Belladonna (29 page)

Cass had always viewed Luca’s differences from Falco as weaknesses, but she was starting to realize she’d been wrong. Falco was passionate, but he was also volatile and opinionated, so quick to get angry or frustrated. Luca was simply different, so staid and calm, except when the situation truly called for it. He had spent years away from her, but he understood the woman she was becoming. That was why he hadn’t pressured her about the wedding. He knew she needed time for the decision to become her own.

Madalena came to find her for dinner. Cass debated skipping it—she didn’t want to face anyone else, to see their pained eyes and piteous expressions—but she hadn’t eaten breakfast and she was starving. At Mada’s urging, she reluctantly took her seat in the dining room. It turned out to be a mistake. While Cass was packing, Madalena had taken it upon herself to inform the rest of the household of Cass’s immediate return to Florence because of Luca’s impending demise.

Cass didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to
think
about it, but everyone else did. Marco and Signor Rambaldo took turns first arguing about the injustice in denying a man a trial and then assuring Cass that the Senate would come to its senses, that this was merely a ploy to get Luca to confess. Mada nodded along with them, reminding Cass that Luca was good and God was good and everything would work out. Cass knew they meant well, but each time one of them said Luca’s name, she could almost see him dangling from the tarnished chandelier, his neck purple, his throat crushed.

She tried to distract herself by staring at her lap, counting the tiny, uneven X-shaped stitches that made up the fleur-de-lis on her napkin. Seeing those Xs made her think of Mariabella, the dead courtesan she’d found strangled to death and slashed with an X in her friend Livi’s tomb. And thinking of Mariabella also made her think of Cristian. Cass folded her napkin and looked at the wall instead.

Also no help. A giant mural depicting Judith holding a sword to Holofernes’s neck was painted on the wall opposite her seat. Drops of blood were just beginning to fall from her silvery blade. The painting appeared to be as old as the palazzo. Cass wondered about Signor Alioni’s ancestors. Why would they have wanted such a gory picture in their dining room?

After what felt like two lifetimes, the servants cleared the bowls of soup and brought plates of roasted duck and herbed potatoes. It was without a doubt the most delicious-looking food Cass had seen come up from the kitchen at Palazzo Alioni. She felt as if
she
were the one who had been condemned, enjoying a last meal on Signora Alioni’s finest, only slightly chipped, gold-rimmed porcelain.

Across the table, Marco and Signor Rambaldo were still debating. “If Luca confesses to this trumped-up charge, the Senate will reconsider the sentence,” Signor Rambaldo said.

“What if he doesn’t confess?” Marco asked.

“Perhaps we should speak of something else.” Mada dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I hear the cook has prepared some sort of pastry for dessert.”

Another course to suffer through.
Cass sipped her wine, wondering whether she should plead illness and flee to her room.

Signor Rambaldo swallowed hard. “Luca da Peraga is no fool,” he said, spearing another bite of potato with his fork. “He isn’t stubborn enough to die. He has his mother to think about, and Signorina Cassandra.”

“Cass.” Mada tried again to change the subject. “Did Stella tell you she’d be delighted to keep Feliciana in her employ for the time being?”

Cass felt a momentary rush of relief. Feliciana would be safe. She nodded at Signora Alioni. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Signora Alioni nodded in return. “She’s a fine worker, though I fear she may distract some of the boys.” She smiled and arched an eyebrow.

Marco barreled on. “Yes, Signore, but even if Luca confesses, there is no guarantee that he’ll ever go free.”

Madalena cleared her throat loudly and shot a meaningful glance at her new husband. “I received a message from Prudentia today,” she said.

“Who?” Cass asked.

“I don’t believe you’ve met her. She’s married to Marco’s cousin.”

“Right,” Marco said. He finally seemed to have understood that Cass could not bear to sit through any more discussion of Luca’s fate. “Teodor’s wife. They were planning to spend some of the summer in France, were they not?”

France. Luca had studied in France. Cass had to stop thinking of Luca or she would go mad. She forced herself to concentrate on Madalena’s face. “Is that right?” she mustered. “I’ve heard France is lovely.”

“Yes. She and her husband have been exploring Paris.” Mada smiled. “Her letter goes on and on about the Notre Dame cathedral. Apparently it has the most breathtaking stained-glass windows.”

“Notre Dame,” Marco mused. “Have you seen it, Signore?” He turned to Madalena’s father.

“I have, indeed,” Signor Rambaldo said. “A stunning piece of architecture. Though to be fair, Venice has her share of beautiful structures as well.”

“Is it true,” Marco went on, “that there are catacombs beneath Notre Dame’s courtyard? Ruins of the original settlement built by the Celts?”

“I have heard that. Crumbling walls, broken swords, perhaps some ghosts trolling the place looking for their bones.” Signor Rambaldo rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

Madalena flung down her fork. “Both of you ought to be ashamed,” she cried out. “I’ve been trying to distract Cass from morbid thoughts, and you two turn a lovely conversation about Paris into a ghost story.”

“It’s all right, Mada,” Cass said. Her heart was going fast in her chest. The story had reminded her of something Belladonna had said at tea, the day she and Cass first met. Bella had spoken of Venice being rife with eerie specters that snuck in with the tides and stayed to haunt the city’s dank lower levels.

At the time, Cass had been surprised at how superstitious Belladonna had seemed. Now, however, she knew it was all an act, and a different aspect of the story struck her: the part about
sneaking in.

Perhaps there
was
a way to save Luca. Could Cass sneak into the Doge’s dungeons like the ghosts and the tides? It was highly unlikely. Even if she could gain entry, she didn’t know if she’d be able to find Luca. And if she found him, she didn’t know if she’d be able to free him.

All she knew was that if she did nothing, he’d be executed in just over a week.

As a child, Cass had taken Liviana to play near the canals, and the contessa had accidentally fallen into the fetid water. Even though it was years later that Livi became ill, Cass had always partially blamed herself for Liviana’s death.

And when Cass’s parents had gone off on a research trip, Cass had written them letter after letter, begging them to return home early so that she might spend Christmas with them. They had attempted to make the journey back during a rough, stormy December, and had died somewhere along the way. Cass didn’t know if it had been her fault, if they might have survived had they stayed away until spring, but she blamed herself anyway.

Luca had returned to Venice to protect Cass from his half brother Cristian. If he died, it would be partially because of her. Cass’s conscience was heavy with the blood of others. She would not add to that burden. She would save Luca, or die trying. 

Cass left for Venice the following morning. Madalena, Marco, and Signor Rambaldo were staying in Florence, as was Feliciana, at least for the time being.

“I need to make a stop before we head to the coast,” Cass said. She and Siena were sharing a carriage back to Mestre, where they would then board a ship to take them home. As much as Cass had no desire to ever see Piero or Belladonna’s villa again, she couldn’t leave Florence without saying good-bye to Falco. She hadn’t seen him since their fight and didn’t want him to think he was the reason she’d left Villa Briani and returned to Venice.

He wanted to see her too. An urgent message had arrived late the previous night. The folded parchment was tucked inside of Cass’s trunk, but she recalled the words exactly:
I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me. I must see you so that I can explain. I will come to Palazzo Alioni tomorrow evening. If you do not receive me, I will accept the fact that you never wish to see me again.
Typical Falco—get angry first and then think later.

Still, Cass understood why he’d said what he did. She knew what it was like to speak out of turn when emotions ran high. And it had been unfair to ask for his help in freeing Luca. She knew that now, and she didn’t want Falco to think she hated him. But Cass would have to hurry back to Venice to make it before Luca’s execution. She couldn’t wait for Falco to come to Palazzo Alioni that night.

“Of course,” Siena said. She was busy twisting and untwisting the belt of her dress, no doubt worrying about Luca’s execution.

Cass’s own fingers were busy rolling and unrolling a piece of parchment. She had scrawled Falco a quick response note. Nothing romantic. Just good-bye and good luck and a reassurance that she didn’t hate him. If he were absent or unavailable—and part of her hoped that he would be—she would just leave the message with the butler and hope that he delivered it.

She shivered a little. Signor Mafei had seemed so charming when she and Madalena had first met Belladonna for tea. But he had been there at the church, dressed in black, pouring blood just like Piero. Anyone who belonged to the Order of the Eternal Rose was sick and depraved. Evil.

Cass’s heart splintered in her chest as she realized the gravity of her words. There could be no more excuses. Her parents had been evil too.

The carriage turned onto the dirt road leading to Belladonna’s villa. Siena yelped as one of the wheels hit a rock. Cass glanced up and realized they were at the edge of town.

“Where are we going?” Siena frowned slightly, as if she knew the answer but couldn’t quite believe it.

“Villa Briani.” Cass lifted her chin toward Siena’s disapproving gaze. “Just for a moment.”

Siena shook her head but didn’t say anything. She turned her attention back to her lap and sat silently until the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Belladonna’s villa. Cass wondered what Siena was really thinking. Cass had pulled her handmaid to the side late the previous night after everyone had fallen asleep. She had told her there might be a way to help Luca escape from prison. At first, Siena had looked at Cass as if the wound on her arm had traveled all the way to her brain.

But slowly, Cass had explained the possibilities. They could contrive their way into one of Palazzo Ducale’s many servants’ entrances and hide away until nightfall. Then they could find their way into the Doge’s prison. True, once they were there, they would have to overpower the guard to steal his keys. Cass was still working on that part of the plan.

“I’ll go with you,” Siena had said without hesitation, her blue eyes as serious as Cass had ever seen them.

Cass didn’t know if Siena believed they could really free Luca from the Doge’s prison or if her handmaid loved him enough to volunteer for a mission that might get her killed, but the offer of help had made the idea seem real. It was foolish and crazy, but if there was the slimmest of chances that Cass could actually save Luca, she had to try.

But first, she had to deal with Falco.

One last good-bye.

Cass took the driver’s hand and stepped down from the carriage compartment. She felt a tremor of nervousness move through her as she made her way along the path that led to the arched front door. She could barely bring herself to knock. What if Piero answered? What if Belladonna answered, naked and covered in blood?

Idiota.
Signor Mafei would answer, of course. It was only proper. And when she wasn’t posing for nude paintings or bathing in blood, Belladonna did seem fond of being proper. Cass reached out and rapped bravely on the wooden door.

Sure enough, moments later Signor Mafei’s green eyes studied her curiously. “Are you here to see Dottor Basso?” he asked. He looked down at Cass’s bandaged arm, just the end of which peeped out from her cloak.

“Actually, I—I have a message for Signor da Padova,” Cass said, hating herself for feeling self-conscious. She knew how it sounded, as if she and Falco had been lovers. But really, how was it that she felt compelled to stammer and blush about a few stolen kisses, whereas Signor Mafei could stand over her so smugly, having drugged and seduced women to steal their blood?

“I believe he’s working down in the garden,” Signor Mafei said. “If you want to wait here, I can see if he’s available.”

“That’s all right,” Cass said quickly. Suddenly, she was in a hurry to escape Signor Mafei’s mesmerizing stare. “I’ll just go say hello. I remember the way.”

“But Signorina—”

Cass ignored the protest. She swept her way up the stairs and through the portego and dining area, barely glancing at the painted likenesses of Belladonna. What was it Falco had called her? Hard? Unnatural?

Cass had just started to descend the back steps into the lush garden when she saw them. Belladonna lay back on a divan, her milky, perfect skin completely exposed except for a twist of dark curls draped over her breasts and a string of strategically placed roses covering the area between her thighs. Falco sat on a stool, sketching on a large piece of parchment. Cass squinted. Bella’s curvy form was coming alive through Falco’s strong lines.

Belladonna said something and laughed, tossing her curls over one shoulder and exposing her breasts. Setting down his charcoal, Falco stepped over to the divan to adjust her hair. His hand seemed to linger on her bare skin for a moment. Cass told herself she was imagining it, but then Belladonna reached out and twined Falco’s fingers in her own. She looked up at him passionately, and he did not pull away. He bent toward her, free hand delicately adjusting one of the rosebuds perched along the curve of her perfect legs. Cass thought for certain they were going to kiss.