by Lora Thomas
“No.” He swallowed hard and looked at the wall. “I was drunk one night and desperately missing Francesca. I stumbled upon Sandra at a ball. Things happened. She claimed that our one time together produced a child.” He snorted. “I did not want to marry her. Vico wanted a man found, so I took the job and left the city.”
“To run from Sandra’s accusations?”
“Yes. My father found me and forced me to return and marry Sandra. Yet, my marriage to her had a silver lining. You see, she had a substantial dowry. I used that money to travel to Morocco to purchase Francesca.” A deep exhale left him. “I only stayed married to Sandra for honor’s sake. In the eyes of the church, it was a good match. In my father’s eyes, it was a union from honor. In my eyes, it was the only way to get my inheritance and the means to free the woman I loved. Once wed, my inheritance came to me, along with Sandra’s dowry. I used the money to purchase this house and a townhome for Francesca as well as free Francesca.”
Madelena gasped. “Does Mama…I mean, Sandra know?”
Antonio closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and nodded.
Madelena simply stared at her father as he talked, unable to speak herself. Her head was reeling around what was being told to her.
“Nearly a year later, Sandra informed me she was expecting. She hoped it would stop me from visiting Francesca. It didn’t. I loved Francesca too dearly. Not long after, Francesca told me she was expecting.” A smile pulled his lips. “I was so happy. Francesca was a good, kind woman. She was smart and funny. Kind to all those she met. She loved to work with her hands.” He held his hands up to emphasize the point. “And could make the most beautiful things. Quilts, jewelry, baskets, even paintings.”
“Baskets?” Madelena heard herself ask.
“Yes.” Antonio looked at his daughter, pride in his eyes. “That painting in my office you asked about? That was a self-portrait she painted for me.”
Madelena placed her palms upon the bed and slid to a sitting position. “That was my mother?”
“Yes. She painted it just before she died.” The corner of his mouth twitched with humor. “She told me she left out her swollen abdomen for she wanted to look beautiful for me all the time. I told her that her swollen belly made her the most beautiful woman in the world.” His smile faded. “Shortly after, she began having pains. I called for the midwife. They said it was too early for her to deliver, but they came. There was nothing they could do.” Madelena could hear her father’s voice crack as tears misted his eyes. He blinked and continued, “She died before you were born. The midwife could still feel you move and cut you from Francesca.” He looked down at his hands and held them out. “I can still see the blood upon your perfect, tiny, little body. I can still hear your wails when the midwife cleared your lungs.”
He stood and turned his back to her, composing himself. “The midwife wrapped you in a cloth and had just placed you in my arms when I received word that Sandra had delivered a baby girl. I looked at your perfect little face. Your eyes were closed, and you seemed so peaceful. I knew that I had to do something. I could not give you up. So I brought you home and handed you to Sandra and told her to accept you as her own.”
“And she didn’t protest?”
“She did. Adamantly.”
Madelena noticed the change in her father. His shoulders had squared, and his features seemed hardened.
“We argued. Needless to say, I won the argument.”
“But why? I mean, she hated Francesca. She would hate me. She does hate me.”
Antonio turned to face her. “I bribed her.”
Silence fell across the room like a heavy hand.
“And now, she is bribing me. If you do not marry Drakos, she will tell everyone that you are not hers. That you are a bastard.”
“So. I do not care,” Madelena slid her legs to the side of the bed, sitting up.
Antonio pivoted to face her, pain upon his face. “I do. Can’t you see, Madelena? If it is discovered, Cardinal Vico will dismiss me and have me killed.”
“For what? Loving another? For having a child by someone other than your wife? Men do it all the time.”
“You do not understand! I have blood upon my hands, Madelena. I do Vico’s dirty work, and men like Vico have safeguards in place for men like me. Assurances for when men like me are no longer needed. Plans in place for when men like me make them look bad. I will be murdered, and you will disappear.”
Madelena’s chin quivered, yet her words were steady. “So, Sandra still has control over my life. She will always have the ability to make my life hell.”
The pain was evident upon her father’s handsome features. “If I had only known…” His words trailed off.
Madelena stood. “I will leave.”
“No. It is not that simple, Madelena. Sandra will still reveal your heritage. Vico’s reach is far. He has men all over Europe. He has political allies in nearly every country. Why do you think he does not fear Bonaparte’s hold in Rome? Why do you think he did not cower in fear when the pope forced into exile?”
“I will run away.”
“You are not listening, Madelena.” He took her by her shoulders. “Nowhere is safe for you if she speaks. Not England. Not Spain. Not France. Nowhere! I will take whatever punishment comes my way, but I will not allow her to harm you.”
Madelena’s voice was as cold as ice. “Yet, you are allowing her to do so by forcing me to marry a man I do not know.”
Antonio hated what he was about to do. But if he did not, it would mean harm would befall his child. A child that he loved more than life itself. He stood straight and released her shoulders. “You will marry Drakos. He is old and will soon die. Bear him some children and live the rest of your life out in Greece. It is the only way to be free of Sandra. There you will be safe.”
He left the room and closed the door, locking it.
Madelena noticed pain in her palms and was surprised by what she had done. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails had cut her hands. Her eyes went back to the door. Nowhere was safe. She turned and paced the room. She had to leave. She just had to. Her father’s words echoed in her mind. Vico had reach all over Europe. She stopped her pacing and turned, noticing the vase of flowers. She approached, and her fingers lightly touched the lilies. Europe might not be safe, but what about across the sea?
Chapter Thirteen
Looking up at the impressive building, Oliver wondered what was going on. He had received a summons from Russo requesting him to come to his office. Odd considering only hours ago, Russo was accusing him of hiding Madelena. Perhaps Russo had discovered the truth. Perhaps Madelena had confessed that they had been together. Perhaps Oliver was walking into his own death. Whatever the cause, Oliver knew it would not be wise to refuse the invitation. He was a St. John, and St. Johns did not cower.
Entering the building, his impression of the opulence grew. The building was old, dating back to Roman times and the architecture imprint was still evident by the marble and gold used to decorate. Even the flooring was ancient. Approaching a desk, he cleared his throat to capture the attention of the man diligently writing. The man laid down the quill in his hand, adjusted the spectacles upon his bulbous nose, and spoke.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. My name is Oliver St. John. Signore Russo sent for me.”
The man scrutinized Oliver with interest before nodding. “Wait here.” The man left from behind the desk and approached another individual. Oliver recognized the second man instantly. He was the person with Russo this morning. Oliver’s senses prickled with anticipation. This could not be good. Perhaps he should have asked Martin to join him.
The desk clerk returned. “Please follow Marco. He will show you to Signore Russo’s office.”
Oliver gave a nod in appreciation and followed the hired man up the stairs to the top floor. Entering Russo’s office, Oliver could not help but feel he was being led into the lion’s den. This was Russo’s t
erritory. His sanctuary. Oliver noticed Russo behind the desk. The older man was reading a correspondence. He motioned for Oliver to sit but continued to read. Oliver scanned the room. The furnishings were just as ornate as the decor. Stuffed chairs with brocade fabric. Thick Turkish rugs and marble statues were scattered about. However, it was the painting upon the wall that captured his attention. The woman looked nearly identical to Madelena save for the eyes. Madelena’s eyes were more expressive and fuller of spark, where this woman had kind, almond-shaped eyes.
Antonio glanced over the paper when he heard the door to his office open. St. John was right on time. He went back to the correspondence in his hand, yet his mind was not on the words. As much as he hated to admit it, Sandra had made a valid point the other evening at Marino’s—St. John would make an excellent husband for one of his daughters. The younger man was wealthy and came from a respectable family. His father was an Earl and therefore fully connected in England. Those connections could be beneficial. Antonio still had his suspicions of the younger man. He still could not help but think that St. John and Madelena had more than just a chance encounter and that Madelena did more than simply go through Henshaw’s house.
“Thank you for joining me on such short notice,” Russo spoke.
“Anytime one is summoned by an influential man like yourself, one must come.”
“Indeed.”
“Now, what can I assist you with?” Oliver asked, crossing his right leg over his left.
Russo laid down the paper in his hand. “It has come to my attention that you are rather skilled with your hands.”
“I am a master carpenter. I believe I told you as much.” Oliver’s tone was anything but respectful.
“You are arrogant, are you not?” Russo noted, leaning back into his seat.
Oliver gave an indifferent shrug. “Comes with being a St. John.”
“I hear that you all possess the same arrogance.”
“We do.”
“Arrogance can be a good quality. Pride in one’s self. In one’s skill. Sandra tells me you agreed to do some carpentry work for Signora Cancio.”
“She said if I should become bored, she had some work. I have yet to become that unengaged.”
“I see. Well, allow me to make a proposal. Sandra needs some work done around the house. Some shutters or shingles—not certain as to which. You will avail yourself to repair my home in exchange for dinner.”
“And should I decline?”
A tight-lipped smile came to Antonio. “That would not be wise.”
“Are you threatening me?” Oliver asked, the brow over his right eye rising upward.
“Advising you.” Russo knew that forcing St. John into coming to his home was not the ideal way to make certain that the younger man spent time with his daughters, but it would work. And perhaps, something would blossom from it. If not, then Russo could tell his wife that he tried.
There was a slight change in Oliver’s breathing. Russo was pressing his luck. However, Oliver realized that refusing would not be the wisest of decisions. He still intended to visit longer with Martin, and if he angered Russo…well, then the remainder of his stay would not be pleasant.
“Advice taken. When would you like me to start?”
“Tomorrow morning. Is that too soon?”
Oliver ground his back teeth together. Russo was clever. If he had to go repair Russo’s home, then there would be no nighttime festivities to partake in. He would play the game.
“Ten?”
“Nine.”
Oliver nodded. “Nine it is.”
Russo stood, and Oliver followed suit. Russo rounded the desk and extended his hand. It was a handshake that Oliver had no desire to take for he was making a deal with the devil himself. However, if this deal was broken, Oliver had no doubt that he would literally feel the fires of hell. Oliver took the hand and sealed his fate. All he had to do was bide his time and stay away from Russo’s daughters. How hard could that be?
“Where have you been?” Martin asked as Oliver entered his home.
“Selling my soul to the devil,” Oliver replied, passing Martin and heading straight to the liquor cabinet. He poured an ample amount of bourbon into a snifter and downed the entire drink and poured himself another.
“What have you done?” Martin asked, fear in his voice.
An angry breath left Oliver. “Russo.”
Martin ran his hands through his hair. “Sweet Judas, Oliver! I warned you to stay away from that man. And after that fiasco this morning, I thought you would have learned your lesson. Surely even you are not that stupid?”
“I had no choice, Martin. The man sent a runner telling me to come to his office. What would you have me do? Refuse?”
Martin paled and sank into a red leather wingback chair. “Did he discover that you and Madelena…well, you know?”
Oliver shook his head. “He did not indicate as much. And if he had proof, do you think I would be standing here having this conversation with you?”
A relieved breath left Martin. “Then what did he want?”
“I think he is trying to arrange something between one of his other daughters and me.”
“How?”
“He asked me…well, ordered me to come by his home tomorrow morning to repair some items. And then I am to have dinner with them.”
“This must be his wife’s doing. Russo would not want one of his daughters moving that far away. He loves them too dearly.”
“What of Madelena? She is to marry and move to Greece.”
“Greece isn’t that far away. Governor’s Harbour is. My advice to you is to work as quickly as possible and make yourself as unappealing as you can to Signora Russo. Perhaps when she sees that you are a rude, condescending St. John, she will change her tone. That is, unless she knows your father is an Earl.”
“She does.”
Martin shook his head. “Then you, my friend, appear to be in a difficult situation. No matter how unappealing you make yourself, it will not matter. Tread lightly for Signora Russo will come up with any excuse to force you to wed one of her daughters, and you might find yourself traveling back home with one of Russo’s daughters as your bride.”
“Hell will freeze over first.” Oliver snatched the decanter of bourbon from the hutch and poured another cup, sloshing some of the liquid out in the process.
“Hey. That is expensive stuff. A gift from some Russian.”
Oliver looked at the bottle. “The taste is the same as Branson’s.”
“Who?”
“You remember. Branson Johnson from home.”
At Martin’s continued blank stare, Oliver elaborated. “Tall, skinny, has a taste for large breasted women. You know, the man who arranged for you to have an orgy with three women.”
Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Egad! I had forgotten about him. Is he still alive? I mean, I would have thought he would have caught some horrid disease from one of those women he likes so well.”
“Alive and in a much better spot than I am now.”
“Johnson was a man of many hidden talents. Now, what are you going to do? I mean about Russo?”
Oliver shook his head and took a seat adjacent to Martin. “I am not certain. I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the woman I brought home last night was one of his daughters.”
“Not just one but his favorite.”
“You are not helping matters any, Martin.”
“How did you do it? I mean, did you just say ‘hey let's go home and have sex’?”
Oliver shot Martin a dark look. “No. it just happened. And I was just as surprised to discover she was a virgin as you were to find her in my bed.”
“And the barrier didn’t stop you?”
“I had already done the damage. Besides, I had no idea she was Russo’s daughter until this morning. She never mentioned as much during our other meetings?”
“Other meetings? How did you meet her anyway? Her of all people? I mean, th
ere were hundreds of women last night, and you had to land Madelena Russo.”
“It wasn’t by chance.”
“Oliver?” Martin said, a hint of fear in his voice. “What did you do?”
“My basket. The one I brought here on the first day.”
“What of it?”
“I bought it from her.”
Martin’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “You mean she is the back of the head? The basket lady?”
Oliver nodded.
“Sweet Mary and Joseph. If Russo knew that his daughter was selling baskets like a commoner, he would…he would…he would…hell, I don’t know what he’d do, but it would not be pleasant.”
“She was. And that was just my first of several encounters with her.”
Martin lowered his head and looked at Oliver with suspicion.
“Have you heard of the couple who were splashing in the Fountain of the Four Rivers?”
“That was you?!”
Oliver nodded. “I’ve spent the last four evenings of Carnival with her.”
Martin tossed his hands in the air. “Judas, Oliver! Do you know how much trouble you are creating? First flirting with Madelena and now bedding her? Are you suicidal?”
“I had no idea who she was. She told me her name was Maddie.”
“Maddie? Maddie? And that didn’t ring a bell with you?”
“Why would it?”
“I warned you to stay away from his daughters.”
“You did. But you also never mentioned their names, Martin.”
“Gentlemen,” Geneva said from the doorway. “You are shouting.”
“Sorry, my love.” Martin stood. “Just a slight discussion.”
Geneva entered. “It is more than a discussion. It was getting rather loud. I could hear you from the patio out back.” She turned her attention to Oliver. “I know you are a friend of Martin’s and a guest in our home, but please be advised that I will not tolerate immoral activities within my home. If you wish for carnal satisfaction, please seek it other than in my home.”
“Geneva, I apologize,” Oliver said. “I never meant to bring hardship to this home. Martin has been a dear friend of mine for as long as I can remember.”