Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  “Markus?”

  He looked over at Giselle. She was reading his mind. She shoved her chair back abruptly and said, “Let’s go check on Vincenzo.”

  “He’s fine.”

  Her eyes widened, pleading silently.

  He thought about just saying three little words, “Vincenzo is homosexual.”

  “Please.” She was gritting her teeth.

  Unwilling to hurt Giselle, he followed her out of the room just as the servants brought their food. He thought she was going to actually go to Vincenzo’s room, but she stopped, opened a door, and propelled him inside before slamming it. They were standing in a rose-colored room with an old television set. She took hold of his hands. “Markus, I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “You want to out Vincenzo at the breakfast table.”

  He nodded. “Da. Like ripping off a bandage.”

  “No!”

  “It is all we have left. The man has no options, and I cannot stand by as he goes back to praying.”

  “Markus, listen to me.”

  “No, wait. We do for him what he cannot do for himself. ‘Count, Contessa, Sua Santità, Vincenzo is gay.’ There.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  He was losing patience with her. “Bullshit subterfuge and patience will not work. Do you know what works? Honesty. You think they will stop loving him? Do you really believe Juliette would turn her back on her only son?”

  She ran trembling fingers through her hair. “It’s not about the family so much as it’s about the Church and the balance of world power.”

  “You do not understand what you are saying.”

  “I fucking know that, Markus! That’s the point! I don’t understand how the Veronas figure into Church politics. If you do this, we have no idea how it’ll turn out. But I do know one thing. I’ll have a very different opinion of you.”

  He went still. “Please do not say that.”

  She started crying and then she impatiently wiped at her eyes. “I’m losing my mind here. I’ve got to get out of this house.”

  “I thought you were going to go check on Vincenzo.”

  She gave him an ironic look. “That was bullshit subterfuge. I’m too keyed up. I don’t trust myself. I might start screaming.” She grabbed the door handle, and under her breath, she said glumly, “Or I might go berserk and throw him out one of his open windows.” She stormed off, leaving Markus alone and staring at a television set that was probably fifty years old. He had never seen her like this. God help me. If at all possible, I love her even more when her emotions are out of control.

  Raphielli and Kate sat at their desks reviewing applicant files for the shelter’s final bed when Kate glanced at her security monitor. “The contessas are here.”

  Raphielli went to greet them and arrived in the entryway just as Giselle and Juliette came through the front door bearing flowers.

  “Bounjourno,” Giselle said as she set a vase on a table.

  Raphielli noticed a beautiful young woman of about eighteen following Juliette. She was so sleek and polished, even her bobbed hair swung with a ruler’s edge. And yet, she had a relaxed way about her. That’s what confidence looks like. And she’s so young. How do I get some of that? She wasn’t beautiful like Giselle, more chic and intelligent looking. Suspended from each of her tastefully gloved hands were clear boxes of expensive-looking flower arrangements tied with familiar blue ribbons.

  Juliette said, “Raphielli, this is my dear friend Gina. She works at my favorite florist and is a student at Ca’ Foscari University. Gina, this is my friend Raphielli.”

  Raphielli said, “Ciao, Gina. What beautiful flowers you’ve brought us. They remind me of the ones my friend Alphonso brings me.”

  Gina’s eyes went wide and her lips parted in unmistakable pleasure. “You’re Alphonso’s friend? How wonderful! Do you like the herbs I’ve started adding to your bouquets?”

  Raphielli felt a stab of fear at the look on Gina’s face when she’d said Alphonso’s name. “Sì, he must come very early to get them.” She fought the idea that Alphonso could be spending the night with Gina and taking flowers as he left. Ridiculous, the girl didn’t live in the shop. Gina was looking at her with interest, and Raphielli felt self-conscious. She looked down at her worn shoes and then back up at Gina. A deeper stab in Raphielli’s chest made her wince. So, this is jealousy? Horrible! “You have a real talent with flowers,” was all she could say.

  “Grazie.” Gina smiled, showing pearly teeth like a model in a toothpaste commercial. She seemed a perfect combination of all the desirable qualities a woman could have—intelligent, cool, friendly, refined, and stylish. Raphielli burned with shame at the urge to run away from her.

  “The service you’re providing these women is invaluable,” Gina said softly, and she sounded sincere.

  Gina slipped out of her coat and removed her gloves, revealing lovely hands, while Juliette directed her, “Please distribute the flowers around the shelter, and the lavender sachets in the children’s beds.”

  As Gina climbed the stairs, Raphielli noticed her skirt had a little slit that Raphielli instantly coveted, and the stylish black rubber boots she wore had pointy toes and looked much too nice for the rain-slick calles outside. Raphielli forced herself to turn away and follow Juliette into the kitchen.

  “For our class, we are preparing trays of potato and spinach strata—the top gets golden brown and delizioso—along with my nonna’s stracciatella soup.” Juliette had assumed Raphielli’s mind was on food.

  “Gina is very nice. Does she have a boyfriend?” The question had been so loud inside her head she wasn’t sure it had slipped out. This new jealousy had a mind of its own as well as a firm hold on her tongue.

  Juliette shrugged. “Not that I know of. If she does, she is very discrete.”

  “Mmm, well, I must get back to my desk.”

  Raphielli tried to concentrate on work but she suddenly didn’t like the look of her stubby fingers and ragged nails on the computer keys. She kept going back to the knowledge that each morning, Alphonso saw Gina before he saw her. How long had it been going on? When Salvio attacked her, had Alphonso asked his girlfriend to whip up some bouquets to lift the spirits of his poorly dressed ex-client’s wife? What did his kiss on her cheek mean? Anxiety started to build, so she joined the group therapy session that was about to start.

  Doctor Risinger was talking quietly with Paloma as Raphielli found a seat. All eight of the others knitted as they waited to begin.

  Shanti asked, “Raphielli, do you knit?”

  “No, but it looks like fun.”

  “Are you married?”

  “My husband…is…gone,” came out of her mouth.

  “Where’d he go?” Nanda asked. “Do you miss him?”

  “That’s too personal.” Shanti groaned, “Ugh, sorry, Raphielli.”

  Ottavia said, “We’re becoming a family in here, and with new people we forget how to make polite conversation.”

  Raphielli said, “You ladies are good at making conversation. No. I don’t miss him. He was a horrible man.”

  The knitting needles paused as the women took that in, and then the clicking began again.

  After Giselle had helped put the children down for their naps in the nursery, she went downstairs and found Yvania in the lobby.

  “What a surprise to see you here.” Giselle bent and gave her a hug before moving to the bench at the front door to change into her boots and retrieve her raincoat.

  “I have come to walk you home. We can have a nice talk.”

  When they stepped out into the late afternoon, it was getting darker, and the city was painted in oranges and reds. The sunset reflected brightly in Yvania’s rhinestone cat’s-eye glasses, making her look like a psychedelic character from a comic book. Everything else about her had an old-world sensibility, from her heavy all-weather coat to her thick gray tights and heavy boots.

  Giselle
asked her, “Do you mind if we stop by Gabrieli’s office on the way home?” She pointed to her tote bag. “The consortium is expecting my final paperwork.”

  “No trouble, it is on the way, and is no rain coming down,” Yvania replied in her stilted grammatical patois.

  “Those are beautiful lilies you have there.” Giselle nodded toward the little handful of flowers in Yvania’s hand.

  “Da, I got from the shelter. Bad news the Pope gives us this morning. You have talked to Vincenzo?”

  “I called him. He’s in a state of shock, not really functioning. Yvania, do you think he’ll get sucked into this scandal?”

  “I am hoping no. Such a good boy. It is the last thing he is needing.”

  “If they ask him what he was doing visiting that cardinal, and what their calls were about…I just don’t know how he’ll handle it. God forbid they think he was trying to buy a child for us.”

  “Oh, no. No.”

  They arrived at the Verona building, and Giselle went inside, pulled the tube of documents from her capacious tote, and handed them to a Verdu Mer assistant before pushing back through the heavy doors out into the twilight.

  “How you are feeling after your vitamin treatment?” Yvania asked.

  “No different.”

  “Vitamins are not what will give a woman babies. What does that is a man.” She laughed heartily.

  “Now that my work here is complete, I’d like to go back to Gernelle with Markus.”

  “Uh-huh, da, this I know.”

  Giselle realized she’d gotten ahead of Yvania, so she walked back a few paces to her. “What is it?”

  Yvania was holding her little bouquet up and fussing with it. “You are always worrying for Vincenzo, but not for Markus.” Yvania started walking again.

  “I know. I feel trapped. What do you suggest?”

  “Right now, I am suggesting that we walk faster. Do not turn around. A man has been following us since the shelter. Stay with me—very quickly now.”

  Giselle linked her arm with Yvania, and the two picked up their speed along the calle. Yvania took erratic turns into tunnels and under bridges. Soon Giselle could hear a single set of footsteps pounding behind them. When they turned down a tunnel that led to two sets of stairs, one going up and another going down, Yvania tossed a flower from her bouquet on the staircase going up and yanked Giselle down the other steps.

  They zigged and zagged until they jogged up the steps of the Verona palazzo. Yvania stood on the top step as Giselle pressed the bell.

  Yvania said, “Look, see him there?”

  Giselle turned and caught a glimpse of a man dressed in black come out from under a footbridge and then disappear down a set of steps to the water’s edge. Darkness descended over the floating city, and the lights along the calles blinked on. Thunder sounded, and the wind changed directions, blowing the scent of rain toward them as the butler ushered them inside.

  Yvania said, “We must be telling Markus about that man.”

  They found Markus and quickly relayed the story.

  “You should have seen Yvania. She used her flowers as a decoy.”

  “How far did he follow you?” he asked.

  “All the way home,” Giselle said.

  Yvania looked grim. “He knew her and where she was going. We got away, but he was arriving here anyway.”

  Markus said something to her in Ukrainian and she shook her head. “Not Salvio, not same pasty white face, not the flaring big nostrils.”

  “Let me be perfectly clear.” Juliette’s voice made the three of them jump and she spoke with more force than usual. “Salvio is dead. The police are right to consider him dead. Now I will have no more talk of that man. È tutto. Eh fine.”

  Markus liked this side of Juliette, but he was going to take Giselle’s safety into his own hands.

  CHAPTER

  9

  The morning was dry, but gray clouds threatened a downpour at any moment. Giselle’s mind was focused on her sculpture as she and Markus made their way to the studio workshop. They were almost there when they came abreast of a pastry stall and Markus took her arm. “There is a man following us. I want to see if he walks past. Buy a pastry.” As she got in line, pedestrians walked past her, and Giselle turned to see a man stop and glance down at his phone.

  Markus yelled, “You!” and the man turned and ran back the way they’d just come. Markus sprinted after him, just as two ladies came out of a doorway carrying a laundry basket. He dodged around them before picking up speed again. Grateful to be wearing jeans and boots, Giselle ran, too.

  She found them on the other side of the next bridge in the entry alcove of a closed toy store. Markus sat straddling the man, who had his hands up and was crying as Markus went through his pockets. One of the man’s fingers was broken backward. Giselle stepped over to them.

  “Who are you?” Markus demanded as he produced the man’s phone.

  “I’m not telling you,” the man moaned and panted.

  “No? What is your passcode?”

  “Fuck you! I’m not giving you my—”

  Markus’s hand moved like lightning. The tips of his fingers tapped the man’s Adam’s apple, making him gag and cough. Markus leaned over and spoke softly, but Giselle could still hear him. “If you want to keep your left eye, you will give me your passcode.” He was holding the man’s phone in one hand and now casually hovered his other hand over the man’s face, fingers poised.

  A harsh gagging, “Nine seven nine seven.”

  Markus unlocked the phone, took photos of the man with it, then began tapping and scrolling. The man’s eyes went to her. Without looking up, Markus said, “Do not look at her. Close your eyes or I will hurt you so you will be peeing on yourself for the rest of your life.” He tightened his thighs around the man’s midsection. “Close them.” The man cried out in pain and closed his eyes. Markus continued scrolling.

  “Okay, I want you to listen very carefully, Enrico. You are going to find a new obsession. You are never going to download another photo of her, and you will never follow her again. If she comes to your mind, you will instead think of what I will do to you. Do you understand?”

  A bruise was blossoming over the man’s Adam’s apple, which was bobbing as the man tried to swallow. He nodded with his eyes closed.

  Markus continued, “You are a very sick man, Enrico. You need to get help. I am sending your photos to the police along with a photo of you. Expect a call from someone who counsels deviants like you.”

  Giselle could only imagine what Markus had seen on the man’s phone as he stood up and pocketed it. “But you should fear me for the rest of your life. Are we clear, Enrico?”

  The man lay there with his eyes tightly shut. “Clear.”

  “Now get as far away from us as you can. If I were you, I would leave Europe.”

  Enrico opened his eyes, got up, and scurried off.

  Markus came to stand next to her. “Well, we know the identity of the man who was tailing you.”

  She said, “I can’t believe I had a stalker.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “My naïve beauty, you have professional stalkers in Paris and at all of your art exhibitions.”

  “Paparazzi and art collectors are a fact of life for people in the art spotlight.”

  “You have at least one stalker who likes to put pictures of your face onto photos of women being tortured.”

  At that moment, she didn’t care if anyone saw them together. She linked her arm with Markus’ and hung on to him all the way to the studio.

  Raphielli felt really good. In fact, she felt great. She’d taken another self-defense class with the residents, and Anja had given them a thorough workout. Raphielli had absorbed the defense tactics and was replaying how she could have gotten Salvio to stop strangling her when he’d attacked her from behind.

  “Raphielli, Kate’s looking for you.” Mia was standing in the doorway of the dayroom.

  She followed Mia to th
e office. “You look like you’re loosening up. Your arms were actually moving in there. Were those jumping jacks I saw you doing earlier?”

  “Sì. It felt good.”

  When they entered the office, Kate gave her sweat suit the once-over.

  “I know this isn’t work-appropriate attire. I’m about to take a quick shower and put my clothes back on,” Raphielli explained.

  Kate shrugged. “No, I was just thinking, working out with a scarf on is a sure way to overheat.”

  “I’m fine.” She patted it to make sure it was still in place.

  Kate picked up a file. “Leona and her children are here. The kids are already upstairs in the nursery. We are now officially full.”

  Mia asked, “Raphielli, will you join us on the tour?” pausing at the door into the hall.

  Raphielli looked down at herself. “I’m not presentable.”

  Kate waved her hand. “Leona won’t care.”

  Raphielli hurried behind Mia who was speaking with a petite brunette who looked to be roughly half Raphielli’s weight. “Would you like to use the elevator? We’re going to start on the third floor.”

  “No, grazie. I’ve spent days strapped to a bed flat on my back. The stairs’ll do me good.” She turned and smiled at Raphielli.

  “Ciao, I’m Raphielli. I work in the office.” She gestured to her outfit. “I joined in on the self-defense class.”

  “Oh, exercise.” She turned to look at Mia. “Can I do that?”

  “You can start tomorrow. Let’s go on up.”

  Raphielli liked the look of Leona. Her hair was very short, but it looked cute, like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. She wore stretch pants and sneakers with a long-sleeve t-shirt bearing the political slogan Non vinciamo noi. Leona looked so tiny and fragile, but according to the file, she was able to fight off her husband, and the man he’d brought home to have sex with her. The fact that he managed to have her arrested for attempted murder and put in restraints told Raphielli he was cunning. She was grateful they had one bed left to accommodate Leona.