Raphielli disappeared toward her room, no doubt to comb her hair. The wind had liberated quite a bit of it from her bun, and it looked like a bird’s nest of curls.
When she joined them, her bun had been reformed, but her hair was still a bit tousled. Zelph hastily put the carnival mask he’d been wearing back onto the wall and rushed over to hug her. “Raphielli! Grazie mille! Alphonso tells me you’re my first legitimate locksmith client.” She looked embarrassed as she pushed away from his embrace. He loomed over her. “I can’t wait to have all your doors open. While I’m doing the locks, I’ll get mobile alarms for you and your staff.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m not doing you a favor, silly, you’re the one helping me out.” She laughed and looked up at him. “How’ve you been?”
“Bene, bene. I took what you said seriously. It’s time I made an honest living—no more gambling—so I took the money you gave me and I’ve already bought all the equipment I need to start my business. Once I have your palazzo as a reference, everyone will want to hire me.” He scanned her up and down, then waved his hand over her head. “You’ve got kind of a new wild thing goin’ on with your hair. What have you been up to?” He gave her one of his lady-killer looks and flashed her a naughty smile.
“Oh, stop your fresh mouth.” She giggled and tried to smooth her hair with her hand. “I was trying on clothes, plus it’s really windy out there today.”
Guiseppe appeared with the dining cart and said, “Signora, il pranzo è servito.” He set the plates and silver with precision, served the food, and with a, “Buon appetito,” he backed out of the room.
Zelph said, “Either Guiseppe’s been practicing, or he was a waiter before he was Salvio’s valet.”
When they’d tasted the layered polenta and roasted vegetables, Raphielli asked, “So, how do we begin?”
Zelph perked up. “A place this size, it’ll take a while to open all the doors. So, I think we should keep an eye out for where Salvio might have stashed keys. He’s a sneaky fuck…er…bastar-uh…guy.”
Alphonso tried not to be frustrated with his cousin. He really was trying to clean up his act.
“Who does your repairs here?” Zelph asked.
“Dante supervises a part-time houseman.”
“Let’s ask him if he knows of any more cool secret passages.”
“Like the one Salvio used?”
“Right. As secret passages go, that one’s really big. I mean, it goes all the way past your room, past Salvio’s office, and out under Il ponte Diamante.”
Alphonso said, “I bet there are more passageways.”
“I agree,” she said, and then looked guilty. “I guess I should tell you, I showed that passage to don Giancarlo Petrosino, too.”
Alphonso and Zelph exchanged looks, silently communicating their unease at this bit of news as she continued, “I trust him. I don’t feel less secure with him knowing about it. In fact, he and his son, Primo, used it to get in and save me.”
Zelph held his hands up. “You don’t have to defend your Mafioso to us. It’s obvious he likes you. I mean, he’s even keeping Salvio alive for you, and you know he really wants to kill the fuck…er…uh…him.”
She stopped cutting a wedge of roasted squash and gave him a stern look.
“Sorry. Anyway, back to touring the palace. An old property this size probably has all sorts of odd levels, and it’s impossible to see them all from the outside. How about we start at the top, work our way down, and make a map of the palazzo as we go.”
“You’re the boss. When do we start?”
Alphonso held up a hand. “Careful not to feed his ego.”
Zelph ignored him, his enthusiasm undiminished. “Let’s start tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait to see all the rooms, and I always feel better when I’m occupied.”
Zelph got serious. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find squatters living under your roof. We may have to evict someone.”
“All I’ve seen are spiders and things moving in dark shadows, like mice maybe. The locked areas haven’t been dusted since around the time of my in-law’s funeral in June when Salvio took the keys.”
“Kept everything to himself?” Zelph asked. “Nothing about that guy surprises me.”
“Sì. Now that he’s gone, my favorite place to relax is his father’s library. I curl up near the fire and read his books. I’m no art historian, but a couple of the paintings way up high on the walls look to be by Caravaggio.”
“Unbelievable!” Zelph was so shocked his polenta fell off his spoon.
Alphonso gave him the signal that it was time to leave.
“Thanks for dinner. I’ll get started by examining the front door on my way out,” Zelph said, then wiped his lips and set his napkin beside his plate.
“Sounds good.” She rang for Dante, who appeared momentarily. “Dante, Alphonso and Zelph are going to be helping me explore the entire palazzo. They’re allowed on the property anytime.”
“Sì.”
“Please give them any assistance they require.”
“Sì, capisco.”
Alphonso went to her side and took her hand. “Thanks for dinner, Raphielli.”
“Thanks for shopping with me. I had fun.”
As he and Zelph turned to leave, Dante said, “The physical therapist has arrived and is getting set up, and Rosa has your bath ready.”
“Grazie.”
As Raphielli walked off alone down a dark hall, Alphonso and Zelph followed Dante to the front door. The secrets of this old labyrinth would soon be revealed.
Giselle was relieved when the photographer’s assistant yelled, “We have it! It’s a wrap! See you all at the studio for the glamour shoot in just over a week!” Who knew being photographed could be so tiring? She thanked everyone, relinquished the borrowed jacket to the stylist, pulled on her own coat, and walked over to Markus and Yvania.
“What’d you think?” she asked.
“You will not believe the photos.” Markus shook his head. “The way that photographer captured you is going to blow your mind.”
“Da!” Yvania said. “Back in Paris, I always was thinking the paparazzi photos showed your beauty, but those peectures are garbage! Now your beauty has been captured!”
Looking around she asked, “Where’s Vincenzo?”
“He just left for a meeting,” Markus said. “I had better get to class. Ivar is teaching alone right now. Where are you going?”
“I need to get back to the drafting table. I’ll walk with you part way.”
“You two go,” Yvania said. “I will take a boat back to palazzo and work on my experiment. I am using very hot oil and leetle bits of dough like English popover…but better.”
Giselle and Markus walked across Verdu Mer to the construction trailer, an improvement in her working conditions since the cold rainy season began. She stopped on the steps and leaned over the railing. “I love you.”
Markus closed his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “The feeling is mutual.” As a construction worker pushed past them he said, “Come by the classroom when you are done. Ivar and I will walk home with you.”
“If the weather doesn’t clear up, we’ll take a boat.”
“Agreed.”
Once inside, she shifted into the brisk professionalism of the Verdu Mer Consortium, the world experts that Gabrieli had assembled for this Herculean gentrification project. Communication was concise, measurements were precise, and tasks fit neatly into a project management flow chart that was updated all day long. She’d always worked alone on her art, but now she was being spoiled by talented team members who made her job easy.
She opened her design specs and went to work on last-minute modifications to three houses. They’d just learned of the residents’ special needs that needed to be accommodated. She felt overwhelmed at first, but the architectural team supplied her with a dossier containing every dimension required. As the designer, it was her job to make these special-needs
houses conform to her vision. Mercifully, everything flowed and she completed the drawings in a few hours.
It was almost five o’clock when she submitted her blueprints and headed across the construction site to Ivar and Markus’ glassmaking classroom. The clouds overhead pressed down, depriving Venice of a sunset, and she hurried through the frigid gloom. The miniature calles were muddy in parts and missing in others, so she walked along the raised planks that formed platforms and bridges.
The best Venetian window workers and glass craftspeople stood at neat workbenches while Markus stood up on a wooden stage glazing a window in the old Crimean style. A camera recorded Markus’ demonstration and projected it on a big screen for the class to emulate. Ivar walked among the students, helping where needed.
Giselle could watch Markus all day. He captivated her, and he moved with surgical precision—never any hesitation—like he’d performed each motion many times before. The more she studied him, the more she wanted to work like him. He moved like a martial artist.
He looked up and saw her, then checked his watch. “Okay, that is enough for today. Please clear your workstations. If you have any etching solution, close the lids tightly, and bring your brushes to the sink for the assistants to wash. Excellent work, everyone.”
Giselle called for one of the Verona’s drivers to come get them, and when she, Markus and Ivar got to the palazzo, they went to their respective rooms to clean up before joining the family in the parlor before dinner. When Giselle entered the parlor, Vincenzo and Leonardo were sitting in their favorite chairs listening to Juliette, who seemed excited about something. Markus was looking on with an expression of interest that wasn’t genuine. Once Giselle got within earshot, she understood.
Juliette was saying, “And when Giselle is pregnant, you will not believe how quickly the time flies. Then, before you know it, we will all be sitting here before dinner holding a little bundle of joy!”
Giselle took a seat and feigned interest. She tried to avoid eye contact with Markus, who began to simmer, and she felt prickles of irritation at Leonardo and Vincenzo. They wore matching expressions of anticipation and hung on Juliette’s every word. She tried to tune out the conversation as it continued to revolve around the baby theme, and was relieved when Gabrieli and Papa arrived so they could all move into the family’s private dining room. Of course, the palazzo had a formal dining room that opened into a ballroom, but it was far too grand for daily meals.
Juliette said, “Oh! Giselle, I cannot believe I forgot to tell you! I have learned about a new vitamin therapy for fertility. I bought some books on these marvelous treatments. I had Nigella put them next to your bed for you to have a look at.”
Giselle smiled politely. “Vitamins? Sounds healthy.”
“I have also taken the liberty of booking appointments for us. I hope you will be as excited about this as I am.” The look on Juliette’s face was a mixture of eagerness and love.
Yvania’s head snapped up. “You will take the fertility treatments, too?”
“Oh, no, even fertility vitamins could not help me. However, the benefits of extra nutrients for a woman my age are considerable. I will have different vitamin treatments, and I want to be there to support Giselle. We can enjoy some mother-daughter time now that her work at Verdu Mer is almost at an end.” Her face radiated pleasure, clearly convinced that she’d found the secret to Giselle’s failure to get pregnant. Gabrieli and Papa nodded their approval as the Czerneys, Markus, and the boys engaged in surreptitious visual sparring provoked by the lie they were living.
CHAPTER
3
Raphielli felt energized from the self-defense class at her shelter. She’d never been encouraged to punch or kick before, but their instructor, Anja, motivated the women to really throw themselves into the drills, and they got some good exercise.
“Great job, everyone!” Anja called.
The women were all high-fiving each other when Shanti said, “Is that Contessa Verona?”
Raphielli was confused for a second, thinking Shanti was making a joke, when Nanda said, “Woah! Is that Giselle Verona?”
Raphielli and the rest of the class noticed the contessas standing in the doorway. They came!
Turning to her residents, she said, “Sì, they’ll be here working a few hours each week. Contessa Juliette will teach some cooking classes, and Contessa Giselle will help in the nursery.”
They all grinned and waved their hands self-consciously in response to Juliette and Giselle’s cheery waves. “Buongiorno!” Juliette called.
Raphielli hurried to the door. “You’re here! Grazie! Grazie! I’ll take you to meet Kate, our director, and we’ll get you started.”
She took her famous volunteers to the office and introduced them to Kate.
“Contessa!” She got up and took Juliette’s offered hand. “You may recall we met at city hall.”
“Of course, Kate. You used to work with Mayor Buonocore. And call me Juliette.”
“Same for me. Just Giselle.” Giselle came forward to shake Kate’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Now, please show me to the kitchen,” Juliette said. “My staff should be passing ingredients to your cook through the kitchen door as we speak.”
Raphielli turned to Giselle. “I’ll take you to the nursery. We have an elevator, or we can take the stairs. It’s on the third floor.”
“I prefer stairs.” Giselle headed for the stairwell and Raphielli followed her. Giselle climbed with effortless grace and superior stamina, while Raphielli felt winded halfway along their ascent.
Giselle’s eyes were everywhere. “The place looks great! I’m blown away by what you’ve done here in such a short time, Raphielli. Juliette’s a fan of yours. I hope you and I can be friends.”
“I’d like that, Giselle.”
“Call me Gigi.”
“Gigi.” She never imagined she’d be friends with an ultra-cool celebrity. “How do you stay slender with a mother-in-law who cooks like Juliette?”
“Vincenzo and I live in Paris, so I only eat her cooking when she comes to France, or we visit her. We’re only here while I work on Verdu Mer. It’s been a feast every night lately because Yvania Czerney is staying with us, and her cooking is totally crave-worthy! I hear you’re coming to dinner tonight, so you can judge for yourself.”
When they arrived at the nursery, Raphielli introduced the governess and told Giselle, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Just as she reached the ground floor landing, Kate poked her head out of the office. “Raphielli, the mayor is outside and he’s brought Signor Tosca with him.”
“I’ll go greet them and bring them back.” On her way to the front door, Raphielli closed the door to the dayroom. She was patting her neck scarf when she heard the security lock buzz open.
The two well-dressed men came through the door looking cheerful. “Ciao, Raphielli, là come stai?”
“Ah, va bene, bene. What an honor to have you here. Please come back to the office where Kate’s waiting.”
“I miss seeing her around my office,” Mayor Buonocore lamented. “The city’s been unable to replace her.”
“Don’t tell me you’re here to lure her away,” Raphielli kidded.
“She wouldn’t come if I asked.”
When they entered the office and closed the door, Kate looked up from a mountain of files stacked in front of her. “Ciao, Massimo. And if it isn’t Genero Tosca? To what do we owe this honor?”
The mayor hugged her. “Not to try to lure you back into politics.”
“Good,” she hugged him and then left an arm draped around his back. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”
Raphielli could see the affinity they had for each other, both genuine people with brilliant minds. The mayor flipped his hand toward Tosca.
“I wanted to be here for Genero’s announcement.”
Raphielli had met Genero Tosca when he was head of Venice’s Brotherhood of Ironworkers,
and immediately liked the soft-spoken man. Now that Salvio was gone, he’d become head of the Venetian Builder’s Association. He held a large plastic tube in his hands. “It is my pleasure to present your complete packet of permits and inspection certificates. These premises are now officially legal.” He bowed and handed her the tube.
Raphielli was elated. “Oh! Grazie mille! This all happened so fast, but…but I haven’t paid for the permits.”
Tosca held up a hand. “It has been the honor of the Venetian builders to pay all the fees. It’s the least we can do in return for your courage and assistance.”
Raphielli ignored Kate’s look of frank interest, and she hefted the tube in her hands. “It’s heavy. There must be a lot of documents in here.”
He nodded. “Sì, a lot goes into modernizing a place like this and bringing it up to code.”
“Well, I’ve got another idea. I’d like to turn Scortini Palazzo into a larger version of Porto della Donne.”
“Great! Perfect! That’s thinking big!” Were their responses.
“Bene. I’ve been thinking I only need a small living space for myself. The rest of the palace should become a shelter for women.”
Tosca said, “I’d be honored to serve as project manager again, if you’ll have me.”
“I can’t do it without you.”
“You’re a philanthropist for the ages, Raphielli. You’re a modern-day Peggy Guggenheim. What a wonderful use for your home,” the mayor said.
“Scortini Palazzo doesn’t feel like a home.” She let her distaste show on her face. “It’s always felt too cold. But now I’ve got a designer who’s doing wonders making me a new bedroom suite, and I think she can make the palazzo really comfortable as a shelter.”
“There’s a lot to consider, my dear,” Tosca said. “Let me know when you’re ready for construction. I’m at your service.”
“You can count on me,” said Mayor Buonocore. “By the way, Vanity Fair interviewed me about Giselle Verona’s work at Verdu Mer. They’re launching a campaign showcasing women who give back to the world, and your name came up. The writer was interested in you.”
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