Venice in the Moonlight (6 page)

Her friend turned to the innkeeper. “The authorities must have had their reasons for believing the death was an accident. You shouldn’t torment yourself . . . or Marietta.”

Rosina crossed her arms over her bosom. “If you had seen Bernardo, you might think otherwise.” When the other two women didn’t respond, the innkeeper wiped a hand across her eyes. “Anyway, I have some painting supplies and a trunk of his belongings in my room. Would you like to have them?”

Marietta rose wearily and followed Rosina downstairs to a smaller room furnished only with a bed, two chairs, and an easel holding an unfinished nude. The innkeeper crossed to the portrait, which was obviously her in a seductive pose.

“Your father was easily distracted.” Rosina brushed her fingers over the blank half of the canvas. When Marietta raised an eyebrow, the older woman covered her mouth to hide her smile. “His trunk is the one in the corner.”

Marietta recognized it immediately. She flipped open the lid and pushed aside the few articles of clothing to reveal a miniature portrait of her mother and an ornate silver pin in the shape of an easel. Her father had vowed never to sell them, no matter how bad things got. That he was able to keep his promise lifted her heart.

Clutching the family keepsakes, Marietta searched Rosina’s face. “Do you really think someone killed my father?”

Rosina dropped to her knees next to Marietta. “Please believe me. He was scared for his life. No one will listen to the suspicions of a poor innkeeper, but maybe they will listen to you.”

Marietta’s head jerked backward. “What? You want
me
to convince the authorities he was murdered? How will I do that?”

“I don’t know, but you must find a way. If I am right, the murderer must be brought to justice. No one deserves to die alone in a dirty alley.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her father died over two months ago. She didn’t know how she’d prove anything now.

When Rosina saw the reluctance in Marietta’s face, she stood and took a step back. “I understand.”

Maybe that was true, but she couldn’t ignore the hurt in the innkeeper’s voice. She looked down at her mother’s portrait and her father’s pin—all she had left of her family. “I’ll do whatever I can to find out the truth.”

Rosina’s face brightened. “You will?”

Five years. She spent five years hating her father, and he spent five years drinking away his pain. Regret filled her until it hurt to breathe. She carefully returned the keepsakes to her father’s trunk, closed the lid, and nodded. “It’s the least I can do in my father’s memory.”

he thick oriental carpet muffled Savio Foscari’s footsteps as he paced the floor of his study while his visitor sat at a desk scribbling on a piece of parchment. Every few steps, he turned his head to frown at the young man who promised to save the Foscari family fortune. At nearly sixty years old, for the first time in his life, Savio was afraid of the future.

“Signor Casanova, you must hurry. Nico is to arrive this afternoon and you mustn’t cross paths with him.”

Casanova held up a hand to silence him. “I have no desire for your son to discover our arrangement. Trust me.”

This snapped what little patience he had left. “Trust you? I have trusted you for the last four months and have yet to see any rewards from our efforts. Venice is still dying and my coffers are still draining.”

Casanova ran the quill between his fingers and squinted at him. “I told you it might take a while to gain favor with the Oracle. You can’t hurry the process.”

Savio grunted. “I don’t expect you to understand.
You
can’t trace your family back to the original founders of Venice.
You
have no reputation or fortune to protect.”

He leaned an arm on the mantle of the fireplace and stared into the flames. If the Catholic Church ever discovered their sins . . . His heart beat a painful rhythm at the thought. He had sacrificed so much for his beloved Venice, and then to be discovered by that fool painter a few months ago.

Casanova seemed to read his mind. “At least you don’t have to worry about that old man telling anyone our secret. Quite a stroke of luck, him dying and all.”

For several long moments, the only sound in the room came from the scratching of Casanova’s quill. Finally, he looked up with a satisfied nod. “I have your answer.”

Savio crossed the room and grabbed the parchment out of Casanova’s hand. Earlier he had written at the top of the page:
On what date should we perform the next ceremony
? Underneath the words, Casanova had added several numbers and then arranged them into a pyramid. Beneath that, he had written more letters and then a date.

Savio silently ticked off the days. “Two weeks from Friday?”

“That is what the Oracle says.” Casanova flipped the pages of the large book in front of him. He stopped three-quarters of the way through and pointed to a section. “You will need to translate this ceremony for me.”

“Why can’t you just read it in Hebrew?”

Casanova gave him an exasperated look. “The accent is too difficult. If the words aren’t said properly, it won’t work.”

“If you are so magical, why can’t you translate it?”

“Magic and education have nothing to do with one another,” Casanova said condescendingly. “Besides, Carnival starts tonight. I have a full schedule.”

“Yes, you and my son will be too busy with your wine and women to bother with important things like making money.” Nico and all his friends were useless. They relied on their fathers to fill their purses with coins and felt no shame about it.

“I do what I’m good at. Now, shall we discuss the where and when of the next ceremony, or do you have more insults for me?”

Savio bit back a retort. He didn’t like it, but he needed this fop. The founding families were all in the same financial situation. With Venice no longer a major power in Europe, their fortunes were dwindling. When it was suggested they use Casanova’s magic to increase their wealth, Savio hesitated because of the young man’s poor reputation with the authorities. After much pressure from the others, he’d agreed and now had done one too many vile things to leave the group. With no hope of God’s forgiveness, he had no choice but to trust in Casanova’s Oracle.

“Fine.” He sat in a chair opposite Casanova and crossed his legs. “But let’s decide quickly, before Nico arrives.”

ico followed the sound of sweet singing through the lavish rooms of the family’s Venice home. He was tired from traveling but pleased to find this unexpected surprise. When he entered the garden, which butted up against the Grand Canal, he whistled sharply three times and the singing abruptly stopped. At the end of the main walkway, a blurred woman popped out from behind a tall shrub. Her slippers made a swishing noise as she ran the short distance across the cobblestone.

“Nikki!” The woman squealed in delight before she launched herself into his arms.

He spun her around while she showered him with light kisses. Laughing, he set her down, took her face in his hands, and kissed each cheek. “Bella, my love, I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

She hugged him one last time and then released him. “It took several letters full of pathetic begging before Father would agree. I couldn’t bear the thought of missing yet another carnival season.”

Three years ago, at the tender age of seventeen, Bella had the misfortune of falling in love with a suitor who did not have an ounce of noble blood in him. She was immediately exiled to the convent of the Poor Clares in Padua and seldom allowed to return home for a visit.

He imagined the content of the letters and chuckled. “Are you well? How were the roads from the convent?”

“Well enough. I’m so glad to be free, even if only for a short time.” She took his arm and led him to a nearby bench. “You will escort me to the festivities tonight, won’t you?”

He smiled at her doubt, though he could never refuse her. When she had fallen in love, she had told only him. Despite knowing it would eventually end badly, he had kept her secret and even aided the lovers, something their father never forgave him for doing.

“It would be my honor.”

She kissed his cheek again and then giggled. “I made the coach stop when we reached the city and purchased three masks. I’ll describe them, and you must choose the one I’ll wear.”

He traced her jawline with his finger and tried to picture her face. She was twelve and he was sixteen the last time he saw details instead of blurred images. His fists clenched. If only he could see the young woman she’d grown into.

She brushed a light kiss over his downturned lips. “I’m sorry. I have made you sad.”

With a shake of his head, he forced a smile. “Even in the name of tradition, it is a shame to cover up such a beautiful face with a mask.”

“Don’t mock me, big brother.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Never. You should be paraded through the streets of Venice for women to envy and men to desire—not locked away in a dark convent.”

“Perhaps Father will relent soon and I can come home for good.”

“I will talk to him again.” It wouldn’t do any good, but he had to try. Bella deserved to be happy.

“No, please don’t. Your ‘talks’ always end with screaming. Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.”

Nico pulled her close and rested his cheek against hers. He smelled jasmine on her skin, and his mind produced a long-ago image of a slender girl with long black curls on the edge of womanhood. He sighed as the image faded away. “As you wish.”

The sound of a gate slamming stirred them. “Who’s that?” Bella stood on her toes to see over the greenery. “Father must have had a visitor. Oh! He’s quite handsome.”

“I doubt your standards are very high after spending so many nights with the nuns,” Nico teased.

Bella hit him lightly on the arm. “Stop. You make me sound like a dog in heat.”

“Well . . .”

She climbed onto the bench and held his shoulder for balance. “He’s about your age with dark hair, though I think he is a bit shorter than you. Does he sound familiar?”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? You’ve described a quarter of the men in Venice.” He didn’t let on, but the unknown man piqued his curiosity as well. His father rarely had visitors, and when he did, they were old and ill-tempered like their host.

Bella flounced down from the bench. “He’s gone now. I guess I will never know who he was.”

“You could ask Father.” He tried to say it with a straight face, but the absurdity of the suggestion made them both laugh. “Forget your mysterious man. There will be plenty of suitors to choose from tonight.”

“Yes, but all wearing masks. At least I knew with certainty that this man was handsome.”

He took her hand and headed toward the house. “Ah, Bella, in the words of Sir Thomas Overbury, ‘All the carnal beauty of my wife is but skin deep.’”

“Is that what you tell Raul when he searches for your nightly companions?”

He lifted his shoulders in mock helplessness. “Is it my fault that Raul finds women of both pleasing personality
and
beauty?”

“You forget that I have met some of these women. Saying they have a pleasing personality is stretching the truth quite a bit.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “If I think they are lacking in either quality, it is only because I have you to compare them with.”

Bella swung their hands and hit him on the hip. “I told you not to tease me.”

He stopped and gathered her in his arms once again. “I do not jest when I speak of you, my sweet sister.”

She laid her cheek against his chest and sighed. “We are a pair, aren’t we? Neither of us can have what we really want.”

And what did he want? To see was the obvious answer, but deep down inside, he knew it was more than that.

He kissed the top of her head and then pulled her toward a nearby door. “Come with me to Mother’s room. I have not greeted her yet, and there’s no need for two angry parents.”