Lust, Money & Murder (25 page)

They finally came to a high stone wall with a massive wooden gate. The entrance was medieval style—it might have been the entrance to a castle.

After a few seconds the gate began to open inwards, revealing a gigantic set of stone buildings in the near distance.

It
was
a castle.

Elaine leaned forward as they rolled along the road that approached it. Two imposing stone towers formed the front of the structure. The wheels of the expensive car thumped softly as they crossed a little bridge...there was actually a moat. The water looked black and oily. They drove along the curved driveway and passed two men in dark blue suits that were walking Doberman Pinschers. Luigi waved, and the men waved back. They approached an arch in a section that stretched between the two towers—there was a heavy, closed inner door and an outer shield of sharp wooden spikes that was lowered halfway to the ground.

Elaine expected that door to open as well, but the chauffeur made a sharp left and parked next to the tower.

Luigi stepped around to the trunk and retrieved her suitcase and the Balenciaga handbag. As they approached the bottom of the tower, a door opened and a man appeared.

“
Signora
!” he blurted, grinning at her. There were deep dimples in his cheeks. “Ah, you are more-a lovely than the boss said.” He was rail-thin and had a drooping black mustache. He was wearing a long white apron that covered a dark suit. “My name Antonio!” He took her hand and squeezed it. “But you canna call me Tony.”

He led her inside the building. The circular foyer was filled with antiques, the stone floor covered with a worn oriental carpet. The room smelled ancient, a combination of old stone and wood.

“Let me take-a your coat,” Tony said. He slapped his own cheek, staring at her again now that he could see the designer dress. “
Mama-mia
! That dress-a, it’s-a perfect on you. Prada,
si
?”

Elaine couldn’t help smiling at his exaggerated, childlike admiration.

He grabbed the Balenciaga handbag and her suitcase from Luigi. He glanced down at the stone floor and frowned at the driver. “Get out-a here, your big feet-a messin’ up my floor!”

Luigi snickered and walked past him, calling him a
finocchio
, which Elaine sensed was a slur about Tony’s sexual orientation.

To Elaine, Tony said, “I’m-a the little boss around here. Signor Cattoretti, he the big boss. Tony the little boss.” He grinned and grabbed Elaine’s hand and led her up a winding staircase, his hips swinging prissily. “I’m-a gonna give you the best room in-a the house, signora, the Blue Suite. The view is
spettacolare
!” Elaine nearly slipped on the narrow, worn steps and Tony stopped. “You gotta be careful with those-a heels,
signora
...” He peered more closely at them, looking envious. “Fendi,
si
?”

Before she could answer, he turned and led upwards again. “The Blue Suite, is-a much better than the Red-a Suite.”

When they had climbed up the equivalent of about three flights of steps on the circular stone staircase, Tony stopped and opened a door for her. “S
ignora, prego
...”

Elaine cautiously stepped inside the room. The first thing she noticed was the vaulted ceiling—it was covered with faded pastel blue murals showing armored knights on horseback that looked original to the castle. Along one curved wall, also painted in a pastel blue, was a canopied bed with an oak frame that must have weighed five hundred pounds. There was a marble washbowl, an old spinning loom, a painting of a curly-haired boy petting a dog...

The stone floor was worn to a polished sheen in places.

“How old is this place?” Elaine asked, fascinated.

“The oldest section was-a built in the Eighth Century,” Tony said smoothly, as if he had answered this question many times.

Elaine started when she turned around—there was a full suit of armor beside the door, the face mask closed, a sword grasped in one metallic glove.

Tony patted the helmet and grinned. “
Signor
will-a protect you.” He set the bags down and admired Elaine’s looks again. He slapped his hands together. “The boss say you want-a rest. But maybe you like-a go for swim first? We have a swimmin’ pool, it’s-a heated.”

“No, thank you, I—”

“Maybe you like-a massage? Or a sauna?”

“Maybe later. I’d like to take a little nap.”

“
Si
,
signora
.” Tony bit his lip, thinking. “But maybe you like-a something to eat. A little
focaccia
with some buffalo mozzarella—”

“No, I’m really—”

“Or some
proscuitto
? I just cut-a some fresh—”

“No, thanks, but I’m really not hungry. I had a big breakfast at...” Elaine didn’t know what to call it. “...the office.”

“Ah! No wonder you no-a hungry! You ate the cookin’ of that-a Tuscan
dilettante
. The man calls himself a chef...could not make-a
focaccia
bread! He spend-a too much time up in France, those French people and their odd-a ways of cookin’!” Tony looked more closely at her, concerned. “Maybe I get you some-a Pepto-Bismol?”

Elaine laughed. “No, I’m fine, really.”

Tony leaned forward and spoke conspiratorially. “Between you-a and me, I wouldn’t let that so-called chef make-a food for my dog...” He gave a helpless shrug. “But if the boss wants to hire a fry cook to feed his workers, whatta can I do?”

Tony looked her over again, nodding approvingly. “You a real classy lady, just like-a the boss said.”

Tony turned and pointed to a rope that hung from a hole in the ceiling. “You need anything, you just-a pull on this string, it make-a ding-a-linga down in the kitchen.
Bene
?”

* * *

After Tony left, Elaine looked at the two bags, hesitating, then decided to hang everything up in the wardrobe. She went over to the window and opened the heavy wooden shutters.

She found herself overlooking a courtyard, the inner area of the castle. Only the “courtyard” was huge, more like an Italian
piazza
, paved with cobblestones and lined with streetlamps and statues. There was a stone well in the middle, with a wooden bucket hanging from a rope. Along one side was a row of automobiles, all under canvas covers—antiques, she supposed. There was a long row of beautiful fountains on the other end, flanked by two cannons. At the farthest point, there was also something else under a tarp, an object that looked much larger than a car. Perhaps a boat on a trailer.

It was so tranquil—she could hear birds chirping in the woods beyond the castle’s wall. There was a sense of unreality to it all.

Princess Alana
, Elaine thought.
Maybe I’ve arrived at my true home after all...

She looked back into the room, and the suit of armor, at the steel face mask. It made her think of Lassiter—cold, hollow, and untouchable. She wanted to kill him. He had caused all this. He had caused her to be kidnapped and taken to Italy, blamed for stealing top secret information from the U.S. Treasury Department, pressured into helping an international counterfeiter perfect his currency.

And she wondered: had Nick really been under investigation, or had Lassiter merely made all that up to separate her from him?

She knew the answer to that. Lassiter was the criminal, and not Nick. She hated herself for believing the wicked old bastard, and not listening to Nick.

She looked longingly at the bed. She was too tired to think anymore. She debated whether or not to take off the Prada dress before she slept.

She spotted pajamas on a shelf under the nightstand. Pure silk.

She changed into them, then finally lay down on the huge bed and curled up in a blanket.

CHAPTER 2.13

When Elaine awoke from her nap she felt surprisingly fresh and energized. She started to reach for the bell to call Tony, then decided to explore the castle on her own, if she could get away with it. She was in a much better mood, and ravenous.

She changed into a comfy cotton lounge suit she found in the wardrobe, it did wonders for her figure. It was by Gucci. Of course. The heather-gray hue enhanced her clear complexion.

Castle life suits me
, she thought happily, as she opened the bedroom door. She descended the stairs, barefoot, the smooth stones cold against her soles. When she reached the bottom spiral staircase, she went through a dark, arched hallway. It opened into what appeared to be the drawing room, or at least one of the drawing rooms. A monstrous stone fireplace dominated the space, the hearth ablaze. The mantle was composed of solid marble, carved into the form of a seashell and supported by two buxom nymphs on either side. The beam-vaulted ceiling was alive with frescoes in orange and blue pastels.

She wandered through the ancient structure, passing a two-level library with another spiral staircase, then a billiards room. Luigi was leaning over the table, lining up a shot, while another dark, burly man looked on. They both glanced at Elaine and she continued on. She expected Luigi to come after her, but she heard the soft click of billiard balls, the men talking casually to each other in Italian.

She turned down another corridor and entered the kitchen so big it would have held her entire apartment.

Tony was at a counter, kneading dough. He looked up. “Ah,
signora
! You slept well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“That Gucci look-a real good on you.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “You want somethin’ to eat now? Maybe something light, like a
mozzarella
and tomato salad?” Before she could answer, he quickly prepared the salad for her. The cheese was delicious, the tomatoes so fresh they exploded in her mouth. She wolfed it down right at the counter, too hungry to move to a table. Tony smiled with pleasure, watching her.

When she finished, he said, “Maybe I show you around the castle?” He grabbed her hand and led her out of the kitchen and into another huge room.

“This room they call-a the Great Hall,” he said.

Elaine tilted her head back, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. It must have been three stories high. The stone walls were covered with tapestries and paintings, a few statues near the doorways.

“It’s incredible,” Elaine said, her voice echoing in the vast space.

Tony looked pleased. He gave her a formal tour of the castle, pointing out various paintings and other works of art. There was a Picasso, a Rembrandt, a Goya, and three Rubens. She wondered if Giorgio Cattoretti liked Rubenesque women, or if he simply liked Ruben’s style. There were statues by Boccioni, Rodin, and Houdon. It was like a museum.

Tony stopped in front of a spiral staircase that only led downward. “You wanna see the dungeon,
signora
?”

“There’s a dungeon?”

“
Si
. It is a very dark and wicked place. Many horrible things happened down there.”

Nothing was more repulsive to Elaine than physical torture. No form of human behavior was more loathsome.

“Of course I want to see it!”

* * *

The dungeon gave Elaine the shivers. There were no electric lights— Tony had to use a candle to show her around. The area was composed of several rooms, some with heavy wooden medieval doors that had only tiny, barred windows in the middle. Another cave-like space had a large fireplace in it, which Tony explained was used to heat up “
strumenti
” used to extract information from victims. Another room housed an ancient, cobweb-covered rack. There were heavy, rusted shackles attached to the walls.

When Elaine saw a shadowy blob scurry across one corner of the stone floor—a blob that looked like it had a long tail— she jumped. Standing there in her bare feet, it felt like the creatures were nibbling at her ankles.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said, clutching Tony’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

When they were back upstairs, Tony led her into a modern wing that had been added on to the castle, complete with tile floors and fluorescent lights. The clean, brightly lit space was a welcome change from the dungeon.

“As you can-a see, this part of the castle has-a been renovated,” Tony said, in his tour guide voice. They walked down a wide, modern-looking hallway with skylights. “That’s-a the swimmin’ pool, and there’s a sauna across the hall.”

They passed a long, narrow room with a massage table where soft, soothing music was playing. There was a bronzed young man in white chinos, working out with two dumbbells, the muscles rippling under his white polo shirt. He gave Elaine a dimpled smile as they went by. He could have been a Chippendale’s model.

“That’s-a Mario,” Tony said. “He’s our personal trainer and masseuse.”

Tony stopped in the hallway. “Maybe you like-a massage now?”

That’s tempting
, Elaine thought. Then another doorway caught her eye—it opened to an exercise room with mats scattered all over the floor.

In the center, suspended from the ceiling, was a punching bag. It hung there perfectly still, begging to take a beating. And Elaine was just the person to do it.