Stealing Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  Giselle and her Ukrainian contingent had been busy during their stay with the Veronas. Giselle’s house design had been approved, and every day she’d been called upon to generate new modifications to her plan for every contingency the construction team threw at her. The designers fell in love with the windows that Markus and Ivar showed them, and approved the two as master teachers to train the Venetian craftsman to make skylights and windows for the new homes.

  Most mornings Gabrieli, Giselle, Markus, and Ivar left the Verona household as one big happy group for their work at Verdu Mer before heading off to separate locations. Most mornings Gabrieli met with Chizzoli’s team for an update on their underwater foundation work, and then met the demolition manager for his progress report. Markus and Ivar would open a workshop on the edge of the construction site and hold classes for the glass craftsman. Giselle usually photographed the specific locale of her requested design modification, and then began work on a new blueprint. She looked like the chicest architect in the construction zone, with her Keen Atlanta work shoes and her Nike action clothing.

  Yvania and Juliette went into cooking overdrive, and started to co-write a cookbook. The family declined all outside invitations so they could eat exquisite home-style feasts together every night. Even the Pope spent time in the kitchen with his two cooking instructors, who never struck his hand; not only because he was arguably the most powerful man in the world, but he was also an exemplary student.

  Giselle sat with the family around the grand dining room table absently picking at the edge of her biscotti with a fingernail. It had been too long since she’d had a chance to be intimate with Markus or begin a new sculpture, and she was feeling out of sorts. Everyone else at the table was enjoying their breakfasts and chatting about plans for their day, when she glanced up to see Vincenzo looking at her. He raised his brows in an old secret signal. She lowered her brows in response. Markus eyed the two of them and gave her a questioning look, which she pretended not to notice.

  Vincenzo rose from the table. “Well, I’m off to close the venture for the co-op building.”

  “Oh good, dear.” Juliette nodded. “How soon will that property be ready to start holding classes?”

  Vincenzo went over to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.” He looked at Giselle. “Darling, come walk me to the door.”

  She rose and went to his side, and they walked away arm in arm. She whispered, “What’s up?”

  He threw his arm around her and whispered flirtatiously next to her ear, “Well, Leonardo and I know it must be killing you and Markus not to be able to be…you know…together here in at home.”

  Giselle rolled her eyes and whispered, “Ugh! This palace has more bodies scurrying around than a performance of Swan Lake. And then there’s Papa under the same roof. We just don’t dare.”

  “You haven’t found any way to get together?”

  “It’s not like we can just check into a hotel for a few hours. I’d be recognized. We started something we almost couldn’t stop the other evening in the library. Your mother would have walked in on us if Yvania hadn’t caught her right outside the door and herded her off to the kitchen while we got a hold of ourselves.”

  “You can’t take chances like that.” He stopped walking and his expression went from stern to lusty. “Ah! Look at the sexpot! Little Gigi wants it!”

  Giselle dug her nails into her husband’s jacket. “Oh, I do, V! I really, really do!”

  The Pope walked serenely past. “Ah, true love. It is a thing of beauty.”

  “Good morning, Papa,” they greeted him in unison.

  As the Pope disappeared into the dining room, Vincenzo handed her a key. “Leo and I understand what you’re going through, so we’re offering you the guest room in our apartment for a little fun this afternoon.”

  “Oh, V!” she squealed. “Wait till I tell Markus!”

  Salvio’s body felt pain free and he was ready to make his move. God had visited him in a dream, and his vision was clear; the time had come to escape his cistern prison. Upon waking, he felt perfectly ready to be of use to the Almighty. He dressed quickly, went over and pulled up the iron grate from the floor, set it against the far wall, and then climbed down onto a scant ledge about five feet below the opening of the drain. He sat down to wait, his feet dangling over the sharp rocks that jutted from the sides of the fissure. When he heard the screeching of the lock, he hopped lightly onto the balls of his feet and crouched, pressing his back against the jagged stone.

  He heard the servant open the door and mutter, “Ah, so you pulled the drain cover up, eh?”

  Impatient footsteps descended the iron stairs. “Yuck. Listen you cripple, I’m not pulling you out of that sewer if you’re stuck. You’ll have to wait until I’m done with my rounds and I can get someone else down here to help.”

  The second Salvio saw the servant’s face appear upside-down above him, peering into the hole, Salvio popped up, grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and his collar, and yanked him down with all of his strength, hurling him headfirst deep into the yawning darkness of the crevasse. Salvio watched the servant drop more than twenty feet straight down. His head and upper body crashed into the narrowing shaft between sharp rocks, cracking his skull and breaking his neck. He was left suspended upside down, limp and silent. Salvio jumped out of the hole like a jack-in-the-box, trotted up the steps and out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Now was the time to move without hesitation! The Veronas are about to pay the wages of their sins!

  He didn’t encounter anyone as he climbed two nondescript flights of stairs. Listening carefully and moving silently, he found his way to a door and stepped into the shadowy street. Dawn was just breaking in the east, so he judged it to be about five in the morning. Salvio watched a plane climbing into the sky, and ran downhill in the direction of the airport. About a block along his jog, he spotted a truck driver closing his tailgate, and ran over to him.

  Salvio gasped, “Please! Help me get to the airport. Family emergency!”

  “I’m heading that way. Get in.”

  When Salvio arrived at the sleepy airport, he skirted the main terminal building and speed-walked back toward the cargo area. Spotting a young worker taking a cigarette break, Salvio sized him up as the criminal type who could be of use. “I need to get on a private plane to Venice, no questions asked. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The smoker looked him up and down. “Are you drunk?”

  “No, I’m very rich, and in a very big hurry.”

  “Follow me.” The runway worker pushed away from the wall, glanced around, and then strolled off in the direction of some private hangars.

  Fighting to control his impatience, Salvio pushed him from behind. “Move faster! This is a matter of life and death!”

  The worker tossed his cigarette and started to run with Salvio on his heels until they burst through the door of a hanger that looked like a warehouse of bocce memorabilia, except for the beautiful Cessna that took up half the space.

  “Hey, Bocce Bill, this guy needs a ride.”

  A skinny, bald man of about fifty, dressed in khaki slacks and a bocce shirt, looked up from his computer screen. “Uh-huh. Run along, Moochie.”

  Moochie closed the door behind him, and Salvio charged up to the bald man.

  “Listen Bocce Bill, I’m very rich, and I urgently need to be in Venice. If you can take me in your plane, I’ll use your computer to transfer a substantial sum of money into any account you wish. I also want you to give me all the cash you have on hand.”

  Bill leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m about to fly to Venice, and I can always use a substantial sum of money. Got any ID?”

  Salvio didn’t have time to haggle so he made a shooing motion with his hand, and took hold of Bill’s mouse.

  “No, I don’t have ID. But I have one million euros that I’m about to transfer to you.” After a minute of brisk keystrokes, he was signed into his bank
account. He noted that there was approximately four million euros missing, and then initiated the transfer of a million euros. “You just need to enter an account number here.” He pushed the mouse back at Bill, who reached into his desk drawer and retrieved a bankcard.

  “I like a simple man with a million euros to spend and places to go.” Bill entered his account number before relinquishing the mouse to Salvio, who completed the transfer.

  “How much cash do you have on hand, Bill?”

  “Grab that bocce bag over there. It’s my traveling money. There’s just short of a hundred thousand euros inside.”

  “Get me to Venice in ninety minutes, starting now.” He reached inside the bag, pushed a rose gold Rolex aside, pulled out two hundred euros, and slapped them on Bill’s desk. “This is for Moochie.”

  Bill scraped the money into his desk drawer. “I’ll get it to him. Okay, my flight plan has a scheduled departure thirty minutes from now, but let’s get started. I can make a donation to a friend in the tower to let me take off early.”

  Eleven minutes later, the plane was in the air and headed for Venice. Bill was a criminal who knew when not to ask questions, and Salvio was a man with a mission, a bocce bag full of euros, and a Rolex that was probably stolen. He clutched his colorful sports bag in front of him with both hands like an old lady protecting her purse.

  “Bill! How fast can this plane go?” He shouted through the open cockpit door.

  “It’s got an engine comparable to the Citation X. It can do over a thousand kilometers per hour.”

  “Good! Pour on the speed!” Salvio kicked the boxes stacked next to him in frustration.

  “Not a chance. But we’ll go as fast as we can without attracting attention from the authorities.”

  “Take the chance!”

  “You didn’t think I was flying bocce balls did you? Now shut up and don’t kick my heroin.”

  Gio was roused from sleep by the phone. In his line of business, sleep was the only luxury he often did without. “What?”

  “Your guest is not in the cistern.” It was the voice of his consigliere, Paolo Bianchi. “Roberto didn’t show up for his five o’clock route stop, and they called me.”

  Gio looked at his watch. It was 5:20 a.m. “What time does Roberto deliver the breakfast?”

  “Usually at four forty-five.”

  “Get my driver here now. Wake up Primo. Wake the pilot. We have to beat Scortini to Venice.” Gio hung up while pulling on pants, then called a contact in Venice.

  “Orologio, this is Petrosino. I need you to save an innocent woman’s life.”

  The clockmaker he’d awakened snapped to attention. “Sì!”

  “Deliver this message inside a box of tea to Raphielli Scortini at the Scortini palazzo: He has escaped.”

  “Capisco. Immediately.”

  “When you deliver the box, ask if she’s home. If she is, demand to see her, and try to take her to your shop. Keep her safe until I get to Venice.”

  “Okay, I’m doing it now.”

  Gio slammed out his front door, yanked open the back door of his car, and directed his driver, “Get over to Primo’s and then get us to the jet.” He got Paolo back on the phone and gave orders for everyone they knew in Sicily to be on the lookout for Salvio, but in his heart he knew that maniac would race straight back to Venice—his seat of power. Then he called Drea.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Gio? Everything okay?”

  “Sì. I need you to meet me at Marco Polo airport in two hours.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Bocce Bill taxied his plane over to the cargo buildings at Marco Polo airport and brought it to a stop. Salvio was off the plane in a flash, jogging along with his bag of cash, and dodging the occasional morning worker. When he reached the docks on the lagoon, he waved to the driver of the first boat he saw.

  “Hey! I have an emergency! Get me to the Verona office building!” He pulled out a fat packet of euros and waved it as if he was going to throw the whole bankroll at the man. That did the trick; the guy throttled his engine and came over to where Salvio was coming down the gangplank.

  Salvio arrived at the Verona’s building just in time to see the buggering son exit the main office door flanked by his smug-looking bodyguard. He trailed them as they made their way along a fondamenta and then disappeared into an old co-op building. Salvio sidled toward the doorway they’d entered, and then peeked around the area to get a feel for what was going on. It was deserted, and seemed to be just another one of the Verona’s projects, probably a building they were going to rehab. There was a thick wooden door standing ajar that the faggot and his bodyguard had disappeared through, and it was a reasonable assumption that they’d come back through it to leave the building. The walkway was strewn with piles of construction junk. Salvio paused next to a small opening, looked over the side, and saw a ladder down to the canal and a little pier. Leaning over, he saw a banged up old motorboat tied below, empty except for some filthy tarps piled in the back.

  Salvio went back over to the pile of trash and selected a heavy pipe from the heap. He hefted it in his hand; it felt good and solid. Returning to the entrance, he hid behind the open door and waited. Within moments he heard two sets of footfalls approaching. Just as the steps got to the other side of the door, he stepped out and swung as hard as he could. The bodyguard’s head took the full blow of the whickering arc, spraying an impressive blast of blood onto the wall. The man’s body fell backward behind the door. Vincenzo turned as if he was going to try to protect his guard, and then seeing Salvio he tried to dodge to the side. He moved fast, but not fast enough to miss Salvio’s pipe coming in a backhand swing at the side of his head. Vincenzo went down like a bag of laundry. As Salvio tossed the pipe aside, he felt revulsion; sodomites were such easy prey.

  He bent down, dragged Vincenzo to the canal opening, and shoved him over the edge into the boat below. The body landed on its left arm with a loud snap. Salvio scrambled down the ladder into the boat and hauled the tarps over the sissy boy. A colony of wormy bugs scattered to find their way back into the dark, and into Verona’s expensive suit. Salvio climbed over to the motor, and after a few stabs at the electric starter, the engine wheezed into life. The universal law of never touching another man’s boat in Venice didn’t apply to him. This was God’s will. He sat down and steered the boat along the canal toward his home. There was a groan from under the tarp. Salvio kicked out at the disgusting buggerer, and hissed, “After I am done with your father, you’ll have time to confess all of your deviant sins to me, you obscene faggot. Then I’ll take them to the Pope! But first, I have some business to attend to with that cow I married.” There was no response, only the burping and coughing of the engine as they glided through the dawn.

  Arriving home, Salvio cut the engine and piloted the boat past Il ponte Diamanti, into the ghostly Emerald Cove. It was completely sheltered and the perfect place to store his prisoner until he was ready to return for their interview. Sailing into the moss-green darkness, there was nothing but the sloshing of the canal water and a deep trickling sound from somewhere within the labyrinth of old tunnels.

  Salvio climbed out of the little boat, abandoning the body, and made his way along the ancient stone footpath under Il ponte Diamanti. He felt incredible as he moved through the secret passage into his house.

  Vincenzo lay under filthy tarps in the algae-encrusted cove. He didn’t hear the irregular waves lapping against the sides of the little boat, nor the metallic sounds the hull made as those waves repeatedly bumped it into the stone walkway. The blood that had been seeping from his head began to clot and bleed back into his skull.

  During the flight, Gio kept in touch with his team. He learned that Roberto had been thrown down the cistern drain, and that Orologio had been told that Raphielli wasn’t home when he delivered the message, so Gio set his hopes on getting to the Scortini palazzo before she did.

  His Gulfstream touched down after an ei
ghty-five-minute flight, and rolled top speed to the edge of the runway. The jet’s stairs extended, and Gio bolted down them so fast he barely touched the steps, with Primo close behind him. Racing toward the Drea’s boat, they jumped in and grabbed hold as she swung around in an illegal maneuver, spraying a wall of water across the lane of early traffic. The drivers and their passengers yelled invectives and waved their fists at being soaked to the skin. Pulling himself up next to Drea as they roared forward, Gio shouted over the big engine, “Il ponte Diamanti. Now!” He swore under his breath and hoped he’d arrive in time to save Raphielli. Gio had no doubts whatsoever that the lunatic was headed straight home to his seat of power.

  Raphielli stepped out the front door of Portò delle Donne. Beyond exhaustion, she put a hand out to steady herself as she pulled the cheerful yellow door closed behind her. Their new security guard watched her from inside the locked watchman’s cage in the entry alcove. He offered a sad smile and shook his head.

  “Another all night shift? You’ll make yourself old before you’re twenty-one.”

  “Too late. I feel like I’m old already.” She patted the cage and stifled a yawn. “I’ll be back soon, Alexi.”

  She wasn’t the only person who had worked all night. Kate had worked straight through on legislative paperwork they would be filing this morning, while Raphielli helped their nurse log in and lock away all of the medicine that had been delivered late yesterday. Then she’d checked in the supplies and put them away in the storeroom before sitting down to review the new residents’ case files. Kate didn’t seem to need sleep the way Raphielli did, and powered through hour after hour on ginger tea and Mentos. Sometime in the early morning, Raphielli lay down on the office couch and fell asleep for an hour. Now she needed to make herself presentable for their meeting at city hall.