Dante's Dilemma (a Dante Legacy Novella)

by Leclaire, Day

  In addition to the food, bottles of wine bearing the Ranieri label cluttered the wooden table, as well as his nonno’s homemade honey beer. Gossip about nearby friends and relatives flowed as freely as the drink, and he savored every moment of it with a bittersweet delight, aware that where once he’d belonged within the tightly woven fabric of Santa Lucia, on another level he had always stood outside its protective embrace and always would. Still, it was good to hear how the lives of the local villagers had changed or, more often, remained the same.

  He dug his thumb into the palm of his right hand while he listened, not that it eased the itch created by The Inferno. If family legend ran true, he’d been changed by his connection to Julietta, just as he’d been changed from the youth he’d been five short years ago when he’d left home, a teenager intent on becoming a jewelry designer like his distant Dante relatives.

  The years had branded him, much as The Inferno had, while home and hearth remained as it had always been. Living in Firenze —Florence—for the past several years had shaken most of the rustic from his boots. And though part of him remained rooted in the rich soil of his birthplace, another part had been forever altered during his apprenticeship and University studies in the city. He thought of the letter, tucked carefully in his trouser pocket. Soon it would undergo an even more drastic alteration.

  Across from him, his mother gasped. “Santa Maria, Madre di Dio!”

  At first, Rom didn’t understand, not until he saw what had drawn his mother’s attention. He glanced at his hands, at the way he dug his thumb into his palm. “Mamma—”

  “It’s the Dante curse. It’s The Inferno.” She burst into tears and crossed herself repeatedly. “Who? Who have you also cursed?”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s not a curse. It’s a…”

  The room had gone deathly silent, and his words trailed off. His stepfather glared at him in outrage, his expression mirrored by his three sons. As one, they stood. “Come, Nicci,” Luigi said. He took her arm and helped her from her chair, drawing her close. He paused in the doorway to address Rom. “You will not shame your mother further, is it understood? If you do so, you will no longer be welcome here.”

  Rom had no idea how long he sat there, surrounded by the cooling remains of their dinner. He didn’t wake to his surroundings until Nonno placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me, Romero.”

  His grandfather snagged a pair of beer bottles and inclined his head toward his garden. Rom followed, guilt waging a bitter war with defiance. They didn’t understand. None of them. What he felt for Julietta wasn’t a curse. He refused to believe it. Granted, a hint of desperation underscored his passion for her, but all men experienced that in the arms of a beautiful woman. And if his craving rose to a level he’d never known with any other, he refused to believe the connection between them resulted from a curse. Not when it felt so pure. So right.

  So eternal.

  A waxing moon, fast approaching full, cast a soft radiance over the fragrant garden. Nonno paused near his precious herbs, breaking off a bit of tarragon to roll between his gnarled fingers. Its lemony-licorice scent perfumed the night air. He sighed and eased himself on to a nearby bench.

  “So. It has happened,” he stated with devastating simplicity.

  Rom didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes.”

  “You do not seem overjoyed by this event. Is it because of what Luigi and your mother said?”

  “No.” He joined his grandfather, stretching his long legs across the flagstones paving the garden walkway and sipping his beer. “Okay, maybe a little. They think it’s a curse. But what I felt…”

  “Is more like a blessing?”

  “Yes!” He straightened and turned to face his grandfather. “Yes. That is what I feel when I touch her. Like I’ve been blessed.”

  “And so you have.” Nonno set aside his beer bottle and took Rom’s hand in his, pressing his thumb into his grandson’s palm. “Do you feel this itch? This burn that spreads deeper with each beat of your heart? That is not a curse. It is a message. You must listen to the message or suffer the consequences.”

  “What consequences?”

  His grandfather’s eyes—identical to Rom’s own—pierced the darkness. “When you listen to The Inferno, when you do as it directs, your life will be blessed. This is why Dantes, other than your poor mamma, call it a blessing.”

  “Our Dante cousins say it’s a blessing, too. Only…”

  “Only they don’t feel the burn, do they?”

  Rom shook his head. “They all have marks on their palm they claim come from The Inferno.”

  Nonno inclined his head. “All Dantes are marked by The Inferno in some fashion. We feel the burn. They receive a mark. It does not matter, because the end result is the same. My cousins are smart. They heed the mark and are blessed. But if you ignore it, if you turn from The Inferno out of fear or ignorance or stubbornness, that blessing becomes a curse. For the rest of your life you will live with regret. If you marry another, one who is not your Inferno mate, that marriage will be a disaster for you both. Hear my warning, nipote.”

  “That’s not what happened with Mamma.”

  Nonno released a gusty sigh. “No, it is not,” he agreed, a wealth of pain bleeding into his words. He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “Your mother was given the blessing at a very young age. Too young. The Inferno is an overpowering urge.”

  “She gave in to the urge.” His jaw tightened. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Sadness deepened the lines of Nonno’s face. “She did. And she was punished for it. The night you were conceived, she allowed lust to overcome what was right and proper, and her fiancé was taken from her. But no matter what anyone says, your father was a good man, Romero.”

  “She never speaks of him.”

  “No. To do so would dishonor her husband. Despite outward appearances, it has not been an easy existence for your mamma. Luigi continues to hold Nicci’s disgrace over her head, watching for further weakness in case she brings shame to the Ranieri name. Since he rescued her from an unsavory life, she shows her gratitude by being a model wife and mother. Not that her piety makes him any less critical.” Nonno shook his head in sorrow. “That is her curse for not playing by the rules The Inferno sets forth.”

  Rom took a moment to digest his grandfather’s words, then asked the question he’d long wanted answered. “Am I like him? Am I like my father?”

  Nonno sculpted Rom’s face with gnarled fingers, as though committing his face to memory. “You have a Dante look about you. Even so, I see much of your father in various aspects. His intelligence. His determination. His interest in the world beyond his small village. He was a man capable of plucking the stars from the heavens if he so wished. I suspect he’d have gone far if he’d lived.” Nonno rubbed his chest as though it ached. “Ah, it is so tragic, it hurts to think of it.”

  “He was hit by a car.”

  “Shortly after leaving your mamma’s arms. Maybe if Nicci had not allowed The Inferno to get the better of her, he would never have died. Eh. Chissà.” Pain trembled in his voice, making him sound far older than his years, old and defeated. “Who knows.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  A silent tear trickled down Nonno’s cheek. “Only the good Lord can say for sure, nipote. It is possible he would still have died.” He drew a ragged breath. “I have thought about this for many years. And may God forgive me for my sinful thoughts—I would rather your mamma be disgraced, then never to have had you in my life.”

  Rom wrapped his grandfather in a fierce hug and thumped his fist against the old man’s back. “Ti amo, Nonno.”

  “Ti amo, Romero.” Nonno wiped away his tears and regarded his grandson. “Now, listen well. The lesson you must take from this is never to allow the passion you feel toward your Inferno mate to dishonor her. You must wait until your vows are spoken before a priest. Will you promise this to me?”

  “I will.” />
  “And when you have children and grandchildren, you will teach them this lesson?”

  “Do you think I wish to have another innocent child suffer what I have?” Rom spoke in a fierce undertone. “When The Inferno strikes a child or grandchild of mine, he or she will wed, willing or not.”

  “This is vital. For, once you experience The Inferno, it burns within you for the rest of your life.”

  “Do you think Mamma still loves my father?”

  “She loves him to this day, though she will never admit it.” Nonno rubbed his own palm. “Just as I will love my sweet Nicia from now until the day God delivers me to her, and then for all our time in the hereafter.”

  “Mamma still rubs her palm, too. I’ve seen her when she thinks no one is watching.”

  “Much to Luigi’s fury. He adores your mamma. But he knows she does not love him. Not the way she did your father. He will always be second best. That is why he will never accept you.” Nonno paused, his gaze weighted with regret. “After this visit, you must go your own way, Romero. Though never seeing you again will cause me immense pain, it will be easier for Nicci to walk the road she has chosen, if you were not here as a constant reminder, irritating Luigi.”

  “I may have something that will help with that.” Rom drew the letter from his pocket, handing it to his grandfather. “I’ve been offered a job as a jewelry designer.”

  Nonno took the letter and tilted it into the moonlight, studying it for a long moment. His brows drew together. “This company is not affiliated with the Dantes.”

  “No. It’s in America. In San Francisco.”

  “California?” He gazed at Rom in bewilderment. “Why would you take this job when our Dante relatives have welcomed you as one of their own? Trained you to be a great artisan?”

  It was hard to tell his grandfather the truth. But he had to make Nonno understand. Rom reached into his other pocket and removed the box containing the ring he’d crafted for Tito. “Tell me what you think of this.”

  Nonno opened the box, his breath catching in appreciation. “Com’è bello. You designed this? Created this? It is magnificent.”

  Rom nodded. “It’s called L’amore Vero.” He paused, then added. “I am to tell everyone it was made by Donato.”

  “What’s this? That fool make a ring of this quality? He couldn’t tell a diamond from a lump of coal.”

  “No, but at least he’s not a bastard. People will trust him. Buy from him. Brag that they’ve hired him. But someone with my background…”

  His grandfather closed his eyes. “I’d hoped you would escape the tragedy of your birth. That my cousins would accept you.”

  “They’ve accepted me. They’re very kind to me.” Well, maybe not Donato, but that had more to do with jealousy than anything else. “But I will never become what God intends. Not if I remain the Dantes’ secret.” He tapped the letter. “In California, no one will know of my stain. If I have anything to say about it, no one will ever know I am a bastard. I can design jewelry without hiding who I am. Someday I will open my own shop. Maybe your cousins will come to accept me then.”

  “It could happen,” Nonno said with forced cheer.

  “You could travel to America with me.”

  Nonno shook his head. “My place is with your mamma. Besides, I will not leave my Nicia. When my time comes, I wish to rest beside her.” He patted Rom’s knee. “You won’t be alone, nipote. You will take your Inferno bride with you to California. Tell me about her. Where did you meet? Who is her family?”

  It was a natural question, though one he’d hoped to avoid. “It’s… complicated.”

  Nonno’s gaze sharpened. “There can only be one of two explanations for this complication. Either she belongs to another. Or you have no idea who she is or where she lives.”

  “She belongs to another.”

  Nonno’s dark brows drew together. “She is married?”

  “Engaged.”

  “Ah.” His grandfather grimaced. “This is not good. But at least there is time to prevent the marriage from taking place, no?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s Tito’s bride.”

  Nonno closed his eyes and released a gusty sigh. “Unfortunate.”

  “You know how it is in Santa Lucia. An engagement is as much of a commitment as an actual marriage.”

  “But it is not an actual marriage. Not yet.”

  “He’s my friend, Nonno. For many years he was my best friend. He accepted me when most would not.”

  “It does not matter, Romero,” his grandfather argued. “She is not meant for him. In time, he will come to realize this. Better he discovers it before the vows are said, then afterward, would you not agree?”

  “Julietta is also… unwilling.”

  “But she felt the connection?”

  Rom nodded. “I think it frightened her.”

  “Of course. It would frighten any proper young woman to feel such a powerful desire for a man she’s never met before. A man who is not her intended.” Nonno grinned. “Not that it makes any difference. La Julietta can no more resist The Inferno than a nightingale can resist singing.”

  “You make it sound so simple. But Tito’s family is rich and powerful. They will not simply hand over his bride because I ask. Or even because of The Inferno. Nor will Julietta’s family be happy that the bastard of Santa Lucia wishes to marry their daughter. They will cause trouble for us. Even my own family will be opposed to the match.”

  Nonno brushed the comment aside with a wave of his hand. “The Dantes are rich and powerful, as well. We can handle whatever trouble comes our way.”

  “I don’t know.” Rom frowned in concern. “Taking Tito’s bride… It’s dishonorable.”

  “It is not dishonorable to right a wrong. If this young woman has feelings for you, then marrying Tito would be wrong.”

  Rom shot to his feet and paced beneath the moonlight, his steps ringing against the flagstone pathway. “We’ve only just met. How can we trust what we’re feeling?” Doubts filled him. “What if we’re mistaken?”

  “The Inferno is never wrong,” Nonno said simply. “Never.”

  “Then what must I do?” He turned to face his grandfather. “How do I convince Julietta to break her vow and dishonor her family? She and Tito wed in a week.”

  “It’s very simple.” Nonno grinned. “You steal her away.”

  Chapter Three

  “Caio, Rom! Come va?”

  The call came from the far side of the wall bordering the Ranieri home. Rom glanced up from the herb bed he was weeding, instantly recognizing Tito’s voice. His grandfather did, as well, and gave him tacit permission to join his friend with an understanding nod. Rom brushed off his trousers and rinsed his hands beneath the cool water of the garden pump, before exiting through a nearby gate. One look at his boyhood friend and, despite his betrayal, he couldn’t help smiling.

  “I’m doing well enough, Tito. How are you, old friend?”

  “Old.” He laughed and slung an arm around Rom’s neck, yanking him in for a quick hug and a slap on the back. “And soon to be both older and married, God help me.”

  “Unbelievable. How did such a thing happen?”

  “Caffè first, no? There is a new shop in Santa Lucia that serves a wonderful espresso. Caffè dell’Amore it’s called. It will give us a chance to catch up.”

  “Sounds perfect. Let me grab your engagement ring, and I’ll be right with you.”

  The walk into town gave them the opportunity to exchange the latest gossip and news, though Rom noticed his friend pointedly avoided all mention of Julietta. A short time later, they found the shop just off the piazza and ordered drinks, along with a plate of bomboloni. They decided to eat outside at a small café table where they could enjoy the early morning sunshine. Tito spent the next half hour greeting the steady stream of locals who passed by, all the while devouring both portions of the donuts they’d purchased.

  Eventually, he noticed Rom’s amusemen
t and grinned. “All this talking and eating, shades of my babbo, no? Soon I will be as fat as he is.”

  Rom went with diplomacy and ignored the latter part of his friend’s statement. “One day you’ll step into your father’s shoes. It’s important to develop your own contacts with the people of Santa Lucia.”

  Tito added a few more sugar cubes to his coffee. “I won’t be stepping into my father’s shoes if I become a vintner. I’ll be far too busy driving your stepfather, Luigi, out of business.” He lifted a dark eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischievous laughter. “You will not mind, will you?”

  Rom shrugged. “There’s enough business for everyone.” He hesitated, then decided to push the topic of most interest to him. “I understand the vineyard belongs to the family of your bride-to-be.”

  “Julietta Bianchi, yes. Her poor babbo has no sons to help him, only an endless stream of daughters. Taking care of the vines all on his own has become too difficult for him, so he agreed to sell his precious land if I take one of his daughters off his hands.”

  “It must have been difficult to pick from so many.”

  Tito made a face. “They gave me no choice. I liked the eldest, but Signora Bianchi insisted it be Julietta. Still, she is a beautiful girl. They tell me she will make a good wife.”

  “Why wouldn’t they let you have the older one?”

  “She is meant to become a Bride of Christ.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “More’s the pity.”

  “But—”

  Tito swept a hand through the air. “It is done. When you meet Julietta tonight you will see I didn’t do too badly for myself.” He signaled for the waiter to bring more coffee. “Are you going to show me the ring or keep it a secret until the party?”

  Now that the moment had come, he didn’t want to give Tito the ring, not when it was meant for Julietta. To allow his ring to link his woman to another roused an impotent fury he could barely contain. “I have it,” he admitted reluctantly. He removed the box from his pocket and set it on the table between them. “I’m to tell you my cousin Donato crafted it.”