Venice in the Moonlight (15 page)

She leaned back from the table. Of everything he said, the last part held the most truth. No one cared that someone killed her father, which made her vow to bring the murderer to justice that much harder. Even if she found out who did it, she doubted anyone would believe her. And if they didn’t, she might wind up dead in an alley like her father.

Across from her, the old man’s head bobbed as he hummed a tune under his breath. The wine had taken over. She’d get no more answers today.

ack in the garden of the family’s villa, Nico held a sprig of lavender to his nose, thinking about what Marietta had said earlier. When he was younger, he had planned to do grand things with his life, at the very least further the Foscari name in political circles. He had wished to study in Paris and perhaps England. Men spoke more and more about enlightenment and the need for democracy. He had imagined himself shaping the future of Venice and even Italy and the rest of Europe. That all changed when his vision failed and his world became a sea of cloudy objects.

“There you are, Nikki!” Bella bounced down the path to him. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been around.”

“Have you been with your friend, Casanova? Did he speak of me?”

“Bella . . .” The last thing he wanted was for her to fall in love with Casanova.

“We had so much fun dancing the other night. I could look into his eyes forever. They are the perfect shade of brown, like the richest, sweetest chocolate drink you could find.”

“Bella,” he said more sharply. “Please do not lose your heart to him.”

“Why, big brother? Am I not good enough for your friend?”

“No, don’t be silly. He’s not good enough for you.”

“I don’t understand. He’s handsome and well-mannered. His clothes are of the finest fabrics, so he must have means. With all his travels, he is a lively conversationalist. What more could I ask for?”

Nico brushed his fingers over her cheek, feeling the softness of her young skin. “He will break your heart. He is incapable of being faithful.”

“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Nico crushed the lavender he still held. The sweet, fresh scent released into the air. He didn’t want to be the pot anymore. “Cas is well-traveled because he’s been run out of so many towns for making love to the wrong wives. I don’t want the man to hurt you.”

“I’m not twelve anymore. I don’t need your protection.”

She turned to walk away, but he pulled her back. “Please, Bella. Please don’t do anything foolish.”

“I’ve been locked in a nunnery for the past three years.” She shook his hand off her arm. “Exactly when do I get to live my life again?”

In a way, their father kept them both locked away from life. He was ready to fight for something better; maybe Bella deserved the same. He hugged her tightly and buried his face in her hair. “Forgive me. I do not wish to fight with you.”

“Do not despair. I know your words are said with love, but I am a grown woman. I want to make my own choices.”

He nodded silently. Isn’t that what everyone dreamed of?

n the alley behind La Mascareta, Savio Foscari adjusted his Bauta mask and hooded cape to ensure his identity was concealed. The man he waited for was late, and there was nothing Savio hated more than wasting time—unless it was losing money. He definitely hated that more, but the whole reason he was in this repulsive place wasting valuable time was so he wouldn’t lose any more money.

Most days, he could convince himself that his actions were justified. He and the other founding families had an obligation to their beloved Venice. The government idiots and the Church had let her grow weak. It was up to men like him to make the hard decisions to save her.

Unfortunately, one of those decisions required the services of the man who was late. Two months ago, when he paid him to silence the meddlesome painter, he thought it would be the end of it. Now the painter’s friend was talking to the daughter. If he had to have them all killed to keep his secret, so be it. Just like in war, casualties were expected. And this was definitely war.

Savio was about to give up when a lone figure hurried down the alley toward him. He fingered the coin purse he held. In the end, a man’s life really wasn’t worth much.

s Marietta and Nico made their way to his family’s opera box, she fought to contain her displeasure. If a woman was alive and breathing, she turned to admire Nico’s fine form in his impeccable black suit, and if she was lucky enough to know him, flirtatious greetings followed. The current lady before them in a golden-yellow silk gown alternated between glaring at Marietta and caressing Nico’s upper arm.

“Nikki,” the woman said in a seductive purr, “it’s been so long since we’ve shared . . . a night together. When will you call on me again?”

Nico stepped back, out of her reach. “Perhaps we should wait until your husband dies?”

The woman laughed until Marietta feared for the safety of the woman’s bosom in her low-cut gown. “That little detail never stopped you before.”

He pulled Marietta closer. “I’ve been shown the error of my ways.”

The woman’s lips parted into a silent snarl directed at Marietta before she cooed, “That’s no fun. I like the old Nikki better. He loved to be wicked in all kinds of delicious ways.”

Nico’s jaw clenched, but before the woman could say more, her husband joined their group. With a haughty look at Marietta, she brushed her bosom against Nico and led her husband away.

“Are all your friends so nice?” Marietta asked. She didn’t bother to temper the annoyance in her voice.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, Kitty. Let’s get to my box where we won’t be disturbed.”

She had been engaged to Dario the last time she attended an opera in the Teatro San Samuele, and she was pleased to see that the theater had aged well. The dark ceiling resembled the night sky filled with painted-on stars, and instead of traditional chandeliers, single six-foot-tall candles in silver holders adorned the walls. The Foscari box was on the third of five levels and offered a splendid view of the stage. She peered over the railing at the audience below and remembered waiting up for her parents to come home from the opera so she could hear about the music and the fine gowns. Her mother had been as gifted a storyteller as her father was a painter. Her vivid descriptions had left Marietta with goose bumps.

While they waited for the performance to start, Nico entertained her with amusing tales of past carnival seasons. Most of the stories involved visitors to Venice who got more than they bargained for while joining in the celebrations, but a few involved his friend Casanova. The man certainly lived a precarious life. Though her laughter came at the expense of others, she was grateful for a break from her grief.

When the curtain parted, she leaned forward and waited to get swept up in the magic of the songs and the majestic voices of the performers. But with each passing note, it became more and more difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept returning to her father’s friend and his story of murder. By the end of the first act, she wished she had refused the invitation.

Next to her, Nico sat motionless with his head tilted a bit in her direction. His manner had been unusually restrained since collecting her from the inn. She had steeled herself for a night of wayward hands, yet so far, he’d been a perfect gentleman. She sneaked a glance at his chiseled profile and wondered why the sudden change in his behavior.

Midway through the performance, when a frustrated sigh escaped her lips, Nico stood and held out his hand. He tucked her arm under his and they left the theater to join the other strollers along the Grand Canal, with Raul trailing behind them.

“I’m sorry you weren’t enjoying the music. I know Bertoni isn’t to everyone’s taste.”

At the disappointment in his voice, she reassured him. “Oh no, the opera was wonderful, and it’s been so long since I’ve attended one. I’m just feeling restless tonight.” It was an understatement of grand proportions, but out in the night air with a full moon shining on the water, she felt herself relaxing for the first time in days.

“Didn’t your husband take you?”

“We went often before we were married.” She left it at that. To explain how Dario treated her after their wedding to a man who changed lovers as often as his stockings would be a waste of breath.

“When were you in Venice last?”

The answer was a hard thing to admit, and it took Marietta a few moments to force out her reply. “It’s been five years since I’ve left the grounds of the Gatti family villa.”

Nico stopped abruptly. “That’s inexplicable. If I had a wife as beautiful as you, I’d show her off every chance I had.”

“How do you know I’m beautiful?” The words popped out before she realized their implications. “I’m sorry. That was impolite of me.”

He shrugged off her apology. “I asked Casanova to appraise you. Raul’s description was most lacking.”

“So now I am equal to a horse or perhaps a cow?” Her temper ignited. Even blind, he was the same as every other man who believed a woman’s beauty was her only important attribute. “I was already sold to the highest bidder once, Signor Foscari. I have no plans on repeating such a grievous transaction.”

His brows rose at her words. He shook his head and said, “I’ve no desire to buy you. I simply wanted to imagine who I’m with. Had Cas replied that you were as ugly as a back alley hag, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Really? I’ve seen your female companions. There hasn’t been an ugly one in the whole lot.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “Kitty, the truth is I enjoy your company. Now if you smelled like a back alley hag, things might be different.”

She didn’t know what to think, and the confusion made her head ache. With the night breeze lifting the ends of his loose hair, he looked every inch the rake she held in contempt. But then there were the moments when his kindness shined through, and she doubted her harsh judgment. Add in his father, who she suspected of murder, and she began to question her sanity. She wished she was back at Rosina’s inn, safely tucked into bed.

She was about to ask to go home when a shout came from the direction of the water, and then a woman’s scream pierced the air.

“What’s happening?” Nico shielded her with his body.

“I don’t know. The scream came from near the canal.” She stood on her toes to get a better look.

“Raul, see what the trouble is.”

Before Raul could move past them, the crowd parted and four men emerged with a body. Its head hung lifeless as water dripped from its skunk-colored hair.

Marietta covered her mouth at the horror in front of her. “No, it can’t be him.”

“Who? Kitty, what do you see?”

She couldn’t answer, for all the breath had escaped her lungs. While her mouth fought to take in air, her eyes frantically swept the crowd, and then rested on the ashen face of her father’s friend. He had said demons and spies watched him, and now he was dead.

She pushed Nico away and ran. She ran as her father did that fateful night when he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She ran for her life.