An Apartment in Venice (7 page)

“Stupida sgualdrina,
you ignorant slut!” Botteri snarled at Laura. He rose from his desk in his elegant suite and began to pace.

Laura flinched and sat immobile in her chair, staring out the window behind his desk, not daring to move a muscle. She waited for his next explosion. Finally, she stammered, “I’m sorry, Signor Botteri. But Mirella did listen to your generous proposal and knew what I was talking about. Then she seemed angry about an exclusive arrangement and stood up to leave. But I talked her down and for a moment—”

“She’ll come around. I want her in my private stable,
nella mia scuderia privata!
” he roared, and strode back to his chair, sat and swivelled around to stare at the scene from his window. The room was still. Botteri seemed motionless. Laura waited. Abruptly swinging back to her, he leaned across the desk and said, “You were saying ‘for a moment’. . .”

“Si, signore. For a moment, I thought she was about to join the Service. Then all of a sudden, she changed her mind.”

“And you have no clue as to why?”

“No. She seemed to drift away while I was explaining how our service works.”

“In other words, you talked yourself right out of a contract. Again!”

Laura
had
managed to thrust the application into Mirella’s hands, but in Botteri’s mind, that, too, would mean failure, so she clamped her mouth shut.

“Where does she live?” he asked.

“We don’t know. She hopped a bus before Bruno could get on.”

“Did he notice the bus number? Name? Where it was going?
Any thing?
” He raised both arms and looked up as if in supplication to the heavens.

“I’ll ask him, signore.”

“You do that. You have one more chance, Signorina Laura,” he said drawing out the word signorina in a low, menacing growl. “You will find a more competent tracker—at your own expense—and let me know the minute you locate her residence. I need to know who she really is. Why is she in Vicenza? What is her weakness?”

He strolled over to his private bar, chose a shot glass of leaded crystal and poured himself exactly two ounces of CM Sicilian Grappa made in the foothills of Mt. Etna. He took a sip and turned back to her. “Who’s seen her besides Bruno the idiot?”

“Franco.”

“Heh. Franco’s best for shuffling papers. Who else could recognize her?”

“Vitale. He served us tea.

“Vitale, yes! My handsome Viking. He’s wasted on tea. Get him on it right away. And now?
Vada via!
Out of my sight.”

* * *

Giulia hadn’t shared everything with Chuck about that hotel delivery and felt uneasy about that. She needed to talk with Nonno Tony.

“Be back in a minute,” Chuck said, bringing her into the present. He stepped out and smiled as he carefully closed the glass door to the hallway where the heaters weren’t working. Giulia watched him leave and knew she’d be learning more about this gentle military man, but soon her thoughts drifted back to her encounter with Signor Botteri. She shuddered remembering the hoodlum who’d trailed her from the hotel. Chuck knocked on the door with his foot. He held two white ceramic cups and saucers of hot tea. She got up to open it for him. “Their coffee smelled burnt, maybe this will take the chill off.”

“Thanks. I do feel shivery.”

“Spring is struggling, but I guarantee it will make it,” he said.

She nodded and sipped the scalding tea, thinking he sounded as uncomfortable with small talk as she did. The train rolled along and they both slipped into their own thoughts again. Tasteless, but hot, the tea reminded Giulia of her encounter with Laura at that damned hotel.

The conductor announced the arrival at the Padova station rousing Giulia from her reflections. They’d come about twenty-five miles. She was still holding her half-finished tea. Chuck roused, noticed her cup and eased it out of her hand, placing it on the small shelf under the window.

“Only fifteen more miles. You okay?” he asked, wishing he could hold her in his arms for the rest of the ride. She nodded and settled her head against the cushion. He sighed and followed suit as the train moved on into the darkness toward Vicenza.

The last escort service Giulia tried was a strictly arm-candy arrangement. She couldn’t stop her mind from re-playing a part of her past that still haunted her. She had earned good money with that service, catering almost exclusively to visitors who attended University functions. Men who wanted attractive women on their arms for an evening or two. She had stayed on her student budget and invested all of her escort earnings. With the money from Lettie, it might be possible to live in a beautiful Venetian apartment soon.

Aunt Loretta had supported Giulia’s dream to live in Venice. When Uncle Giuseppe died, she moved to Portland, and they’d become almost like sisters. Giulia had always wanted a sister and still missed Lettie, wishing she’d lived long enough to see all this happen. Then again, she was glad Lettie had never known about her activities in Eugene. Arm candy or not, she’d sold herself. But when she’d stormed away from Laura and burned that application, she’d felt liberated—free. The train jolted Giulia out of her reverie. She inhaled and sat up straight feeling encouraged. Maybe it was time to live a real life. But did she even know how?

She glanced at Chuck dozing beside her. He was truly a tall, dark and handsome man. And fit—that had been obvious when she’d slammed into his hard body coming out of Ogle’s office. But he didn’t display overgrown biceps, triceps, quads and whatever else all those muscles were that many admired. His thick hair was fairly short—no doubt military regulations—and cut in layers, probably to control what appeared to be strong, natural curls. She wouldn’t mind running her hands through it. She noticed the dark shadow of a whisker grain along his jaw. Nice. It had been ages since she’d thought about the sexy rasp of a beard on her skin. Most of all, though, she imagined how his sensuous mouth would feel. When she was near him, dormant sensual feelings kept working their way to the surface. If she didn’t control them, she’d land in trouble fast.

What were
his
thoughts while he snoozed as the dark night flew past the window? As if he knew she was back from her trance-like withdrawal, he turned to her and said so softly she hardly heard him, “How’re you doing?”

“Fine. A little tired is all.”

For a moment, she’d been sure he’d offer his shoulder. It would have been welcome, even though she hadn’t let anyone this close for ages. Her chest felt revved up and her heart was racing. It did that a lot lately. They weren’t touching, but she felt heat radiating from his body. For all his military bearing and take-charge manner, not once had he crowded her with sexual innuendos. But she wanted… My God. She wanted more.

Did he sense her emotional wariness? Whatever it was, she felt at ease beside him as they rolled on into the night. She relaxed against the back of her seat and sighed. Wrestling her twisted thoughts had been exhausting, but for the moment, she felt at peace. The movement of the train lulled her into a more comfortable drowse. As she drifted off, she felt an over-powering urge to scoot close to his heat-charged aura.

* * *

Chuck looked over at the enticing woman beside him. Could she be for him? He felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. Seeing Marc and Marlowe again reminded him he couldn’t do the superficial stuff anymore. At this moment, Marc was probably spooning his large body around Marlowe’s soft curves.
Dammit, I want some of that in my bed. Namely, Giulia.

Most women were attracted to a military man, and he’d shared his bed with plenty of sophisticated European women. But too often they were more interested in his position at the American base than him.

God. Tonight he’d been turned on watching Giulia eat with a lusty appetite. He wanted to know what other appetites she might enjoy. She had fire. He wanted to turn that fire into an inferno burning for him. Oh yeah. But with his fey sensibility that he’d learned to accept over the years—and which had kept him alive a time or two—he was certain she’d been scorched. She was too cautious. For once, he was taking it slowly.

Her head nodded. He inched slightly closer and her head bobbed again. Finally, it fell against his shoulder. For now, it would be enough. He sighed and inhaled her heady, female fragrance.

It was mid-afternoon and the friendly bus driver stopped on the outskirts of Vicenza for Giulia. He pointed down a lane lined with tall Mediterranean cypress, saying, “
Sempre diritto,
straight ahead.” Those words were often offered in Italy, and she expected a turn or two or having to ask more questions along the way to Villa Rotonda, Palladio’s most famous building. She’d meant to come several times before, but it had been closed or
in restoro.
This time she’d been told it would be open all day until five.

It was pleasant walking among the dark, sentinel-like trees, but it seemed strange to see no one on a Sunday afternoon. In spite of the driver’s directions, she felt drawn to take a right and followed a flight of broad steps bordered on both sides by rows and rows of cherry trees. She remembered Nonna taking her to local orchards when she was little. Cherries grew in the Willamette Valley of Oregon, but her only visits to cherry orchards had been in Italy with Nonna.

The steps looked so grand, surely they led to the Villa. When she was about one-third of the way up, she noticed someone coming down. Her breath caught until she deduced it was a woman.
Maledizione! No matter how self confident I feel traveling alone, there’s always the possible danger from an unknown male.

The young woman worked at a large estate on the hill and knew of no famous villa, but she said her boyfriend waiting below might know. He did and led Giulia to the heavy, wrought-iron gate surrounding Palladio’s famous landmark. She started to tell the couple about Thomas Jefferson and his architectural copy for the Rotunda at the University of Virginia, but noticed their eyes glaze over as they stood with polite smiles. They had other ideas on their minds and could scarcely keep their hands off each other. Ah yes, Giulia thought, some women do know how to trust.

She bought a ticket and followed the broad path lined with oleanders, not yet flowering, but their glossy leaves held promises of abundant radiance. The cream-colored stucco of the stately structure glowed and the red-tiled dome seemed to be polished by the sun. Giulia felt thrilled to be here. Whoever had commissioned the Villa four hundred years ago would be surprised at how famous their home had become. Palladio’s design included four equally-proportioned arms opening out from the central dome. From her vantage point, Giulia saw only one elegant porch with its six dazzling-white, ionic columns waiting at the top of fifteen—she counted them—white marble steps. Giulia thought of Tara and Scarlet O’hara. She had always admired her fiery courage.

She wondered if the inside of the Villa would be as beautiful as her view from the approach. She noticed a tall man in a pale-blue turtleneck, dark pants and jacket start down the steps. Two young guys dashed out of the building heading straight for him. They were up to no good and she yelled,
“Attento!”
just as they shoved him. Her warning was all he needed. He swung a blow at one man’s upper body then rolled over onto his shoulder kicking the other in the knee. They both fell, scrambled up and scurried away, cursing. Giulia ran to the fallen man.

It was Chuck!

“Are you okay?” she asked bending over him.

“I’m fine,” he said and looked up to see Giulia. He almost wished he’d been injured so she’d hover longer. As he got up, his ankle gave way. He sat down on a step to examine it. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is your foot hurt?”

“Twisted my ankle, no big problem. They weren’t willing to fight for my wallet. Damned low-lifes out for easy pickings,” he muttered.

“How’d they get inside? Surely they didn’t pay.”

“Yeah. Maybe the ticket seller gets a cut,” he growled.

“Would it help to lean on me until you know for sure about your ankle?”

“Thanks, Giulia, but I can make it.” Then he thought better of that decision and limped heavily reaching for her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer. My car’s not far.”

He didn’t put his full weight on her little shoulder. She was small compared to his six-foot-two frame and didn’t look all that strong. But she was surprisingly steady as they hobbled out the gate toward his bright-yellow Fiat Punto. He began to think fast, determined to not let her get away today.

“I’m lucky you came along when you did.”

“They came at you fast. Your reflexes were amazing. All I saw was a blur, and they were gone.”

“I wasn’t as quick as I should have been. Out of practice.” He shook his head in disgust. “I should have heard them before you shouted.”

“You mentioned Special Ops. Are you still involved?”

“Not actively. That’s a young man’s profession and I’m pushing forty.”
Damn. Hope that won’t turn her off.

“Are most people forced out at that age?”

“No. No one forced me out. Some guys stay in much longer; they merely train harder. As for me, I took a look at my life and decided the cold sweats that strike in the middle of the night aren’t worth it anymore.”
She didn’t need to hear that either.

“I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be. I’ve been away from all that for three years and life’s improving.”
Much more since I met you.

They were at the car where he opened the door and eased into the little auto and looked up at her. “Giulia, you saved me from a lot more grief than a twisted ankle. You know don’t you, that in ancient Chinese tradition, you are now responsible for my well being?”

“Is that so?” she said grinning and put her hand on the top of the little vehicle. “You don’t look the least bit ancient or Chinese, especially while wearing that miniature yellow automobile.”

“We never do know our true heritage, do we?” he said ignoring her comment about his car. “I mean, if we go back far enough—”

“You could be right.”

“Of course the tradition doesn’t include daily care and feeding, but it does mean that when I’m in need, you will rush to my rescue. And what I need most is to have dinner with you.”

“You’re good,” she said putting her hands on her hips. “It’s tempting to say no just to hear what other plan you’ll come up with, but—”

“But you’ll say yes, right? I know of a Chinese restaurant in the northern part of Vicenza called
La Muraglia.
”

Giulia wrinkled her nose in distaste and said, “A Chinese restaurant called The Wall. How clever of them.”

“Uh oh. Guess I hit the wrong wall with that idea. How about a Pugliese restaurant? I know a good one,
Zio Zeb.”

“Uncle Zeb, huh? That does sound better than Chinese cuisine in Italy. I haven’t enjoyed Chinese food anywhere except San Francisco or Seattle.”

“Neither have I. It just popped into my head. You see, Giulia, I’m not nearly as slick as you might think.”

She liked that touch of vulnerability about him or was it? A man like Chuck would surely know women like a touch of vulnerability in a man. She could go back and forth on this forever and hated feeling so cynical. She smiled and let it go knowing that once again she’d miss the inside of the Villa.

“How’d you get here today?” he asked.

“Bus and feet.”

“Could I offer you a ride in my limousine?” He started to get up to walk around to the passenger side.

“Save your ankle,” she said. “I can open the door.” Once she was in and looked around, she said, “There’s a lot more space inside this
piccola macchina
than I ever expected. I’ll take back my remark about you wearing it. But,” she stifled a giggle. “I have to admit it did look as if you were putting it on.”

He laughed, too. “It’s surprisingly spacious for long legs, and it offers more head room than some larger cars.”

After a couple wrong turns, they arrived at the trattoria, and this time Chuck was out of the car and around to Giulia’s door before she had located the handle. His ankle seemed no worse for that quick action, and she questioned just how bad that tumble had been. She felt warmth spread through her body. It had been ages since someone had seemed genuinely interested in wanting to be with her—only for her and not what she might do for them.

As they entered the restaurant, traces of garlic, oregano and rosemary wafted from the kitchen. “There’s nothing quite like the aroma of Italian cooking,” Giulia said.

“It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures,” he said. But not the only one, he thought, while he watched the natural, feminine sway of her hips as she followed the waiter. Her slacks weren’t skin tight but still, they fit her round ass perfectly.
Down boy.

People were chatting and laughing at nearby tables. Chuck spoke to the waiter and soon they were taken into a quiet, dark alcove. “Hope this corner suits you. The other diners are having too much fun.”

“Oh yes. I like it more quiet, too. What’s good here?”

“I haven’t eaten here much. Usually eat in Venice or at my own place, but they have an interesting specialty,
Ricci di Mare,
sea urchins, with pasta. No oil, no cheese, just the taste of the sea with maybe some parsley thrown in. As you know, ‘Pugliese’ cuisine comes from Apulia which is pretty much one long seashore down there on Italy’s heel. Everyone grows up eating lots of raw fish. Sashimi isn’t new to Apuliani, they just didn’t know what to call it until the Japanese told them.”

“So the ricci di mare aren’t cooked except by the hot pasta?”

“That’s right. Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. But what do sea urchins taste like?”

“The truth?”

“Of course.”

“In my opinion, they taste like lobster liver.”

Giulia wrinkled her nose again. “Isn’t that the green stuff that’s really the lobster’s digestive tract?”

“It is,” he said with a lop-sided grin that deepened his right dimple.

“Hmm. Any other recommendations?”

He burst into laughter leaning back on his chair. Then he held the menu under the lamp curved over their table, pointing to
Orecchiette Barese,
little ear-shaped pastas, Bari style. It was described as including rapini and sweet Italian sausage. “This one was delicious the last time I was here. My mouth’s already watering.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said.

“Red or white wine?” he asked.

“Red please.”

The waiter took their orders for Orecchiette, to be followed by green salads. Now what, Giulia wondered?

* * *

With another half grin, Chuck said, “Thanks for taking the first step toward your commitment.”

“Is this for life?” she said, raising her voice in mock amazement, wondering if he knew how sexy he looked when that dimple appeared.

“We aren’t eating Chinese food but you’re not off the hook.”

“Next time, maybe I won’t shout when you’re being attacked.”

“Would you be that cruel?” He asked, engaging her eyes.

“Maybeee.” She hadn’t bantered this way for… how long? Maybe never. “Have you been to Apulia?” she asked, hoping to switch attention back to him.

“I have. My mother’s family’s from Apulia. When she was alive, I took her to visit her grandparents and cousins and aunts and second cousins. You get the idea. And you?”

“All my relatives are in the North and not one big family. Until I was an adult, our trips were always to the Veneto. I’ve often thought about visiting the South, but family constraints held me back. I
have
been as far as Rome and Naples. Now though,” she lifted her glass but didn’t drink. Her voice trailed off as she focused on her dream of life in Venice.

“Now though?”

“I drifted didn’t I?” she said smiling. “Since I was about seven—when Mom first took me into Venice—I’ve been determined to live there. Finally, I think it’s going to happen.”

“Why didn’t you take an apartment in Venice right away?”

“Financial reasons. It will take awhile yet before I can afford the apartment I want. As a student, I accepted cramped quarters with lousy plumbing and leaky roofs, but with savings and an inheritance from my Aunt Loretta, I’m getting closer.”

“You’ll be buying an apartment?”

“Oh no. My dreams aren’t that lofty. I have student loans to pay, but a spacious rental with a water view might be in my price range. Do you know anything about rental apartments near San Giobbe? Marlowe and I were there yesterday. Because of her, I finally got inside that little church. Apartments might be less expensive in that area.”

“I know where you mean,” he said, “but I’d think the noise from the causeway would be a problem.”

“I thought so too, but for the short time we were there, it was blessedly quiet. I’d need to check it out at other times of the day and night. For sure, one reason I want to live in Venice is the quiet.”
Great job of getting him to talk about himself.

Their wine and bread were served and when the waiter left, Giulia said, “You know where I grew up, how about you?”

“You want a resume?” he asked with a full-fledged grin.

She took a sip of wine, her eyes focused on his mouth and waited.

“Okay, fair enough. I grew up in the tenements of Elizabeth, New Jersey. One sister, two brothers. Dad worked in a refinery—when he wasn’t drunk. Mom worked in the factory when we kids were old enough for school. At seventeen, I had an opportunity to get out by entering the Air Force Academy but…”

This time, he was quiet as he broke off a piece of bread and held it mid-air instead of eating it.

“Obviously, you took advantage of that chance.”

“Yeah, I did,” and he laid his hunk of bread down still looking at it. “I hated to leave Mom in that situation, but she insisted I go. With hindsight, I know she had cleverly convinced me I was doing it for her.”

“Seventeen. Isn’t that too young?”

“Not with parental permission, at least at that time.”

“Was that a good experience going from New Jersey to Colorado?”

He let out a strained snort. “It took serious adjustment, but I saw it as a great opportunity for someone like me. I got my education, applied for as many training programs as I could, and felt I’d hit the jackpot when I was accepted into Pepperdine’s graduate business school in Irvine. Not a bad drive from the March Air Force Base near Riverside where I was stationed. But talk about adjustment. The Pepperdine environment was the most difficult. It was a whole different world.”