“We were about to leave when I looked through the window and noticed a young blonde woman stepping off a gondola…” Bella turns to Mattia, she slips her hand on his shoulder. He all but sneers at this gesture of intimacy. “Is that Signorina Leone?” said I. Why yes, I believe it is!”
“The sight of a falcon, has she not?” Mattia mutters, studying her with a sideways glance.
“How are you holding up these days, my dear?” Bella reaches for my hand with feigned concern. “Such a dreadful thing… There is the makings of a legend, said I to our Mattia. To die young, and such a talented man too.”
“I… do not know what you mean.” I frown.
“Why, Carlo Ricci’s death, of course!” Bella seems genuinely shocked by my declared ignorance.
“No… That cannot be true,” I muse, lightning strikes inside my stomach.
“Oh, my dear! Did you not know?” Bella asks. “He was found dead outside some brothel… I am afraid he did not take well the loss of Syneca Fiori.”
A sudden wave of nausea hits my palate. But I have no time to lose. With all the stealth I am able to muster, I slip my hand over Mattia’s arm. “I must speak to you,” I say to him in confidence.
Carlo Ricci, dead. I cannot breathe.
“I am afraid whatever matters concern you with Mattia will have to wait.” Bella glides her hand over Mattia’s arm, sweeping mine away. “For as you can see, we are engaged elsewhere. And, we are already running late. But I guess that is to be expected upon such a busy day. It seems everyone must receive our Mattia in their home today.”
Our Mattia? Something in this picture is amiss, or rather terribly off. The closeness Bella wishes to project clashes against Mattia’s clear rejection of her. Whatever game is happening between them, I want no part of it.
“Oh, well… I suppose everyone who is anyone in La Serenissima wishes to secure their place in tonight’s celebration,” Bella adds with a sigh.
“Celebration?” I ask, falling into her trap.
“His name day, of course!” She utters a short laugh, light and crisp—not detestable at all, which is amazingly disappointing. “Mattia’s name is such a treasure… Do you know its meaning?”
I shake my head in a negative gesture.
“Gift of God.” She smirks. “Indeed, such a gift…”
“Join us this evening,” he interrupts. Another gondola reaches the water gate. “Sing for us. I am sure everyone will be thrilled by the surprise. Will you come?”
“I will,” I say, hoping the event will grant us a moment alone. Bella already sinks her claws on him. So many demons surround us… Is there no escape from them? Mattia will not suffer the same fate as Syneca, Giovanni, and Carlo. I am determined.
“And you know, our dear friend, Duque Contarini will be there.” Bella gives me a teasing smile.
The pair steps inside the small vessel. Slowly, it drifts out of the water gate and into the serene waters of the Grand Canal.
Evening is but a few hours away.
“I look forward to seeing you tonight!” Mattia says holding his hat in the air. “Oh and, do wear your best dress! I do not wish to disappoint my guests!” slipping on his hat.
As the gondola glides away, taking the pair deeper into the horizon, I lean against the wall and hug my arms.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad that Mattia Moretti were swept off the face of the earth.
An exquisite black velvet gown embroidered with intricate golden brocade girds my frame, a shocking contrast with the ringlets of pale blonde hair that fall over my shoulders.
I am bold enough to wear deep rouge on my full lips, a pearl powdered face, and an alluring mouche on my cheek.
The Bonnemaison’s generosity knows no boundaries. The dress—as well as the jewels and makeup—was sent from Paris with the compliments of the snobbish pair.
But I’m thankful to Monsieur Bonnemaison for more than the clothes I wear. The man has arranged my first tour. Tickets have been sold for my performances in Florence, Rome, and Madrid. The tour finishes in Paris with a special presentation at Monsieur Bonnemaison’s manor.
The minute the offer came I took it without hesitation—I would give anything to be away from La Serenissima, away from Il Diavolo and his evil schemes.
“Everything I am today I owe to you, Samyaza…” I muse, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My gaze wanders about the room, certain that somehow he will materialize out of thin air. “But it was all a dream. And this is the beginning of the end of our dream.”
Bathed in the spectral moonlight that filters through the window, the black mask with black feathers gleams—torturing me, taunting me to take the final step that will estrange me from Il Diavolo forever… But will he be there? Who is to say he will come? Perhaps he’s been called upon abroad once more.
My fingers smooth over the black feathers. I take the mask in my hands.
One last look at the mirror. Will this work? Will wearing this mask somehow spare my soul from the flames of Hell? If the medico della peste mask is frightening enough to drive away the black death, then who’s to say a mask will not divide me from the Devil?
A knock on the door.
The hour has come.
Invariably, when I stop to consider this could have been my home and Mattia my husband, a slow shiver drops down my back.
Profuse candlelight glares with the smoke of incense and the swirling fumes of expensive cigarettes imported from Spain. Too crowded a room makes it seem small despite its vast dimensions. The warmth of candlelight and the flaming hearth is all but stifling. One step into the hall and my cheeks burn immediately.
Between the many faces, I recognize a few as La Serenissima’s most prominent aristocrats. But there is one that makes my heart freeze and the blood chill in my veins. Oh, that Time quickened its pace so I might be spared from this moment!
There he is, engaged in delightful conversation with one of his many admirers. Beware, I say to myself. Beware of this demon. But I cannot deny how pleasing it is seeing him once more. His alluring presence compels all eyes to him almost as I do when I reach the center of the room.
“You should not be here,” I all but hiss in his ear, casually passing beside him.
Samyaza is quick to disengage from his previous conversation. A single smile grants him every leniency, no matter the abruptness of his manners.
“And why should I not be here?” he purrs in my ear with a lascivious stare. “My presence in this room is legitimate as Mattia Moretti’s guest… Does seeing me displease you that much?”
“I know what you did,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I have no idea what you mean…” He shrugs with indolence. It makes my blood boil to witness such indifference, such disregard for human life.
“Carlo Ricci?” I challenge him to continue to play the part of fool.
“What about him?” Il Diavolo’s spite clings to every word.
“He was found dead this morning!” I all but hiss.
“Carlo Ricci was a drunkard and a fool,” he mutters. “Am I to answer for every man’s unfortunate choices? He cast the dice with his own hand, Letizia!”
“Stay away from Mattia,” I command.
“Ah! I see how it is.” He smirks, glancing away, towards the protagonist of our conversation. “Perhaps you are afraid I might do something to your beloved Mattia? Be at ease, tesoro mio. Though he deserves death like no other, my interests lie elsewhere.”
“As much as I would like, I cannot trust you.” I purse my lips.
“Oh, can’t you?” With the stealth of a thief, his fingers glide on my bare arm. Desire burns slowly inside me. Tempting as he is, I cannot indulge in his nearness. “Look at him. He is much engaged with Bella at present, would you not say?”
The pair indeed is bound by an invisible force. Though unwillingly, Mattia is compelled to sit beside her. Unless… “Are they…?”
“Mm…” Closing his eyes, Samyaza nods. “That pair has a
n ongoing deal. It does not bode well to interfere in a Fallen One’s affairs.” He pauses. “Do you see now why I would not hurt him?”
I nod.
“Does that please you?” he asks with a sultry voice. “I aim for nothing else, you know.” He stirs the glass in his hand and gives a final swig to his drink.
“Stop it,” I mutter.
“And here comes the man in question…” he adds, raising his brow with indolence.
“Letizia, I am glad to see you!” Mattia clasps his hands behind his back. “Bella suggested my rash manners might have steered you away from attending—”
“I am here, as you can see,” I interrupt.
“Yes, well…” he muses. “A moment of your attention please!” Mattia turns. Standing in the middle of the room, he becomes the cynosure of all eyes. “As you might have well noticed, we are fortunate to have amongst us a very special guest.” He signals towards me with a quick wave of his hand as if indeed I were a rarity, a most coveted prize (to whom he once bestowed the foulest of neglects).
“Brava, Letizia!” A voice cheers in the back of the room.
“Will she sing for us?” The question is chanted by a dozen men and women in unison.
Mattia raises his hands, pleading silence. “She will. But only because it is my name day!” Clapping his hands, he steps aside. One by one, the crowd folds back and I am left alone, standing before the musicians.
I whisper the song’s title to the musical ensemble, who seem pleased by the melody of my choice. Carefully, I fasten the mask, and when I turn to face an expecting horde, my gaze finds Samyaza, led by pure instinct. The clearest pride fills his sparkling green eyes.
Silence is broken when the violins, harpsichord, and flute play in absolute harmony. And my voice joins the melody with the first words of Signor Monteverdi’s Baci soavi e cari.
Baci soavi e cari,
cibi della mia vita
c'hor m'inviolate’or mi rendete il core.
Per voi convien ch'impari
come un'alma rapita
non sente il duol di mort'e pur si more.
1
Amidst the crowd, I recognize those who are not human. Their eyes light with the flames of hell, unfathomable ponds of fire and darkness.
But this time, something stirs within them other than delight and nostalgia for their lost Paradise. A sudden restlessness rises between them, an inexplicable unease.
At this point, it horrifies me to realize that a third of the room is comprised by The Fallen. Still, I carry on with the song.
Quant'ha di dolce amore,
perché sempr'io vi baci,
O dolcissime rose,
in voi tutto ripose.
Et s'io potessi ai vostri dolci baci
la mia vita finire
o che dolce morire!2
One by one, the Fallen become uncomfortable enough that they choose to leave. Careful not to make their absence obvious, their numbers diminish slowly, until none of them remains in the room—save one.
Skulking in the darkened corner of the great hall, Samyaza’s glistening eyes fill with tears, but he refuses to part his gaze from me.
By the time the song reaches the end, even Bella has disappeared from Palazzo Moretti—leaving a much relieved Mattia free from her claws.
An outstanding ovation resonates in the room as I sing the last words. A slight head bow is enough to call the evening.
In the distance, the clanking sound of the Marangona fills my heart with dread. The mask I wear is powerful enough to drive away The Fallen, but not him. Not Samyaza.
Oblivious to the missing guests, the crowd hurdles into smaller groups. Another melody is cast in the air, and so the time comes for me to leave.
“Letizia!” A soft tug at my wrist makes me look back.
Who is it? Is it Samyaza? My heart is about to explode in my chest.
“Thank you,” Mattia says with an earnest stare. “Grazie mille.”
I cannot decide the cause of his gratitude. Is it because I agreed to sing during his celebration? Or maybe—just maybe—his eyes have opened and he’s recognized The Fallen as I have, and he’s glad to be rid of them.
A brief smile, a curtsey, and I cross the threshold, leaving behind the luxurious feast… But I’m really leaving more than that, aren’t I?
1 Sweet and dear kisses,
sustenance of my life,
which now steal away, now give back my heart
for your sake, I must learn
how a stolen heart
feels no pain of dying and yet dies.
2 All that is sweet in love,
whenever I kiss you,
oh sweetest roses,
resides in you.
And if I could, with your sweet kisses,
end my life—
oh, what a sweet death!
Clutching the mask in one hand, and gliding the other over the marble balustrade, I rush down the lasts steps towards the mezzanine. My breath races, the beating of my heart quickens. I welcome the sudden breeze and it’s humid fragrance, its cold embrace is a relief from the hall’s unbearable heat.
“Letizia!” The voice echoes in the corridor.
Closing my eyes, I exhale and prepare myself for the unknown.
When I look back, I see him. Standing at the top of the stairs, with a tight jaw and heaving chest, furious as a wild beast. The glimmer of withheld tears disappears from his eyes and fills with a feral gleam.
For the first time since I met him, true fear takes hold of my heart.
“Why?” Within seconds, he reaches the foot of the stairs, quickly seizing my wrist before I can escape.
“Why did you do it?” he hisses.
“Stop! You are hurting me!” Jerking my arm, I become free from his grasp.
“This… mask…” he whispers, flicking the feathers with his fingers as if otherwise it might burn him. “Where did you get it? Who gave it to you?!”
“What does it matter?” I say dismissively. “What does any of it matter?” I turn and head to the water gate, but his hand lands on my bare shoulder. Samyaza’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip.
“It matters to me,” he mutters, moving around me. “Tell me where he is—the man who gave this to you!”
“Man?” I frown, stepping back.
His eyes widen with surprise. “I should have known,” he muses, sliding his hand away from my shoulder. Shaking his head, he huffs. “He knew I would never look for him in a woman… That vicious fiend.”
“What are you saying?” I am absolutely dumbfounded by his words. What new game is this?
“It does not signify,” he adds in a calmer voice.
“Promise me to never wear that mask again, or any object that he might have given you.”
How dare he ask such a thing from me? “I will not make such a promise.”
“Damned it be!” Frustrated beyond words, he grips me by the shoulders. “You must, Letizia!”
“You cannot make me!” I struggle to be free, tears looming in my eyes. In that moment, the old woman’s warning comes to my mind. And the deepest deception falls over me as I’m confronted with the truth.
“Of course I can,” he mutters.
“Listen to me carefully,” I say. “You no longer have a hold over me, Samyaza. I am no treasure of yours to play with. I will not become another captive butterfly in your secret room!”
And then, it happens. With a blank stare, he releases me. Samyaza backs away as if I carried the plague.
“Is it true then?” I demand to know, moving closer. “Are those creatures the hundreds of souls you have reaped?”
Samyaza’s evasive stare and his entire demeanor betray him. “What else did he tell you?” he asks in a whisper. “He is the foulest and lowest of beings… You cannot believe a word he says!”
The gondola draws closer to the water gate, and with it, my opportunity to flee.
“I will leave now,” I say with the serenity that
only springs from the deepest of sorrows. And though my heart breaks to witness the suffering in his defeat, I reach the water gate and call the gondoliere.
“This ends tonight, Samyaza.” I am determined. But hearing those words come from my mouth is as horrifying as it is reassuring.
“Oh no, tesoro mio…” he whispers, smoothing his hand over my jawline and his thumb over my lower lip. “It ends until I say it does.”
As I step into the gondola, fear grips me inside and out. My knees buckle before I sit. I clasp my hands together to conceal their trembling.
Slowly, I summon enough courage to take one last look at Il Diavolo. I expect to see him by the water gate, but there’s only darkness where he once stood.
In my dreams, I am haunted by the faces of those who have perished under Samyaza’s terrible will.
Giovanni, Syneca, Carlo… Who else will become part of this horrifying list of names? And what about the flutter of butterflies contained in the tower’s room, souls that I unknowingly reaped for Il Diavolo? I am as much to blame as him for their captivity.
The burden of my guilt presses over me. I am trapped and buried six feet deep beneath hundreds upon hundreds of rotting corpses. Despair fills the heart of the damned as thousands of their bloody arms push me further down into the pits of the Gehenna…
With panting breath, I wake from the dream and immediately sit on the bed. It takes a few minutes for me to gather my breath, but my heart beats out of control.
“All those souls…” I muse. “I must do something.”
Uncertain of my plan, I dress quickly. A single candle guides my way downstairs.
I move without making a sound. My brother sleeps, a few weeks away from becoming the happiest man on earth. He will marry Carina, and sorrow will never touch him again… I wish it may be so.
The full moon hangs high in the clear sky. Through empty campi and narrow streets, I move with the sole determination of becoming free from my burdens.
The Devil's Song Page 14