After accompanying her guests downstairs and saying her final goodbyes, Raphielli pressed her back to the elaborately carved wood door of her home, and relished all the warm kisses that had been pressed onto her cheeks. What she wouldn’t give to have married a man who kissed her. The vitality draining from her body, she felt older than her nineteen years as she walked down the hall to her suite.
She sat in her dark bedroom, the wrought iron lamps high up on the stone walls providing only small pools of light. Her windows didn’t have much of a view, but she watched the buildings across the water change color in the final glow of sunset. She found herself wishing she wasn’t ensconced in her late mother-in-law’s suite. The shadowy room was exactly as Salvio’s mother had left it. It even smelled of her; Gelsonima she had worn heavy musk perfume. Raphielli concentrated on recalling the delightful afternoon and the companionship of her guests.
When Rosa entered the room carrying rubbing alcohol, metal scrapers, cotton pads, and a red ribbon to prepare Raphielli for her wifely duty, her spirits sank. Rosa carried everything into the bathroom and began to run a bath that would be almost too hot to bear. So, Salvio had returned home and sent her maid to begin all the strange ministrations he required before he would visit her. Tonight while he does his worst to me, my mind will be dancing on the roof with my friends. And no matter what happens, I won’t make the mistake of looking him in the eye.
CHAPTER
4
Alphonso Vitali wanted to get the meeting over with. As soon as he’d gotten off the phone with Salvio, he’d started digging into Count Gabrieli Verona’s activities. He had emailed his initial report to Scortini, who now sat in silence at his enormous desk, leaving Alphonso to study his peeved profile. So Alphonso took the opportunity to do just that. He was used to all manner of client requiring his investigative services, and was adept at uncovering their motives for hiring him. This old-world tycoon was trying to appear as if he was studying the report, but his eyes weren’t tracking appropriately; they were just scanning around the computer screen. So this was a ploy to make him wait, an effort to intimidate him. And why would a client want to intimidate someone he’d hired? Because he was insecure. Alphonso wished he was sitting almost anywhere else than in this big, spooky mansion across from a client who disliked him. Alphonso’s instincts about people made him an extremely effective private investigator, but he didn’t need any great powers of perception to see that this titan of Venice was on the verge of a tantrum. Ah. He finally turned his head.
“Signor Vitali, I hired you because of your reputation for uncovering the hidden vices of powerful men. But your initial findings are unacceptable. Only an imbecile would expect me to believe that you’ve found no evidence of illicit activities during your investigation of Verona. Are you being bribed by him?”
Alphonso became hyper-alert when he saw the look in Scortini’s eyes. They were flat, but also a bit unhinged. He’d never gotten into an altercation with a client and didn’t want to risk provoking this one, so he let the “imbecile” comment slide.
“I’m not taking any money from Verona, and as I said, these are my initial findings. An investigation like this takes time and finesse.”
Scortini leaned forward and came out of his chair slowly, then advanced around the corner of the desk toward Alphonso. He was small compared to Alphonso’s height and mass, but he had a certain creepy menace.
“Have I heard you correctly? You came here to inform me that you have yet to earn any of the money I generously advanced you? And did you just claim you need more time to finesse?” His voice shifted into a rude tone. “I have abandoned my assumption that you would know a moral transgression if it hit you in the middle of your oversized forehead. Verona has a wife and a son whose illicit activities could be exposed, and by extension, Verona himself would be accountable.”
Alphonso kept his expression respectful. “Understood.”
Scortini pointed at the door by way of dismissal and shouted, “Find the dirt that I know they’re hiding, and be quick about it! The Pope himself is relying on me to prevent a monumental scandal, you mongoloid!”
Alphonso got up and left, hoping to make it out of the building before he lost his temper. A trembling valet joined him in the hall and showed him to the front door. The little man needed a prescription for his nerves, and Scortini needed a punch in the face. Alphonso was a patient man who prided himself on his cool head, but damn, he wanted to grab Scortini by his rigid-looking lapels and demand an apology. How did he expect Alphonso to believe he’d been hired to do anything other than find a way to blackmail Count Verona? Surely Scortini didn’t expect him to be that stupid. Verona was the royal son of Venice, but it wasn’t Alphonso’s responsibility to preserve that reputation. If there was dirt to be found, he’d find it and hand it over to Scortini—and the sooner the better. He needed to bring on some help, and his cousin Zelph might be just the man.
Zelph had always been shrewd in a street-savvy sort of way, and he was making a real effort to outgrow his hotheaded ways. Alphonso decided to feel him out, so he walked in the direction of his uncle’s apartment over in the Castello sestiere. The walk had the effect of calming his temper, so he felt cool-headed when he buzzed his uncle’s bell.
Zelph opened the door. “Hey, Cuz. Come va?”
“I’ve got a big job, and I could use your help.” Alphonso squeezed past him and headed straight to the kitchen to talk business. The cousins were both built like bulls, and the slim hallway barely accommodated their broad shoulders.
Closing the door and following, Zelph was clearly excited. “That’s really good news, because this afternoon Pim sent that scar-faced lieutenant over to make sure I hadn’t skipped town without paying. Did you get a visit, too?”
“I haven’t been home. I’ve been busy all over the islands since yesterday with this new job.”
“I tried to talk to this guy, to get him to see he was working for a dirty cheat, but he said that poker game was fair and square.”
“Don’t talk to any of Pim’s people. If we’d known he rigged games, we’d never have been in that tournament. Now we just need to pay him off so he’ll forget about us.”
Alphonso sat in one of the old cane kitchen chairs and regarded his cousin sitting across from him. It was like looking in a mirror. They both had long, dark hair, dark eyes, strong jaws, the same shade of olive skin, and both tall enough to have to duck under doors in Venice where they were born. Their personalities were where they differed. Alphonso was more of a kind-hearted homebody, while Zelph was always prowling the calles looking for action. Zelph was shrewd, energetic, and alert, skills he’d honed over years of being more than a bit shady.
“So, what’s the job?” Zelph leaned forward on his elbows. “Tell me it’s something big enough to pay off Pim.”
“It’s big enough to pay him, including his outrageous interest.”
“I’m in! What’s the split?”
“We’ll do the work fifty-fifty, and that’s how we’ll split the pay.”
“Deal!”
“Let me bring you up to speed.” Alphonso told him how he’d been hired by Scortini to find dirt on Count Gabrieli Verona.
“Hmm…the two big families of Venice? So you’ve been hired by the big builder to spy on Venice’s favorite son?”
“Well… sì.”
“The builder wants to blackmail the count?”
He was gratified at his cousin’s immediate grasp of the situation. “Looks like it, and we’ve got a fat expense allowance that I insisted on getting up front.”
“Cash?”
“Of course, cash. But after following Gabrieli, digging through business affairs, financial records, and the rumor mill, I’ve got nada on him.”
“What if there’s nothing to find?”
Alphonso rapped his knuckles gently on the scarred wooden tabletop. “We’ve got to get something on the Veronas to get our money.”
“Yeah, okay. So he wants b
lackmail ammunition. Does he care if it’s the younger count or the older count? It shouldn’t matter to him, right?”
“Right. Gabrieli or Vincenzo, who spends a lot of time in Paris. I can tell Scortini’s ultimate goal is to humiliate the father, but exposing his son, or even his wife, would be useful. So let’s outline our surveillance plan and get to work.”
“Thanks for giving me this chance, Alphonso. I can do this. I’ll find any dirty laundry there is. I know I haven’t always been reliable in the past, but you gotta believe I’ve changed. I’ve put gambling behind me, and I’m starting a new life.”
Alphonso reached across the table and gripped Zelph’s forearm. “Hey, Cuz, you gotta be straight up on this job. This is all mixed up with powers we don’t mess with. You hear me? I’ve already done some very thorough online sleuthing. I went through a ton of records on the Veronas and the Scortinis, and these old families go way back…like to the beginning of record keeping. But there are references to, like, the beginning of time if I interpreted correctly. And while I can’t put my finger on it, I can feel something’s wrong here. Scortini made it sound like secret characters in the Vatican, and even the Pope, are involved.”
“I’ll focus on making our client happy.” Zelph raised his hands in emphasis. “I won’t fuck up this job. I promise you.”
Alphonso sighed heavily and hunched forward, putting his elbows on the table. “I wouldn’t have taken this job if I had any idea this Scortini was off his beam. But how could I have known? I don’t investigate the client.”
Zelph sighed, too. “Look, we’ll find whatever dirt there is on the Veronas, and Scortini can do whatever he wants with it. When we’re done with this job, we’re straight with Pim, and then we can have a fresh start without lieutenants threatening to kill us.”
They got down to business and formed their game plan. Alphonso would familiarize himself with the son, Vincenzo, and the count’s wife, Contessa Juliette, while Zelph would take over spying on Count Gabrieli.
Alphonso got into the particulars. “Having you tail Gabrieli is like giving you a babysitting job. There doesn’t appear to be anything illegal or exciting in the count’s life. You won’t even have the temptation of fast driving because he mostly stays in Venice. He typically travels on foot or at a leisurely boating pace through the canals. He mixes with people during walks to his appointments, and after following him for a day, he doesn’t seem to make any effort to move secretly or evade anyone, even on his nightly walks near his palace. He has a bodyguard, a guy named Tiberius, who takes his job seriously. He’s in his mid-thirties, has all the credentials of elite training, and he walks around with the smug satisfaction of knowing he’s guarding a man who has nothing to fear.”
Zelph was taking notes as Alphonso continued to bring him up to speed.
“The Veronas’ lives are transparent if you care to look—and we’re gonna be looking. But unlike the criminals I’ve tailed in the past, the Verona family does their business out in the open. Gabrieli moves among people who apparently love him, and they act like awestruck fans. It’s a strange lifestyle to witness, and you’re gonna find it even stranger when you go to ask questions. People are so eager with their answers.”
Zelph stopped writing and looked up. “Explain.”
“In my experience, if I ask a barber what a Mafioso was doing in his barbershop, the barber goes hopelessly deaf and dumb, even if the soldier was just getting an innocent haircut. But when I ask anyone what a Verona is up to, people offer up everything they know, and in great detail.”
“How nice of them. That’s very convenient for us.”
“Just remember what kind of powerful people we’re investigating so you don’t ask the wrong person the wrong question.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t need you tripping Scortini’s hair trigger.” Alphonso found it hard not to lecture his previously wayward cousin.
“Don’t worry about me.”
A week after meeting her new Ukrainian friends, Giselle was alone with Ivar in the brick-walled garden behind his old building. She really liked the charming old man, so when he called and asked her to visit, she came immediately. He sat on an old stool, dressed in grey work clothes, tying vines onto a trellis. Comfortably warmed by the fall sun, Giselle moved around the garden. Heeding Ivar’s advice about not wearing form-fitting couture outfits around Markus, and just on the off chance she would see him during this visit, she wore crisp, mandarin-orange capris with an Aztec-blue silk blouse and matching blue suede sandals. Her ropes of eighteenth-century gold trinkets made soft clattering sounds occasionally as she hovered over Ivar, holding twine and assisting him with his chore.
“I know you have preparations to make before your trip, so thank you for coming to see me.” He waved his hand around the garden. “Giselle, you know I do not ask you here to help with picking vegetables.” He seemed pleased when she nodded solemnly. “I arranged for Markus to go on an errand so I could talk to you. He has never been so happy since you have come here to watch him work and talk with him. And we have enjoyed having you in our home to share meals with us. But having you so close to Markus has been an unfortunate distraction for him. He should be dating and meeting eligible women. Last night as I watched him say goodbye to you, it made me feel that something more needed to be said.”
She waited patiently.
“I know you could see he was not himself yesterday, and I do not believe you were fooled by his hearty well-wishes for your trip.” Ivar let down the vines, and motioned for her to pull up a chair and sit beside him. He looked at her seriously and sighed. “You leave tomorrow, and this has made him very sad.”
“I’ve been thinking that I’ll miss him, too. I haven’t known how to ask, but I’d like Markus to come to the country and help me.”
“Go away with you to work?” He looked shocked.
“It’s the largest sculpture I’ve ever attempted, and I had planned to do it on my own. But it would be so much easier if Markus could come along and help me.” She plucked a grape from a nearby vine and nibbled it. “I want him to come work with me, but I don’t know if I should invite him. Will you think it over? And if you decide you approve, would you tell him I’d like him to join me? I depart tomorrow from Gare du Nord on the four o’clock northeasterly train in car number three.”
Ivar sat in silence for a moment before he shook his head and sighed. “I must think of what is best for him. At this moment, I am thinking I will not tell him of your invitation…to give him some time away from you. But I promise you that I will think on it.”
“That’s all I ask. Merci. And now, I hate to rush off, but I really must go.” She leaned over and pecked a little kiss on each of Ivar’s cheeks before going to the kitchen to say goodbye to Yvania.
Giselle needed to double-check all of her final sculpture preparations before heading back out to meet Vincenzo for dinner. So when she arrived home, she headed straight to her first-floor office. Moving past the antique drafting table and her neat library of sketches, she sat down at the elaborate seventeenth-century desk. It had belonged to the painter, Simon Vouet, and the chubby cherubs crouching on pedestals holding up the corners of the desk always made her smile. Getting down to the task at hand, she consulted her work plan and telephoned Selma, her childhood friend and the caretaker of her home in the country, to check which supplies had been delivered. Next, she called her best friend, Fauve, to tell her what train she’d be taking to Aiglemont tomorrow. When all her preparations were confirmed, she tidied her desk and headed upstairs to get ready for dinner.
After showering, she massaged her favorite Nyakio moisturizing cream onto her face and neck. Then she padded into the dressing room wearing her favorite robe, an opulent gift out of the Verona estate. Originally made for the archduke of Venice, its balanced weight was the ultimate luxury. She was about to shrug it off when she felt it lifted from her shoulders by Marcella, her ever-discreet maid. With her assistance, Gisell
e slipped into a strapless dress of deep navy blue. It looked quite demure, providing full coverage down to her knees…until she took a step, and then the slits on both sides flashed a daring amount of leg.
Marcella clipped her hair into a twist, then fastened her pearl necklace before laying out her earrings and pumps. Next Marcella slipped a wrap and the dainty strap of her evening purse over Giselle’s outstretched arm. Finally, she dispensed the perfect amount of perfume into the air for her to walk through, and Giselle strode out the door. Not fussing with cosmetic or hairstyling rituals allowed Giselle to be ready in no time with only a dab of Bunny Balm on her lips. Thankfully, Vincenzo agreed that she didn’t need makeup. She left the house excited to spend a leisurely dinner with him before leaving for the country.
When her car pulled up in front of Le Meurice restaurant, Vincenzo came out to the curb for her. He offered his hand as she stepped out into the glare of photographer’s flashes. He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her.
“Gigi. How was your day?”
They entered the dining room hand in hand. People stopped to look at them and fantasize about love, beauty, and celebrity. Tomorrow’s social media would pour over Giselle’s clothing and accessories.
CHAPTER
5
Markus climbed aboard the moderately crowded four o’clock train, stashed his duffle bag in the luggage rack next to the door, and scanned the first-class car for Giselle. He spotted her sitting with her back to him, and started down the aisle toward her. He paused mid-stride when he caught sight of her face reflected in the train window. Her expression was ecstatic, and he allowed himself a moment to daydream that she was thinking of him. Shaking off the fantasy, he moved forward and swung into the seat across from her.
Stealing Venice Page 8