Surviving Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

“Also, Protestants, Jews, scientists, even doctors. She doesn’t look like she practices witchcraft, but the Catholics hunted them, too.”

  Luigi started on his second piece of cake and could feel the sugar doing him good. “I don’t want to hand her over to her parents. They bartered her virginity—her body—her womb—away to a monster. They should be in jail. She needs a fresh start with parents who’ll protect her.”

  “Okay,” she said as if he’d asked her for a favor. “She can live with us.”

  He stared at his wife, a little woman with a trace of last night’s mascara that her night cream failed to remove shadowing under her lashes, crow’s feet beginning at the side of her eyes, and he wondered what he looked like to her. They knew each other so well.

  “Only if she wants to,” he said. “Do you want to be a mother?”

  “An instant mother and grandmother.” She gave it some thought and then just said, “I can see she’s very special.”

  “She’s quite a girl.”

  “What was Salvio Scortini like? I mean, Raphielli seems sweet. He couldn’t have been as bad as they say in the news. Did he really kill all those people? Like Count Verona? How’d he get past the bodyguard?”

  Oh boy, I’ve unleashed a badger. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “Salvio’s dead. You can tell me some of it.”

  “You already know I think Salvio is guilty of several murders, including Count Gabrieli Verona. Salvio was vicious, cunning, and lightning fast. That’s how he got past people’s defenses.”

  “But what was he like?” she persisted.

  “Here’s something to chew on. Raphielli told me she’d never seen him naked.”

  “She was married to him for a couple of years! Not even in bed?

  “Nope. Couldn’t tell me if he had any birthmarks, scars, or tattoos.”

  “What goes on in those spooky old palazzos?”

  “And there’s none spookier than the Scortini Palazzo,” he said as he got up to refill his mug.

  Luigi thought about the little old lady, Nejla, and wondered what her connection to Salvio was. No way she was a hit man or still fertile enough to be carrying one of his babies. The TSA verified that she’d gotten off flights at JFK and Portland. The agent had strolled behind her as she walked out of the Portland airport and was picked up by someone who’d approached her. She seemed relaxed, or maybe just tired as she climbed into a reddish Ford 4-wheel drive pickup with big tires. The license plate was obscured by snow and they’d driven off down Westbrook Street, disappearing into Portland holiday traffic.

  “What do you want for Christmas, Luigi?” His wife had taken their plates and was heading to the sink to wash them.

  “Other than Pocket Coffees? A new mattress.”

  “Ooh! Are you getting a bonus from Inspector Laszlo?”

  “No, we’ll dig into savings. We deserve a nice bed.”

  “I agree. But stores are closed and you need to rest up, maybe take a long nap. How about we sprawl on the couch and watch an old movie? I’ve got some gnocchi in the fridge and I can make a Gorgonzola cream sauce for dinner.”

  The thought of her one excellent dish of melting butter, heavy cream, and blue cheese made him get on board with her plan. “You got it. Maybe I’ll take a hot bath later.”

  “Bene, bene, you go get on the couch and find a black and white movie. I’ll bring you the blankets from the bedroom.”

  He went and lowered himself onto the couch and put his feet up. He hadn’t done this during the day since he’d been young—waiting to hear if he’d been hired by the police department. What was it? Twenty-five years ago? He thought about his parents. His father had worked himself almost to an early grave and then retired to a quiet seaside life. He seemed to be pulling a Benjamin Button and getting more youthful every time they went down for a weekend. He’d started out just sitting and admiring the sea, then watching bocce in the square, then playing the game, and now he was whipping little wicker balls around on a jai alai court. Luigi couldn’t imagine where his father was getting his energy as he laid his pulsing head on the sofa pillow, gratefully accepted blankets, and pulled them up to his chin.

  Raphielli and Paloma eyed the array of cold breakfast offerings that had been set out for them, buffet style in the breakfast room. The two women were left on their own for Christmas breakfast while Alphonso and Zelph celebrated with their family, and Dante, Rosa and the part-time cook spent the morning with their loved ones.

  The two were bundled up in warm robes and booty slippers while they perused the buffet. Paloma started stacking her plate with little bites. “I don’t know if any of this should be eaten together, but I’m having a berry blintz, some lox and cucumber with some of that white stuff with the green stuff, and ooh, the cold shrimp with the cocktail sauce, and what is this? Sweet rice pudding? And pastries?”

  Raphielli poured them coffee and added heaping spoons of whipped cream from a silver bowl that was resting in a block of ice, then she took her plate to the buffet. But staring at the outrageous mixture of flavors, she selected only a small bowl of pudding and a bran muffin.

  They’d just sat down to the table with an air of girls having a tea party when Raphielli’s phone played dramatic organ chords.

  “Fu-- I mean woah!” Paloma startled. “That’s some ringer! I almost dropped my coffee!”

  “Ugh. Cardinal Negrali,” she said. “Let’s ignore it.”

  “Do you dare? Can’t he send people directly to Hell?”

  The phone stopped ringing, and they’d just started on their breakfast when her phone emitted the dramatic organ chords again.

  “Oh, for the love of Christ! I don’t think he’s used to getting voice mail,” Paloma said.

  Raphielli hit the answer button. “Pronto, padre.”

  “Raphielli! You missed mass last night! What happened?” He sounded both exasperated and offended.

  “I went with some friends.”

  “We would have welcomed them. You’re like my own daughter and…how do you think it made me look?”

  “What?” It came out sounding angry, and she pulled the phone away from her ear to glare at it.

  “I mean, everyone could tell I was worried sick. You didn’t call…to tell me you would miss the service. You belong in your own house of worship for services like that.”

  She felt a stab of chagrin at her thoughtlessness. But the next second, she felt he was deliberately trying to make her feel small and she resented it. “I know you don’t like me being on my own. I’m trying to make some solid friendships, surround myself with good people I can trust, and I had a lovely time at their church.”

  “Er, oh, as long as you’re all right. So, I'll come over and hear your confession in about an hour…”

  “That won’t work for me. I’ve got other commitments today, being Christmas and all. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at my office.”

  By the time she terminated the call, Paloma had almost finished her plate. “So, onto a completely non-spiritual topic, did I hear right that Tosca thinks you can have some women move in here before the end of March?”

  “You did. Apparently, the dorm rooms and the common rooms, even the kitchen in that wing just needed some reconfiguring. It’s really making the new shelter entrance, upgrading the lighting, and Ivar’s skylights that’s taking the most time and labor. The second location of Porto delle Donne will be open before too much longer.”

  “Can I help with staffing?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I need a job, and although I’ve never had a fancy job like this, I’m organized, and I’m thorough. Kate has a lot on her plate with evaluating the women who you’ll accept as residents, so maybe she could use my help to find staff for this location. I promise never to swear on the job.”

  “I’m mostly the silent partner so I’ll check with her, okay?”

  “Deal,” Paloma said. “Hey, Dante’s in charge of the house staff here. Will he be helping Ka
te?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t want to make him feel ignored. Maybe the final shelter staff candidates can be interviewed by him…as a courtesy.”

  Raphielli eyed Paloma’s damaged hair. “Speaking of fancy jobs, I got some advice from Tosca once…that I needed to look more professional. I took it. Now I’ll pass it on. You’ll need some good clothes.”

  “Tosca told you that?”

  “I was mortified, but it wasn’t just him, it was also Juliette and Kate. But who’s counting? Anyway, when Kate gives her approval, how about I give you a signing bonus for the new job, and you can get some clothes to wear while interviewing applicants. And maybe the Lombardi Salon can fix your hair.”

  Paloma gave her a deadpan look. “What? My Johnny Rotten style won’t work?”

  “I’m sure it looked great when you did it, but it needs to be freshened up and perhaps re-styled.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Raphielli went over to the buffet and thought about Gio, who was back in Palermo until tomorrow. She wished she was having one of their leisurely breakfasts in bed at the Aman.

  Christmas day started off early with a bang for Gina and the boys, literally. Then they all flew back to Venice where Juliette hurried off to prepare breakfast and distribute gifts to the residents and staff of her homeless shelter, Rifugia della Dignità. Gina and the boys were on their own for the morning. They had a good feeling that they were pregnant and felt like celebrating, so the boys took her out for a decadent Christmas breakfast at Caffè Florian on Piazza San Marco. Vincenzo’s bodyguard sat at a table with an unobstructed view of the restaurant and the piazza, and as always, unless anyone knew better, no one would guess he was with them.

  She and the boys were seated under the arcade bundled in warm coats and boots. Anna Rita, the floor manager, had provided a faux fur lap blanket for Gina, and the waiters brought out gleaming tiered trays of food that were works of art. She felt as if she were part of the family she’d admired for so long—maybe it was their silly declaration of success. Sitting between the boys, anyone looking at them could tell they were close, but nothing about their manner suggested sexuality. The boys were very good at projecting wholesomeness. She gave them permission to surprise her with dessert and excused herself to go to the restroom. She was washing her hands when she heard a familiar voice speaking in German, and in walked Beatrix.

  Pocketing her phone, she stared at Gina. “Look. Who. It. Iss. Gzzh-een-ah. You are delivering flowers to the toilet?” She had a darker spray tan than usual, and after checking her reflection in the mirror, she started petting the fur collar on her coat.

  “No, Horace’s is closed for the holiday. I’m here with friends.”

  “Pretty steep prices for Diego, unless perhaps he has snuck in some of his father’s potato chips. That is what they serve at his Vhite Lion?”

  “Diego is out of town. I’m here with the Veronas.”

  “Of course you are,” she said slowly with wide innocent eyes as if she was speaking to a delusional mental patient.

  Just then Gina’s pocket vibrated, and she pulled out her phone. It was Juliette on FaceTime. “Pronto, Juliette.”

  “My darling, we are home now. Casimir and I are in the kitchen. Do you prefer spinach or chard in the strata?”

  “I’m sure either would be good.”

  Beatrix leaned in and peered at the phone screen as the pope waved a bunch of leafy greens in each hand. “No, we want your favorite. If you like kale, we have some of that,” the holy father said.

  “The chard in your right hand looks perfect,” Gina said.

  “We agree. Now, come home. We have gifts to open,” the pope and Juliette said in unison.

  “Sì, grazie, ti amo,” Gina replied and then disconnected the call.

  “That was ze pope!” Beatrix gawped.

  Without saying another word, Gina pocketed her phone, pushed the door open, and fled back to the table. The Caffè Florian orchestra had begun to play “White Christmas,” and waiters served her an extravagant hot chocolate mounded with ice cream. On the table was a tiered silver tray bearing Sacher Florian cake sheathed in layers of dark chocolate alongside flights of macarons in every color. The boys were served something hot and alcoholic, and just as they raised their glasses in a toast, Beatrix appeared in front of their table, blocking their view of the orchestra.

  “Ciao! Gzzh-een-ah said she vas here with friends. I am Beatrix Knudsdatter. I have several classes with Gzzh-een-ah.”

  In the past, Gina had mentioned how nasty Beatrix could be, and the boys leaned in closer to her.

  “Vincenzo,” he said while offering a curt nod.

  “Leonardo,” he said without bothering to smile.

  Unperturbed, Beatrix continued, “I am about to catch a flight to Berlin, but we should get drinks together when I return.”

  Gina knew it would be rude for the boys to reject that offer and felt her shoulders slump. But the boys just went back to their drinks and ignored Beatrix until she left. After she was out of sight, Leonardo turned to Gina. “Hey, that mean girl really upsets you. What is it?”

  “She called me a…” she felt humiliated at the recollection.

  “What? Could it be so bad?”

  “…a Verona groupie….in front of a classroom full of people.”

  “Ah, she’s very good at the attack,” Vincenzo said. “She’s taken away your legitimacy as a part of our household by labeling you a hanger-on.”

  “What an awful person,” Leonardo muttered.

  “And it couldn’t be further from the truth.” Vincenzo looked deep into her eyes. “Gina, you are family, you’re helping make our family, and somehow we’ll find a way to claim you.”

  On Christmas morning, Hiero hadn’t heard anything from Negrali, which he took to mean the old cardinal had failed to get Raphielli under control and therefore was no closer to handing over the paintings. The top cardinal must have his scarlet undergarments in a twist because he was no closer to wresting the helmsmanship of Verdu Mer away from Contessa Juliette Verona, either. In fact, just this morning the pope had put out a press release on Verdu Mer’s progress, and it was a real knock out. Apparently, Juliette and her Ukrainian buddy, Ivar Czerney, had just completed the underwater infrastructure for one whole section and were ready to begin demolition of the final streets so the last of the underwater renovation could begin. The model home that represented the housing being built throughout Verdu Mer was racking up more architectural and engineering accolades than any other home in Italian history. Negrali’d better get his coup in gear and replace Juliette, or her place at the top of Verdu Mer would be cemented and no amount of lobbying would pry her fingers off the project.

  Hiero thought about Venice and the Veronas. The pope’s movements were always kept secret. He traveled with a personal contingent of the Swiss Guard headed by Alberto, his personal head of security. But Ecclesia Dei was aware that this pope, like those before him, spent a lot of time in il Veneto living at the Verona’s palazzo.

  In anticipation of Negrali repeating his request to kill Juliette, Hiero decided to sneak into the papal archives to see what the pope’s private documents would reveal. He left the Central Administration Office building and took some evasive measures until he gained access to the papal office. With the Holy Father away at a Christmas Day youth convention, Hiero took the keys out of the pope’s desk and headed down a back staircase to the pontiff’s private vault. Inside the vault, Hiero saw a painting labeled Saint Callixtus traveling with the Verona from the Iberian Peninsula to Rome for his inauguration.

  He paused and thought about the mind-bending quality of that family. Had they been at the side of every pope from the very beginning? That would mean that while popes were elected from all over the world, there was always the same family at their side. The Verona bloodline would be…an anthropological anomaly. He didn’t know if they were marrying their siblings or exactly how a family could survive a cou
ple of thousand years, but suddenly he wanted to kill off that lineage whether he got his gifts from Negrali or not. Just on principle. Of course, he wouldn’t tell Negrali that.

  Carolette could have used a few more hours sleep when the gang got up on Christmas morning. Yvania miraculously presented them with a breakfast spread in the dining hall, so she either didn’t need sleep or had prepared it in advance. They all tucked into the feast of breakfast casseroles, fluffy egg dishes, and a savory bread pudding made with that insane bread. Everyone had several cups of coffee to fortify their energy and soon, it was time to return across the border to France. Before they headed out to the sleighs, they handed over the gifts they’d brought for Markus and Giselle.

  Selma grinned as she handed a beautifully wrapped box to Giselle. “I was fishing for ideas when I asked you what you wished you could give to Markus. Here, it’s from you to him.”

  Giselle hugged her tight and then presented Markus with her late father’s watch, which he’d worn almost every day of his adult life. It survived because on the day of his death he’d worn his dress watch.

  Laetitia had tears in her eyes as she handed a box to Markus. He got on one knee before Giselle and presented it to her. She opened it to reveal an elegant ring, a sparkling oval peridot with one trillion-cut diamond on each side.

  “Will you marry me, Giselle? Be my wife.”

  “Oui! It’s beautiful!”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  Yvania said, “I sent Laetitia my key to our Paris home when she offered to get the ring for Markus.”

  Laetitia was wiping her eyes. “It was nothing. I was just going to see Pierre for a weekend, you know.”

  They all got teary-eyed as Giselle and Markus hugged and kissed.

  Then Carolette handed a box each to Giselle and Markus. “And from me because I know you two can’t get enough.”

  Giselle opened hers to find a full array of Nyakio skin care products, and Markus opened his to reveal a honey pot and wand. Giselle was grateful for her gift, and Markus rolled his eyes at his.