Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse

by The Scarletti Curse (v1. 5)

  Nicoletta could feel her heart pounding in alarm, beating out a rhythm of fear. Her mouth was almost too dry to attempt speech. His hold on her arm was so tight, it was beginning to go numb. She was also very aware of the dagger he held in his fist, now close to her throat. Vincente began to drag her toward the cliffs. He was trembling with his rage, toward her, toward Giovanni.

  Giovanni. She couldn't think of him, couldn't allow her mind to dwell on the possibility that he was seriously injured or worse. She could only pray that Francesco was not in the payment of Vincente, that he was loyal to his don and would heed her orders.

  "Do you know what the Scarletti curse really is? Have you guessed yet what the truth is? It is said none of us can escape it, no matter how hard we try." Vincente's voice was soft, almost gentle. It made her blood run cold. "Mio padre did what he could to protect us, but he soon realized Antonello and Giovanni were not strong enough. Only I was. Night after night he would come to my room and whisper to me that I was the only Scarletti strong enough to conquer the curse."

  He shook her viciously, as if she were a doll, yet rather absently, as if perhaps he had forgotten she was at the other end of his hand. The action pushed her dangerously close to the edge of the crumbling cliffs. "You see? I know I am the one destined to rule. I am the strongest. The Scarletti men are cursed to love only once, with our hearts and our minds and our souls. That one woman consumes us, becomes our life, until we are no longer real men. But I was the one padre trained to conquer the curse. I can lure women to me, make them my slaves. They lie for me. They even beg me to hurt them, to do anything to them that gives me pleasure. They are willing to sell their souls for me! I am the strong one, and I deserve to rule, not Giovanni. He was never meant to be don."

  His words were making her ill. His debauchery had led him to terrible depravities. He was looking at her with his sickness evident in his eyes. "So many women—they are nothing to me, you know. Nothing at all. The ones who look at me as you do, with that mixture of contempt and pity, those are the ones I like the most. They have spirit; they put up a fight before they crumble like dust in my hands. Your mother was very like you." His voice turned cunning. "None of them knew I did it. They thought it was Nonno. Even Nonno thought he might have done it. I did it!" he gloated. "Just as I strangled mia nonna."

  Nicoletta went rigid, her stomach churning and protesting her proximity with a man so sick. "You killed your own nonna?" Her voice was a whisper of sound, a shocked gasp. She could believe his baseness with women, but to murder his own grandmother, and allow his grandfather and everyone else to believe the elder Scarletti guilty, was the worst kind of sin.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hold on, bambina, I will get to you. Keep him talking. Giovanni's voice came to her. Gentle. Reassuring. Very calm.

  Nicoletta dared not breathe a sigh of relief. Giovanni! He was alive, then. And he had heard her as he always did when she was agitated, in trouble, when she desperately needed him. Her heart sang and the terrible weight pressing on her chest lifted. "Why would you do such a thing?" Nicoletta felt the revival of her determination. She held the knowledge to her tightly, protectively, that Giovanni lived.

  "Mia nonna saw me that evening. Your mother would not come to my bed, and she threatened to go to mio fratello. Giovanni would have protected her. Mio padre would have given her to me, and I think she knew it, but she would have told Giovanni, not mio padre. I lured her out to the ramparts." He pushed Nicoletta to the crumbling steps that led down to the cove. Without the protection of the mountains or trees, the wind was battering at them, the cold numbing.

  "How?" Nicoletta tasted fear and anger in her mouth. "How did you get her out there on such a terrible day?" Her foot slipped out from under her, and she nearly fell to her death. Like her mother. Vincente yanked her closer to him.

  "It wasn't really all that difficult. I sent a maid to tell her mia nonna needed her in the tower. It always worked for my father when he sent for women. I used to hide and watch him. Sometimes I joined with him, or he with me. Your madre was not the first woman I had led to the tower. Up there we could take our time, do what we wished without fear of interference. That day, everyone knew Nonno and Nonna were fighting, and they knew Nonna often walked the ramparts or retreated to the tower when she was distressed. Of course your mother went. Everyone loved mia nonna. Your madre believed she was summoned, and she would never turn Nonna down. I knew no one would be up there on such a rainy day. The wind was howling, I doubt any could have heard screaming. She fought me. I had no choice really; she would have told Giovanni. I had to kill her. It was only bad luck that Portia and Nonna came out in the rain onto the walkway. They saw me struggling with her. Nonna tried to stop me. You can see I had no choice."

  He sounded as if he expected her approval, as if he were making a matter-of-fact statement without remorse of any kind. "Portia understood." He sounded very reasonable.

  Nicoletta felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Vincente cocked his head to one side, regarding her gravely. "Portia knew I was destined to rule. She acted at once." His smile didn't reach his flat, dead eyes. "It helped that I knew she had killed her husband. She poisoned him, you know. I told her I knew." The chilling smile was devoid of all emotion. He began to drag her down the old steps, which were slippery with the salt spray and mist from the sea. "I told her I knew, and it was a good thing, because I wanted her to be mine. I wanted her to prove she was mine. Women are so easy to control. They think they have power, but in truth they have none."

  Far below her she could see the waves crashing along the cliffs. "She was in love with you," Nicoletta said softly, feeding his ego, searching for anything to keep him talking. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. Portia had made a bad bargain, believing she could control Vincente, but he had used her, as he had used so many other women, in ugly ways.

  "She would do anything for me." Vincente tightened his hold, jerking her so close she could smell his perverted excitement. He was sweating, aroused, his face flushed and his eyes large. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep from struggling against him. "I brought whores to her." He shrugged casually. "I would tell her she could join me or I would have my fun with them alone." There was contempt in his voice. "She watched me with other women, I made her watch. And she slept with men I told her to sleep with. I slept with her own daughter, and she still kept coming to me, begging me to allow her to please me, as if she ever could." His laughter was low and nasty. "Portia had her uses, though. She kept your friend Cristano occupied with her charms while I talked with you and my brothers in the courtyard."

  Nicoletta paled. She stumbled several times as she pretended to try to keep up with him. Her body felt stiff and awkward from the biting cold. The mist swirled around them, the wind tugging at their clothes, so cold and piercing that Nicoletta could feel it all the way to her soul. She used the numbing cold to her advantage, shivering, slipping, dragging at his arm to slow him down.

  "Portia helped you with Cristano? Why? Why did you kill him? He would have left, and you never would have seen him again." Even her voice trembled, though not from the cold. Vincente terrified her with his calm reasoning. He was utterly insane. His father had perverted him, teaching him to utterly loathe women.

  "He heard us talking, planning our move on Giovanni. Portia and I were walking together; we didn't know the boy was still in the maze, after Giovanni confronted him. He didn't see us, but if he had gone to Giovanni, my brother would have figured it out. I am not a heartless killer, Nicoletta." He pressed his cold lips against her skin. "I only do what is necessary to protect my plans, my heritage. Don't you see that? Portia charmed Cristano, luring him with her considerable assets. I knew she would keep him occupied. I went back later to dispose of him. Believe me, he was so preoccupied with Portia, he never felt a thing."

  Nicoletta couldn't prevent the shudder running through her at the implication. Portia was certainly capable of seducing Cristano. Crist
ano's manhood had been affronted. He would have leapt at the chance of seducing an aristocratico. She now realized she had felt his death; he had been murdered there in the maze, but Nicoletta had attributed the terrible foreboding to little Ricardo's sudden alarum about Lissandra. Lissandra didn't die until after Nicoletta arrived at the farm. From the ramparts Margerita must have seen her mother with Cristano in the labyrinth and hastened downstairs and along the corridor upset that her mother had been consorting with a peasant. She had run into Nicoletta and Giovanni but had no chance to reveal why she was upset because, at that very moment, Nicoletta was feeling so strongly the violence taking place in the maze without comprehending the true source.

  Vincente ran a finger down her cheek, jerking her back to her own peril. "Your skin is even softer than it looks," He shrugged. "I have no idea why the body was not in the labyrinth. I left it there for you to find, so you would believe Gino had killed your friend and so you would not gaze with such heat at mio fratello." His smile was a sickly parody of anticipation. "You will not miss Giovanni. I will see to that."

  Nicoletta's stomach clenched and rolled. Vincente sounded perfectly rational as he talked. Anyone watching him would think they were having a normal conversation. That frightened Nicoletta more than all his threats ever could. He believed he was entitled to any woman he desired. He believed he was entitled to kill anyone in his path. Giovanni, more than any other, stood in his way.

  Her dark gaze jumped away from his. He terrified her with his cold-blooded calculating. She nodded as if she found what he was saying reasonable. "And Margerita? Why did you hurt her?"

  His handsome face twisted into scowling contempt. "She was like Angelita, my wife. Sniveling and fawning. Just the sound of her voice made me ill! You pointed out to Antonello and me that she might have seen what had happened from above. You were partially correct. I went to her immediately, and, like all women, she wanted to be taken to bed. It was quite easy getting the information out of her. She had seen Portia seducing Cristano, and she saw me entering the maze. She told me everything, and she stayed quiet when I told her to." Again the contempt he felt was evident in his voice and manner. Young Margerita had been easy prey for a man like Vincente.

  They were on the beach now, the ocean lapping at the shoreline, darkening the white sand so it looked almost black and slick with blood. Vincente continued to drag Nicoletta toward the water's edge. Salt spray misted her face and arms; the sand clung to her bare, bloodied feet. The wind tugged at her thick hair, blowing the strands around her face. Nicoletta was feeling desperate. She searched for something to keep him talking. "What of your wife? Angelita? Why did you marry her, and however did you get Portia to agree to stay silent?"

  Vincente's teeth flashed at her. "I had no money. The lands and title belonged to Giovanni. By agreeing to marry that dull but wealthy cow, I thought I would be rich. Portia wanted the money, too. But it was not to be. I tired of Angelita's whining. She was fun at first, a virginal little thing, but quite tiresome, begging me not to hurt her in our bed. It was amusing to shock her, but she took the fun out of it with her endless sniveling. I could not allow her out of the room after a time." Again he ran his fingers over her skin, making Nicoletta shiver with revulsion. His hand settled around her throat so she was forced to look into his mad eyes. "It was difficult to hide the bruises, and I could not allow Giovanni to see them. I helped her end it. I watched her. It took her a long time to die." His white teeth flashed again. "If you do not tell me what I want to know, you will take a long time to die, too."

  The water was racing toward them, a solid, foaming wall. She stared at it helplessly. Did he mean to drown them both? It crashed through the rocks and up the shore to explode in the air and fizz along the bank until her ankles and the hem of her skirt were soaked. His hands tightened around her throat, squeezing slowly. "I suggest you learn that I mean what I say, unlike Giovanni. If you expect him to come charging to your rescue, do not. He is dead. Your good friend Aljandro was easy enough to persuade to join with me, and a few others I bought. They took care of your husband. After all, if I wish to ease the suffering widow's pain for a time before she dies by her own hand, she must first be a widow." Deliberately his hand slipped from her throat to squeeze her breast forcefully. His sick laughter was in her ear as he twisted the delicate flesh.

  The force of the waves nearly knocked her over, wrenching her loose from Vincente's grip. She shoved him hard and that combined with the force of the water toppled him over. He swore furiously. Nicoletta whirled and ran for her life, heading for the dark interior of a large cave. The water was inching its way in, then retreating just as fast, leaving behind a carpet of sea kelp. If only she had Giovanni's gift, to be able to call to him, touch him, get reassurance that he was still alive.

  The cave branched out, leading in two different directions. Take the left. The voice brushed at the walls of her mind. Calm. Loving.

  Nicoletta heard the pounding of Vincente's boots on the sand, spurring her to action. She rushed into the left tunnel as fast as she could. The farther she went from the sea, the darker the interior became. She was forced to slow down, walking carefully in the wet sand, unable to judge where to put her feet. Her heart was pounding, her lungs exploding. She was exhausted, even with the fresh surge of inspiration from Giovanni.

  Behind her, Nicoletta heard Vincente as he came after her. He was no longer running, but taking his time as he stalked her, making certain she could not escape him. She could hear him humming softly to himself, and it made her blood run cold. He was insane. Utterly, totally, insane. And she was trapped in a dark, damp cave with no way out, nowhere to go.

  She forced herself to press close to the cave wall. It felt damp and slimy to the touch, but it gave her a sense of stability as she pushed forward in the darkness. She nearly panicked when she ran into a dead end. She would have bumped her head if she hadn't blindly, instinctively thrown out her hands in front of her. It seemed solid rock. Her heart stilled. Had it been Giovanni's voice in her head? Or Vincente's? She tried to replay the words, terrified there in the dark with her heart pounding so loudly it sounded like thunder in her ears.

  Reach down low, and run your finger along the surface of the rock slowly until you feel a slight depression. It is very low and to your right. The instructions were a whisper this time, the voice husky and strange.

  Nicoletta hesitated for a moment, but what could she do? She was trapped, and Vincente was coming up behind her; she could hear his horrible humming. She didn't ever want to feel his hands on her again. She slid her fingers obediently along the face of the rock, slowly, back and forth, to cover it inch by inch. It seemed forever before she felt the faint depression. Her entire palm fit in the groove, and she pressed it there.

  Just as in the palazzo room, a crack began to open in the cave wall, growing wider and wider until there was a gap large enough for her to fit through. The secret passageway did lead to the sea—an escape, just as Giovanni had explained to her. When under attack and needing to retreat, the Scarletti family disappeared inside their palazzo walls with the family fortune. They would go into the passage that led to the cove, where boats were waiting to take them away to safety. Nicoletta understood now the carvings in the two "map" rooms, the stained-glass windows, and the golden boats. The reliefs and paintings looked as if serpents were carrying the hapless aristocratici into the sea, but when the morning light shone on the mural, the winged creatures were carrying them safely out to sea and the waiting boats, the soldiers—their attackers—drowning as their ships crashed onto the hidden rocks. It was there for all to see, yet no one but the reigning don would understand the significance of it.

  Vincente's father had never given Vincente the "key" to the "maps" because Nonno had never revealed the significance of the carvings to his son. Vincente had discovered the "maps" but not yet the key.

  Nicoletta stared into the black, gaping hole that was the passageway. She had been in it once before. It harbored
traps, rats, and it was very, very dark. The ceiling was low and the walls so close they were suffocating. Did the passageway harbor the screams of other unwary women? Women who had trusted the Scarletti men? The terrible humming was coming closer. Which was worse? To die at Vincente's hands, or die with an unseen blade slitting her throat quickly in the passageway? Biting her lip hard, Nicoletta chose the dark, damp passageway. She stepped cautiously inside, and the two halves of the rock began to slowly slide together behind her. The pounding of the sea had been loud, booming through the cave, an assault on her ears, but now the closed door entombed her in sudden silence within the narrow walls. Nicoletta squeezed her eyes shut tight like a small child. It seemed an easier way to face the blackness of the underground chamber. She could tell the passageway curved upward from the cove toward the palazzo. It was a very long distance, locked beneath the earth, with masses of rock over her head.

  Hurry, piccola. The voice was soft, persuasive, as if he knew she was frozen to the spot, unable to force her feet to move. He had called her little one. It was reassuring, that small nickname. Vincente would never have thought to call her that. It spurred her to action when nothing else could have. There is no danger until you feel difference in the texture of the ground. For once I am grateful for your bare feet.

  Her heart soared instantly. It was Giovanni! There was no doubt in her mind. He was still alive, and he was guiding her, bringing her through the complex tunnel. She had a hundred questions but didn't know how to ask them, so she concentrated on the one thing he needed to know. If she didn't make it, if she made a mistake and died in the passageway, she wanted him warned, wanted him to know who his mortal enemy was. His own brother. Vincente. She thought the name over and over in her head, replaying her ugly recent memories of the man, hoping to give Giovanni a clue.