to portraits of people in formal costumes. They passed through an enormous marble gallery, past suits of armor standing in groups and against walls, up on pedestals, and the occasional breastplate or sword on display. She eyed crests that looked like the Knights Templar shields she’d seen in history books.
“I didn’t know the Veronas were…um…warriors.”
“These are from my mother’s ancestors.”
When they reached the parlor, they found Juliette waiting for them. She jumped up from a couch. “Was everything good?” she inquired, like she was asking if Gina had enjoyed a concert.
Gina found herself grinning and dimmed it down to be more appropriate. “Sì, molto buono.”
“Ah! Bene, bene!” Juliette looked relieved.
Vincenzo bent to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Sì, Mama, it was good.”
“I would like several grandchildren, so I hope this will be a long-standing arrangement.”
Gina thought that was some serious chick counting before hatching but was saved from responding as an elderly man using a walker came in. His gleaming silver hair was slightly damp, and he was dressed in heavy grey wool clothes complete with charcoal cardigan. “Ciao, my dear,” he said in a heavy eastern European accent as he reached for her hand. “I am Ivar Czerney. A friend of the family.”
“Gina,” she said as one of his strong, calloused hands enveloped hers and the other patted the back of her hand in an endearing way. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a family friend, too.”
He nodded and released her hand. His walker clinked softly as he went to take a seat at the bar that took up the wall to the right. Gina let Juliette lead her past the tables with chairs for card games and chess, and they took a seat on the sofa in the center of the room. A blazing fireplace was warming the room from the back wall. Vincenzo went to the bar and began making refreshments as Leonardo made himself comfortable on a stool next to Ivar.
“And you, young people…I would ask what you have been doing, but I have been made aware.” Ivar had a twinkle in his eye as he looked at each of them and then zeroed in on Gina. “May you be blessed with a healthy child.”
Vincenzo handed drinks over the bar to Leo and Ivar before bringing her and Juliette glasses. “I believe you’ll like this Gina. It’s non-alcoholic.”
“I love mint and lemon verbena,” she said as she reached for it.
Leo looked impressed. “Good guess!”
“No guess. I have a good nose.”
“I’ll say!” He sniffed at his glass of wine, swirled it and then sniffed again. “I can never identify notes of anything that’s in my glass.”
Juliette looked on proudly as she sipped her drink. “Gina is a student of natural chemistry and biology. In England, her family have been chemists for generations. They have a line of biologique creams and herbal cures.”
“Very impressive.” Vincenzo looked at her with admiration. “A bit like Giselle’s family.”
“No dangerous chemicals, right?” Leonardo asked, his face becoming serious.
“Not dangerous in my hands. But nature has exquisite toxins, everything from numbing agents to a wide cadre of lethal poisons like belladonna or the mushrooms that grow wild near my family home called destroying angel.”
“Such beautiful names for killers,” Ivar mused.
“Speaking of herbal cures,” Juliette said, “I will make us appointments at a vitamin spa. It helped Giselle get pregnant. I believe it will benefit you, too.”
“Grazie, vitamins sound great,” Gina said. Then looking at Ivar’s wet hair she asked, “Did you just come from outside?”
“Da, I was at the Verdu Mer construction site. You know it?”
Gina nodded. “Of course, the big site where the slum used to be. I’m surprised you’re still doing construction during the cold and rainy months.”
“This weather has no effect. We are sinking pilings for the new foundations. It is always cold and wet under the lagoon.”
“That makes sense.”
“Today we had a meeting on how to proceed now that Count Verona is no longer leading the project,” Ivar continued.
“Who manages the consortium now?” Leonardo asked.
Ivar’s eyes went to Juliette who said, “I will.”
Vincenzo’s drink paused midway to his lips. “Mama? You?”
“Certamente, I know your father’s vision, and I was privy to the political maneuvers he made to pull the experts together. I may not have Gabrieli’s special gift, but I can be very persuasive. Today I was elected by the Verdu Mer Consortium, and after two days of mourning, we will continue construction on schedule with me at the helm.”
“A decree from the pope has just solidified the consortium’s commitment to follow Juliette’s lead,” Ivar said. “The team respects her accomplishments with her homeless shelter. It will be a smooth transition.”
“Then, I propose a toast to Juliette’s new job.” Leonardo raised his glass and they all drank.
Juliette raised her glass again and said, “More importantly—to future Verona children.”
After they drank, she continued, “I have been doing more research and have learned the best way to avoid missing the window of fertility is to make attempts for eight consecutive days. Then we will go see Doctor G. Please do this for me.”
Gina’s loins clenched involuntarily and she nodded.
“Sì, mama, seven more days of trying,” Vincenzo said and looked at Leo, who appeared to be thrilled.
Ivar was looking at Leonardo. “You are like my wife and Juliette are about babies…crazy.”
Leonardo blushed. “Sì, I know it’s silly. I have no right to, but I want a child more than anything.” He looked at Gina. “This is my fondest dream. I’ll be forever grateful to this incredible woman for making a child for us.”
Gina said, “I’m happy to be part of this effort. It’s all happened so fast, I feel like I’m going to wake up from that same dream you’re having Leo.” Then she stifled a yawn and asked, “Juliette, may I switch to a coffee? I promise to only have one cup a day after I get pregnant.”
“Certamente, you are tired?”
“Sì. After dinner I have a ton of homework, and I get up at four-thirty for my shift at the shop.”
Vincenzo was aghast. “Why so early? You go to work when it’s so dark and stormy? Alone?”
“The flower deliveries arrive early. I work a half shift, then hurry to my first class.”
“A good work ethic. I admire that,” Ivar said.
Hierotymis “Hiero” Karno sat back in his chair. He eyed Cardinal Americo Negrali, who had just caused a scene in Ecclesia Dei, Vatican Intelligence’s outer office. After gaining access to this inner sanctum where no visitors were allowed, Negrali parked his embellished skull cap on the corner of Hiero’s desk and started flapping his thin lips, emitting pious nonsense.
Hiero cut him off. “What do you want?”
Negrali’s eyes darted around the room. “You know what I want.”
“Speak plainly. This is the only room in the Vatican State I haven’t bugged.”
“I already told you.”
“Then you already have my answer. Now get out of my office.”
“What about Vincenzo Verona being a faggot?”
“He’s not.”
“I’m pretty sure Salvio called him one…or a pansy.”
“Salvio was a useless mental defective.”
“And an Alithinían.”
“So you say.” Hiero laced his fingers together and stared at Negrali.
“What are you going to do about them?” Negrali looked wary and licked his lips, pointy tongue darting.
“It sounds like you’re checking up on a job that my department’s been doing since the year 1250.”
“But the pope’s order to end the Inquisition…”
“Pope Leopold may believe h
e ended our efforts to eradicate enemies of the church, but he’s mistaken. I don’t report to him, so that decree has no effect on Ecclesia Dei’s solemn order to protect the church.”
Hiero had had time to reconsider the brief conversation he’d had with Negrali last night. He’d agreed too quickly to the wily cardinal’s demands. Negrali had spent decades climbing to the top of the College of Cardinals. Now he was poised, one beating heart away from becoming the next pope. But Hiero wasn’t an errand boy. He wasn’t going to do Negrali’s bidding. If he did this one thing, there would be no end to it.
“You said you’d take care of Vincenzo.”
“Did I?”
“You said we didn’t need any more mind-bending Veronas undermining our Vatican affairs.”
“That’s true.”
“You said you could solve our common problem with a gun.”
“I never said I’d shoot a Verona.”
“Well…” Negrali spread his hands out, jeweled rings flashing. For someone who wore such ostentatious rings, the man should get a manicure; he had the cuticles and nails of a gardener.
“You’re still sore because Verona made you give back those stolen villas, aren’t you? Oh, such a look! Of course, I know you stole those German properties and sold them to buy two villas. You’re getting more audacious in your old age. Now you’d like me to rip the Verona support out from under the pope and let him fall.”
“Sì!” Negrali shouted, looking half exasperated and half elated, as if Hiero were offering him a gift.
“That would be sedition—spiritual anarchy. Why would I take away the pope’s armor, so you could stab him in the back like Juan Fernández Krohn?”
“I share Krohn’s ultra-conservative devotion, but I don’t have to put a knife in Leopold. I just need to cut him off from the Verona power. Then it’s easy to use his words against him. While the pope is busy focusing on the world’s youth, I’m going to get Arguelles and Klerk off the hook and put him on it.”
“Oh? You’re going to put the baby-selling scheme in the pope’s lap?”
“Sì. While he’s singing ‘Kum ba yah’ and asking spotty children to recycle, I’m going to bring his Chicago speech back to haunt him.”
Hiero didn’t follow the logic. “That was about daycare.”
“If you take some passages literally, he is commanding us to take responsibility for a child, put them into the arms of others when their own family is without means.”
“And the babies that were taken?”
“From impoverished, blighted regions. Completely without means.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the throne in the bag.”
“You don’t know the half of it. I won’t repeat the mistakes of my predecessors. I have my eye on Peter’s throne. I’m going to bring it to the Vatican and sit on it.”
“Eh? That’s just a figurative term.”
“No, Peter’s throne has been in the clutches of an archbishop on an island in Venice, and I’m going to commandeer it to rule from. No pope has ever had my all-encompassing foresight.”
“How does this concern me?”
“Are you asking…what’s in it for you?”
“What could you possibly offer me to help you?”
“What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”
“Generous for someone whose sum total of wealth is sitting on my desk right now.”
They both stared down at Negrali’s jeweled rings.
“Oh, and how can I forget that Herculean cross on your chest. Can’t be solid gold, it would be an anchor.” He prodded, “Negrali, you live well because you suck on the Vatican’s teat. You live in your cushy residence attached to your Santa Maria dei Miracoli Church and eat well because no one will refuse you, but you don’t have anything I want.”
“Now that Salvio’s dead, I’ll have the Scortini money. That estate is easily two thousand years old…”
“And is now in the possession of that young widow, that girl who was raised in the abbey…”
“Raphielli, sì. I’m her spiritual advisor. I’ll oversee everything for her now.”
“Ah, getting a finger in every pie? I hear you’re going to make a play for the Verdu Mer project, too.”
“It makes sense. Gabrieli’s dead, and it’s an epic Vatican project in my own backyard. Of course I’ll take that over.”
“Squandering a mint on your little church makes you a real estate titan?”
Negrali’s eyes narrowed, and Hiero could see he’d touched a nerve. The old man’s eyes turned malevolent, but he said nothing.
“Find me an enticing piece of property in Scortini’s estate, and if I like it, I’ll see about taking care of your problem.”
“‘Problems’—plural. To be clear, the problems are Vincenzo, Giselle, his pregnant wife, and la Contessa Juliette.”
“Why Juliette? She’s not a Verona by blood, she’s French.”
“Have you just had a stroke or something? She’s a shoo-in to take over Verdu Mer! She needs to be disposed of!”
“My price just went up. I want an island from Raphielli’s estate, and I hear the Scortinis have paintings by Caravaggio. I want two of the best they have. That’s for that stroke comment. Now, get your cap off my desk and get out of my office.”
When Negrali was gone, Hierotymis took out his communicator, entered the personal code that would be changed in four hours, and switched to voice mode. “Checco, I want to see the team within the hour.”
Disconnecting, he sat back and considered the bright prospect of a world where he could run his agency without interference by the do-gooder Veronas. He then set his mind on precisely how he would make the deaths of Giselle, Vincenzo, and Juliette Verona appear to be accidental.
He went over to the vault door and pressed his hand against the scanner, causing a blip-blip of approval before he swung the door open and headed for the Verona files. He’d review their family history. Someone must have already been killing them off, or that bloodline wouldn’t have trickled to one drop away from extinction. Could the Scortinis have been waging a covert extermination effort? The prospect was intriguing.
He needed to refresh his memory about the Boatman, Marcion of Sinope. He’d been a sort of posthumous secretary of the apostle Paul, gathering up all of Paul’s writings. The early Greek followers called their church Alithiní, meaning “true,” and they were incredibly tenacious in clinging to their belief that the Catholic Church was a bastardization of Jesus’ true teachings. They believed water had intelligence and considered it a sacrament, even if it wasn’t blessed. Whenever possible, they worshipped standing in water and loved to settle in watery areas.
Venice was about to lose a few citizens. This would have to be done carefully. Ecclesia Dei was unknown outside the Vatican because they didn’t make mistakes.
CHAPTER
3
On the morning of Gabrieli’s funeral, Gina woke up with Leonardo molded to her side. She looked around, momentarily disoriented, the eyes the Madonna and child staring at her from a painting, and then it came back to her. She and the boys were at the Vatican in Count Gabrieli’s bedroom in the papal apartment.
Before boarding Vincenzo’s jet for the late-night trip to Rome, she’d put on a touch too much of the scent, and the boys had been fixated on her during the flight as Juliette and Ivar sat oblivious nearby going over Verdu Mer business and making phone calls.
The drive from Leonardo DaVinci airport through the dark streets of Rome was a blur, and the Vatican halls were likewise a blur as the boys whisked her toward the bedroom. She’d been floored to see Pope Leopold XIV striding toward them in crisp white vestments, and he gave her such a knowing look she cringed inwardly. He took her face in his hands tenderly, solemnly, then lifted his eyes upward and said, “Dio ti dia un bel bambino.” He made the sign of the cross above her forehead and pressed his palms together in front of his lips. “Now, to bed with you, beautiful one.”
Vincenzo’s bodyguard stay
ed stationed outside as the boys drew her into the room, and as they tore her clothes off, she clung to their muscled shoulders.
“Did the Pope just order God to give us a child?”
“Sì, and he was ex cathedra!” Vincenzo enthused as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply.
“Doesn’t he have to be on a throne to be ex cathedra?” she asked.
Leonardo was busily ripping Vincenzo’s clothes off as he said, “No, ex cathedra means with the full authority of Saint Peter’s chair. The Pope can be ex cathedra at any time if he uses his ecclesiastical authority.”
Vincenzo stopped stroking her belly, picked her up, and carried her to the big bed. “No one can actually sit in Peter’s throne anyway. The chair is a relic that’s mounted high up on the wall in the apse of Saint Peter’s Basilica. It’s a worm-eaten wooden decoration that couldn’t support anyone’s weight.”
Gina enjoyed their attempts at an heir until they all fell asleep, leaving whatever beds she and Leo were supposed to be sleeping in vacant. Now she heard a faint knocking on the door and felt the boys stir beside her.
Vincenzo called, “Chi è?”
“Just me.” Juliette came in bearing a thermal coffee pot and three cups. “I am so pleased you had another attempt last night.” She was smiling broadly. “A bright spot to focus on as we prepare to lay Gabrieli to rest. The funeral will be in less than two hours. Time to get showered and dressed. Meet me in the papal receiving room where there is food. Our friends are starting to arrive from around the world.”
Gina and the boys got ready and then hurried to the receiving room. Through tall windows, lamp light illuminated the statues atop the colonnades on Saint Peter’s Square and glinted off the snow-covered ground.
Standing at the big breakfast buffet, Gina recognized some of the “friends” in the room as kings and queens, and she dropped the oatmeal ladle when the president of the United States brushed shoulders with her on his way to greet Juliette on a sofa. The president was overwhelmed.
Surviving Venice Page 8
