Venice in the Moonlight (21 page)

He snorted at this news. “The women of Venice see the shallowness of your love every night. I will not let my sister’s heart be broken by the likes of you.”

“I know that my past doesn’t speak well of me, but you yourself were made better by a woman. Why can’t I be?”

Nico knew he looked like a hypocrite, yet he refused to believe his amorous friend could be faithful. He had known him for far too long.

Casanova took advantage of Nico’s hesitation. “Do you remember that night at the gaming tables when you were in a foul mood, and I urged you to find a woman for the night? You refused because of Marietta and I teased you, but I also envied you. You had found someone special—someone you were willing to change for. And now I have too, but you wish to deny me the same happiness. How is that fair, my friend? Do you not believe the purity of your sweet sister could temper my faults?”

Though he couldn’t see their faces, Nico knew Bella and Marietta waited for his reply. He had no words to counter Casanova’s argument.

“Nico,” his father said in a weak voice.

Bella thrust their father’s hand toward him. “Be merciful, brother, I beg of you.”

Nico swallowed his anger and sat on the side of the bed. If a show of compassion would ease Bella’s grief, then he would do it. “I’m here, Father.”

“I know we’ve had our differences. Maybe someday you will understand. I only did what I thought best.”

Nico closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Your mother was always coddling you. I needed to make you tough, so that others would not take advantage of your blindness.” Savio moaned in pain. “The end is coming too soon. How will the family survive now?”

He never had asked for his father’s love. All he wanted was his respect, one man to another. Nico fought to hold back the hurtful words that threatened to spill out. Instead, he said, “Don’t worry. The doctor’s coming and when you’re better, we’ll figure something out.”

He gave Bella their father’s hand and moved to the French doors. He opened them and took a deep breath of the cool air. Chances were his father would not recover, and Nico would become head of the family. A few months ago, he would have run in the opposite direction if given the responsibility—not because he didn’t want it, but because he believed a blind man couldn’t lead.

He stepped back into the room and looked at Marietta’s blurred image by the fireplace. He wondered if she stayed to watch her father’s murderer die or to be with the man whose world she had changed. His heart hoped for the latter.

t a table in Rosina’s dining room, Marietta picked at the food on her plate. She scooped up a spoonful of peas and remembered the fateful night only a few months ago that changed her life forever. If Dario hadn’t eaten the tainted meat, she’d still be stuck with the horrible Gattis. But considering all that had transpired since her arrival in Venice, she wasn’t sure she had improved her situation.

Four days had passed since Savio Foscari’s demise. Each night she dreamed of death and woke with her bedclothes soaked with sweat. Even during the day, she could not escape the horror of Nico and his father’s fight. The bloody images popped into her mind when she least expected them.

Zeta tapped Marietta’s plate with her finger. “You must eat.”

She dropped her cutlery and pushed the plate away. It took too much effort to force food over the lump in her throat.

Her friend looked across the inn’s dining room at Rosina who chatted with a traveler. “If you don’t eat, Rosina will think you don’t like her cooking.”

Marietta didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything—except Nico—and since she hadn’t spoken with him since the terrible day at his apartment, it seemed he didn’t care about her.

Rosina joined them and slid an envelope across the table. “This just came for you.”

She read the note and then slipped it into her pocket. “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

Rosina grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving. “Child, tell us what he said. If he has hurt you, I’ll throttle him with my bare hands.”

She shook her head. “It is nothing like that. He sends his affections and apologizes for not being able to see me.”

“Then why are you so sad? You did what you set out to do.” Zeta leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You found the man behind your father’s death, and God delivered His own justice.”

Marietta rubbed at her temples to ease the constant throbbing. “I’m just worried.”

“Do you think you are still in danger?” Rosina glanced around the room at her guests.

“No, Nico said in his letter that Consul Smith and Casanova are confident that Savio acted alone. He believes me to be safe.”

Rosina pursed her lips and nodded. “Then it is Nico that worries you.”

“But why?” Zeta shook her head. “He risked his life for you—against his own
father
.”

“Yes, but maybe someday he will blame me for his father’s death, and maybe someday I will resent him for what Savio did. There might be too much to overcome.”

Rosina patted Marietta’s hand. “Go to him after the funeral. Give yourselves a chance to work things out. If it is meant to be, it will be.” She pushed Marietta’s plate back into place. “Now eat my food.”

She picked up a piece of bread and made a face, then did as she was told.

ico stood apart from his family at the Church of the Holy Apostles of Christ. He refused to accept the condolences from the mourners who had come to pay their last respects. The dismal autumn rain that had been falling most of the day had stopped, and the musty odor of wet earth filled his nose. He tapped his cane impatiently against the steps. He wanted to leave. Leave this church. Leave his home. Leave this town.

A week had passed since his father lay dying, and still he couldn’t believe all that had conspired without his knowledge. The evil acts by his father and the betrayal of his closest friends left him numb, unable to speak civilly to anyone including Raul.

He hadn’t seen Marietta since the fated day at his apartment, and he missed her more than he thought possible. Between settling his father’s affairs, arranging the funeral, and caring for his grief-stricken mother and sister, there had been no time for his own desires. Days passed, and doubts nagged at him. When he sent a note and received no reply, he began to question their relationship.

He smelled Raul. The older man’s patience with Nico’s temper had been remarkable, but he was in no mood for whatever Raul had come to say. He held up a warning hand.

Raul ignored the gesture. “You’re head of the family now. You should be by your mother’s side.”

Nico shook his head stubbornly. “I can’t listen to condolences for a murderer. I don’t care if Father wanted to save Venice. His good deed wasn’t worth the price of two lives. Besides, Mother and Bella can manage without me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Free of his father’s disappointment, he knew where he would go. “I want to leave for France as soon as possible.”

“You can’t leave now. Your family needs you. If you want to drink or carouse, you can do that here. You don’t have to go to Paris.”

Nico barked out a laugh. Not even wise Raul understood him. “We’re not going to Paris.”

“Then where?”

“Marseille. I want to buy a miracle.”

arietta hesitated in the doorway of the Foscari’s salon. She had asked to see Nico, but here sat Bella with Casanova by her side. They looked every bit like a couple in love. Nico’s friend rose and greeted her with a bow. He fidgeted uneasily in the silence that followed.

Bella jumped up from the sofa to ease the awkwardness. “Signora Gatti, please come in and have a seat. I’m sorry we haven’t properly met . . . in light of everything . . .”

Bella’s hands fluttered in the air as if to chase away the “everything” she referred to. When she realized the fruitlessness of the task, she sank back down and shoved her hands under the skirt of her gown.

Marietta held up Nico’s note. “I came to see your brother. Is he here?”

The couple exchanged a look that dropped her heart into the pit of her stomach.

“He left this morning for France,” Bella replied. “Perhaps he sent you another letter and you didn’t receive it?”

She smiled to hide the extent of her pain. “You are kind to make excuses for him. Will he be gone long?”

Bella bit her bottom lip. Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. We don’t even know why he went.”

The “why” seemed obvious to Marietta. Without his father’s iron fist to hold him, there was nothing to keep Nico in Venice. Not even her. Maybe if she had gone to him when she first received his note, she could have changed his mind, but it was too soon. Despite the hatred she felt for the elder Foscari, she respected the family’s need to grieve their loss.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She nodded goodbye.

“Signora,” Casanova said. “Please, wait.”

She stopped but kept her back to them. She crushed Nico’s note in her hand and remembered Casanova’s solemn voice summoning his Kabbalah god at the Consul’s villa. She should hate him too, but that emotion was like a poison. If she didn’t get rid of it soon, it would kill her.

“Please forgive me for any part I played in your father’s death.”

Startled by his forwardness, Marietta couldn’t help but turn to face him.

Casanova bowed his head. “Though I did not know what was going on, I feel terrible. I never thought our noble cause would lead to murder. I hope someday you will consider me a friend.”

Her eyes flicked between the misery on Bella’s face and the contrition on Casanova’s. Friendship would take some time, but she was willing to work toward it. “I appreciate your apology.”

“And I must tell you one more thing.” He looked at her earnestly. “Nico will return to you.”

She released Nico’s note and smoothed it against her breast. “Did he say as much?”

“No, but I’m well versed in the affairs of the heart. He did not pursue you lightly.”

She nodded her understanding. Maybe Nico would come back to her, but in the meantime, she needed to heal. She recalled her worn out phrase from her days with the Gattis. Take one day at a time.

fter two weeks of arduous travel, Nico sat in Doctor Jacques Daviel’s office in Marseille, France. He tried to keep still as the doctor peered into his eyes. Daviel’s new technique for removing cataracts gave hope to thousands—and Nico. The doctor muttered and wrote notes but gave no indication of his thoughts, which made Nico impatient.

Finally, the doctor stepped back. Nico steeled himself for the disappointing words the doctor would now say. He had let himself hope for a miracle, but it was not meant to be.

“There are surgeons who will operate no matter what as long as their fee is paid. I am not one of them,” Daviel said in a solemn voice. “If I don’t think there is a chance for success, I won’t do it.”

“So, you’re saying you can’t help me.” Nico pushed himself out of the chair. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. Raul, hand me my coat.”

“No, you misunderstand. I think I can help you see again, Signor Foscari, but you must understand that any operation poses a serious risk to the patient. Infection can be deadly, and there is considerable pain involved in the procedure. My success rate is very high, but things can go wrong.”

“I have been a gambler for years. I have no fear of risk. When can you operate? Today? Tomorrow?”

The doctor held up his hand. “Not so fast. First, I am going to send you home with some literature on the procedure that your guide can read to you.”

Nico took a deep breath in and out to control his rising temper, but it was no use. “I just spent fourteen days in a carriage to get here, and now you’re telling me to go home and read a book?”

Raul placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let the man finish.”