Surviving Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  She shivered in his arms at the memory of the pope thrusting that sword down the pipe Salvio had disappeared through and found herself agreeing. “The three of them did use the word ‘inquisition’ liberally.”

  He grazed his lips over her shoulder before pulling her in for a delicious kiss. “Okay. Stay here and save your women. I’ll stay, too, see what I can find out about the Alithinían Church, get a better understanding of who’d be loyal to Salvio. Or, maybe he just put a hefty bounty on your head.”

  “That can’t be it. A while back I took charge of the entire Scortini estate.”

  “Good for you. You’re the last Scortini. It’s yours.”

  “So, I don’t see where he could get the money to pay people to kill me.”

  “None of this makes sense yet. He certainly wanted the Veronas dead. It stands to reason they’re still in danger, too.” Gio pulled one of her bare legs across his and stroked it thoughtfully.

  “Well, if you find out who he paid, let them know I’ll pay more to stay alive.”

  “Buy your way out of a contract? That usually isn’t done. But maybe he hired mercenaries, and then you could just make your fee more attractive to them. He’s not alive to hire any others.”

  “Either way, I’m not letting a plan hatched by my late husband stop me from living my life. I’ve got plans of my own. I’ve asked Genero Tosca to help me turn part of my palazzo into another women’s shelter.”

  He looked impressed. “Tosca? The new head of the Venetian Builders? He’s the man.”

  “Sì, he and Mayor Buonocore helped me get the last one built.”

  “You’ve got powerful friends—and plenty of spunk, little girl.”

  A brief flash of lightning brightened the room, illuminating him on the bed. Without his conservative business suit, Giancarlo Petrosino looked like a darkly handsome angel. She registered that a big part of her attraction to him was the way he looked at her—like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, like she was precious to him. The haunting sound of the acqua alta siren began blipping four tones outside the windows, and it echoed crazily between the buildings.

  “Hear that? You’re not walking anywhere. The water is deepening. Soon, people will be mid-thigh out there.” He gripped her thigh with a powerful hand and kissed her neck.

  There was a knock on the door and Primo announced, “Your breakfast. Want me to bring it in?”

  Gina felt a wave of relief when she turned in her exam booklet. She’d been struggling to ignore distractions all morning in school.

  One: The storms that had been drenching Venice the entire month of November suddenly intensified, shaking the ancient windows of Ca’ Foscari University and making the lights flicker ominously.

  Two: Most of her fellow students reeked of wet wool and body odor, so she’d had to keep flicking droplets of homemade fragrance onto her arm to make the overheated classroom miasma bearable.

  Three: Beatrix Knutsdatter—who hated her for some reason—had selected a seat next to Gina’s. Every time she completed a question, she let out a Heh!, tossed her overly-styled blonde hair, and grinned a veneer-toothed grin at Gina, as if this exam were a competition and each exclamation meant “Top that one!” But this test was critical, so Gina had let her chin-length brown bob fall in a curtain to block Beatrix from view and tried not to think about the fourth thing.

  Four: This afternoon she was going to have sex with the most glamorous man in Venice, the only son of Venice’s founding family, Count Vincenzo Verona…and his secret gay lover, Leonardo Trentori. Well, she wasn’t sure what Leonardo’s role would be precisely and had to keep forcing her mind to return to her exam.

  After handing in her booklet, she moved to the door to claim her long hooded coat from a peg and heard her friends hurrying behind her.

  “Gina, are you coming with us? Or do you have to work at the flower shop?”

  “You smell delicious! Another new concoction?”

  “Think you got another perfect score, Gina?”

  Then Beatrix’s haughty-yet-bored German accent. “She did not have Contessa Verona to take ze test for her, so maybe she failt.”

  Diego got defensive. “Gina doesn’t cheat. She probably knows more about the phytochemicals in flower pollen than il proffesore. In case you didn’t know, her whole family works in natural chemistry.”

  Dot’s voice joined. “Sì, Gina’s great grandfather attended Ca’ Foscari the year it opened.”

  “Ugh, zen I guess Great Grandpa No-Von-Cares vas too far in his grave to git her into Ca’ Foscari. Zuh queen of Venice hat to do zat.”

  “You’re just jealous because Gina and la Contessa Juliette are friends,” Diego shot back.

  “Dunt be stoopit, Juliette Verona gave Gzzh-een-ah charity for zih same reason she opent zat homeless shelter. She takes pity on pitiful people. Zay are not friends. Gzzh-een-ah is just a Verona groupie.”

  Gina zipped up her coat as she answered the questions posed to her. “I have a commitment, I’m sorry, I can’t join you. I’m wearing a scent Marie Antoinette used to wave under her nose when unwashed dignitaries sat near her. And I think I did fine on the test.”

  Gina maneuvered around students who were struggling into wet galoshes. She was wearing shiny thigh-high black rubber boots that looked like patent leather. Almost as fabulous as the ones Juliette wore, these had a modest heel and looked beautiful even when dodging puddles but, most importantly, kept her socks dry. She’d saved up for four months to buy them.

  She followed the flow of bodies into the hallway, but before the cacophony of squeaking boots and thudding feet drowned her out, she heard Beatrix say, “I dunt know vat commitment she could have. Can’t be a guy. No von vants to fuck a titt-less boy-girl.”

  Gina ignored the jab at her lack of curves and pulled her hood up. Outside, the pedestrian flood platforms were higher in this area, but the water rose above them in some places. Like her fellow students, she rejected umbrellas as torture devices used by tourists to gouge at the eyes of Venetians and avoided tourist areas whenever possible. Instead, she traveled less-known calles with her hood up looking like a one of many druids moving anonymously through the stormy Veneto. Excited now, she sloshed a secret zigzagging route toward the Grand Canal, avoiding the lower calles that were completely submerged. Hurrying past homes whose first floors were flooded, she took pity on an old man who was climbing out his window and stopped to help him safely down into his boat, which was floating at the height of the windowsill. Waving off his offers to pilot her home, she knew the vaporetto would be the fastest way to the other side of the city. She’d have just enough time to shower and change before her first surrogacy appointment. Is that what I’m calling it?

  The Veronas had been an obsession of hers since her first evening in Venice. She wasn’t a groupie…was she? She certainly wasn’t unique. Everyone in Venice was crazy about their founding family. They were the ultimate in subdued style and gracious manners.

  She’d just moved into the little apartment in the Arsinale sestiere over by Campo San Martino and had been walking to Ca’ Foscari University when she saw the Verona Palazzo all lit up. People were greeting a handsome man in his fifties, Count Gabrieli Verona, the unofficial king of Venice. He called back to each of them by name and got into a friendly conversation with a group of people when his wife, Contessa Juliette, approached just as Gina was passing. La Contessa had slowed down to ask how people were doing, inquired after people by their names, and opened her arms for a child who promptly climbed into them. Impromptu al fresco gatherings happened regularly in the shadow of the fairy tale Verona palazzo.

  When it had come time to look for a job, Gina applied at the flower shop diagonally across the canal from their palazzo. Being in close proximity made her feel somehow connected to them, more than just an admirer who followed their comings and goings in the local news. But she’d never dreamed Contessa Juliette would be her first customer and become her most trusted friend. The day
after they met, she received her first call from Ippy, Juliette’s secretary, inviting Gina to accompany Juliette to a social event. Similar invitations continued with surprising frequency and regularity, but nothing prepared Gina for last night’s intimate and urgent invitation.

  Juliette had called and asked Gina to bear her a grandchild by Vincenzo.

  “Why are you asking this? Vincenzo has a wife who’s pregnant with his child.”

  “No. Vincenzo is a homosexual, and Giselle is his…”

  “Beard?”

  “Sì, a disguise. The child is not Vincenzo’s, and for reasons I will share someday, it is crucial that the house of Verona lives on…in particular Vincenzo’s bloodline. With that murdering Salvio hunting us, we cannot wait any longer. Is this a good time of the month for you to try to conceive?”

  A quick glance at her calendar showed she was just entering her window of fertility and, without giving it much thought, she’d agreed to be the mother of Juliette’s grandchild—which Juliette had explained needed to be done the old-fashioned way. As devout Catholics, medical intervention for procreation was strictly prohibited.

  Now, the thought of sex with Vincenzo kicked Gina’s heartbeat into a herky-jerky rhythm almost in time with the heavy raindrops drumming on her hood. In less than two hours, she was going to the apartment Vincenzo secretly shared with Leonardo—who was his accountant and so much more.

  Vincenzo was twenty-four, tall, dark and more beautiful than handsome, with big brown eyes rimmed with sweeping black lashes, and he topped every “sexiest man” list published. Until last night, Gina had believed that Vincenzo was happily married to his high school sweetheart, French bad-girl artiste du monde Giselle Forêt, whose beauty took Gina’s breath away. Although it wasn’t public knowledge, Gina knew Giselle was pregnant. While Vincenzo and Leo worked tirelessly donating millions to humanitarian and environmental causes, Giselle donated every cent from her sculptures to similar causes.

  And now Gina would be family! Sort of.

  She got into line at the vaporetto stop and held her transportation card, a gift from Juliette, up to the scanner just as the boat approached and its slickered crew performed the treacherous dance of lashing it to the pier with ropes. As she stepped aboard, the boat heaved, and a sheet of water cascaded off the roof. The sound startled her, but she stayed dry, unlike nearby passengers lacking hooded long coats, who let out shrieks as icy rainwater poured down their collars and into the tops of their boots.

  She found a seat for the twenty-minute ride to her side of the city and thought about Vincenzo’s call late last night. Gina had only seen him a handful of times at society functions she’d attended with Juliette.

  He’d sounded tired. “Gina, it’s Vincenzo. May I put Leonardo on speaker with us?”

  She’d tried not to sound too eager. “Of course.”

  “Ciao, Gina.” Leonardo’s voice was softer than Vincenzo’s.

  “I understand my mother has discussed our situation with you.” Vincenzo sounded uncertain, which made him seem vulnerable.

  “Sì, and may I say how sorry I am for your loss? Your father was a great man.”

  “Sì, we’re still in shock.”

  “Juliette told me Salvio Scortini is hunting your family.”

  “I’ve just learned Salvio’s been killed.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “But the police just told us I’m still in danger.”

  “Oh, no. That’s not good.”

  “No. So, it’s time to have a child in case something happens to me.”

  “I’m absolutely up for it. The women of my family are very fertile.” She’d clapped her hand over her mouth and stifled a groan. What made her say that?

  Leonard said, “Gina, Juliette tells us you’re able to start trying tomorrow.”

  “Sì, tomorrow’s the first day of my…er…fertility phase.” This was such a new subject, the words sounded strange. “She asked me to promise to try for six days straight to ensure the best chances of pregnancy.”

  “Sì, we promised the same.” Vincenzo let out a long exhale and then said in a small voice, “I’ve never been with a woman…but I made a promise to mama that I’d make it good for you.” His voice trailed off.

  “Ah, sì, that was considerate of Juliette.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Leonardo began, “I could help put you at ease and hopefully make it enjoyable for both of you.”

  “Ah, okay.” She’d fallen back against her pillows thinking she must have fallen asleep while studying. She’d pinched herself as Vincenzo asked her to come over the next day. “Would four o’clock work for you?”

  “Sì.”

  She was startled back to the present by an old man’s cry. “Who the fuck was that rat Scortini? Nobody knew him!”

  An angry voice shot back, “Thought he was too good for people! Why he gotta kill the count?”

  The Verona palazzo came into view and the buzz of regular ambient conversation died away. The vaporatto’s pilot tolled his bell as they passed the palace, whose rooftop balustrades and gates were now draped in black. Murmurs of “Riposa in pace, Gabrieli” rose around her, and hands fluttered as people crossed themselves.

  She thought of Salvio Scortini, the madman who’d been targeting the Veronas. Headlines announced that he’d been shot in the head last night, but not before he’d stabbed his own valet to death. Everyone believed he’d killed Count Gabrieli, but police had little evidence in that murder. The papers said there was an investigation into all of Salvio’s probable crimes and whether he’d acted alone.

  Gina thought of Juliette, so tireless and generous. Her graduation gift to Gina had been a fully paid tuition to university with a seat in the prestigious advanced chemistry and biology courses which had been Gina’s reason for coming to live in Venice. While she was confident she’d earned the place on her own, she had no qualms about allowing Juliette to cement the position through her influence. Gina’s mother always said, “When Providence opens a door, never hesitate to walk through it.”

  The vaporetto conductor called, “Arsinale!” as they docked at her stop. She grasped the handrail as she stepped onto the rocking platform that was attached to the pier. Not only were the waves heaving it with rhythmic jolts, but the temperature had dropped, and a thin sheet of ice glazed the surfaces. Her side of the island was relatively deserted with few tourist shops and no locals sitting out in the campos.

  Arriving at her little apartment, she stripped, showered, and changed into a slate-blue skirt with a smoky purple sweater set. She pulled on fresh warm socks, then her boots, and crossed the minutely slanting floorboards to her vanity table. A quick brush of her precise chestnut-brown bob and she was done with her hair. She decided to take a cue from Vincenzo’s wife, who never wore any makeup, and forgo attempting to apply cosmetics. She looked down at her hands. Her nails were shaped and buffed—she was proud of her hands—and right now she was grateful they weren’t shaking.

  What if I can’t get pregnant? What if I over-promised and I let Juliette down? What if my womb is stubborn and refuses to produce? She mentally shook herself. That’s not helpful. I’m going to do everything in my power to live up to my promise.

  The chirping alarm on her watch told her it was time to go. She turned to the selection of handmade fragrances on the low glass shelf before her and selected a flacon filled with a mixture she’d whipped up as soon as she’d gotten off the phone with Juliette last night. It was one of her great-grandmother’s recipes that she’d retrieved from her box of supplies and ingredients sent from an apothecary in Avebury in Wiltshire where her family had lived for generations.

  This fragrance was an exquisitely subtle, and incredibly long-lasting mixture of lavender, verdant herbs, citrus oils, human male pheromones, and a touch of wolf essence that had been procured by massaging the underbellies of wolves—immediately after coming off females—with cheesecloth and then distilling those oils.

  She u
nscrewed the silver cap, withdrew the applicator and stroked the wand along her wrists, the back of her knees, and along the back of her neck. Then, in the spirit of today’s adventure, she lifted her skirt and stroked it across her lower abdomen, then parted her legs and stroked the insides of her thighs for good measure. Time to get pregnant.

  As she stepped outside, the last of the early winter sun vanished, extinguished by a bank of clouds sliding across the darkening sky. Far off thunder rumbled, and fat drops of rain made plotter-plottering sounds on her hood as she pulled it over her head.

  It had been three months since she’d had sex with her friend Diego’s older brother on the night before he moved to Spain. It had been very nice, and she hoped what was about to happen would be enjoyable. Gina headed to the toniest apartment building in Venice’s most exclusive sestiere.

  Mateo leaned over the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on his face, his fingers scrubbing over the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks. He slid his hands up to his scalp and felt the beginnings of stubble there, too. He took a deep shuddering breath and tried to swallow around the hot lump in his throat, almost choking as the tears came back. Dio mio! They’ve murdered Salvio! After the eons in hiding from Peter’s assassins, they’re closer than ever to wiping is out!

  He stared out the safe house’s rear window and could barely make out the trees of Parco Savorgnan through the sheeting rain. The park was flooded and deserted so, conveniently, nobody had seen one of their church members use a trellis to cover the broken window in the back bedroom. Yesterday they’d plummeted from the heights of elation when Salvio had finally succeeded in killing Gabrieli Verona, to the pit of utter desolation when they’d lost two men inside Raphielli Scortini’s women’s shelter, then another two men in France where Benjamin’s brother Bernardo was arrested, and then someone had assassinated Salvio. The night had ended with the horrible discovery that Benedetta—possibly carrying Salvio’s child—had broken out of the safe house and run away.