Falcon's Angel (13 page)

“Would you be so kind as to extend the invitation to him? We would welcome him with open arms. I would be delighted if you would accompany him, Marchese Falco. Perhaps we can convince you to stay a while.”

Carlo could not manage a smile. “I will speak with Signor Tarcisio, and if it is at all possible we shall see you later.”

He watched Baldoni leave the villa.
Open arms, indeed.

More so, an escort to the gaping fiery pit designed to silence all naysayers. The man was a monster.

By now, Dagio would have delivered the letter to his father. The duke would arrive with King Vittorio’s Guard just in time.

Baldoni could not have timed his invitation to die better.

* * * *

That afternoon, Carlo went to the Inn of San Mercuriale.

He entered the main hall and found Tarcisio in the library.

“It is the calm before the storm, is it not, Marchese Falco? Sit and enjoy the silence before the storm arrives.” Tarcisio resumed writing in a ledger.

Carlo gave a pensive nod. Tarcisio’s thoughts echoed his own. “A peaceful morning.”

“But not a peaceful night?” Tarcisio looked up.

“She comes to me in dreams,” he said.

It was not the first time they had spoken of Margaux, but Carlo was not used to divulging such confidences. He did so with his mother and brother on occasion. With his father, not at all.

It was disturbing that he was able to talk so easily to Tarcisio about such personal matters. Having borne witness to
il Dragone’s
evil deeds, they had become allies.

“Your beloved would want you to be at peace. Do you believe that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Marchese Falco, you must not forget that love is eternal. You will see Margaux again.”

He stared at Tarcisio. “Yes, I will.”

“Until then, you have been charged to live a full life here on earth. You don‘t want that, I know.” He put up a hand when Carlo would protest. “Nevertheless, the future waits.”

Tarcisio rose from his chair and put the ledger on the bookshelf. “Perhaps the healing process has already begun. In coming to Forlì, I think you have found a purpose your heart welcomes. You need to save this town as much for yourself as for its inhabitants.”

When they sat in silence, each with a cup, it seemed a tribute to the world and what could possibly be its last night, as Carlo knew it. Such thoughts made it harder to impart the news he carried as a yoke around his neck, but he must find the words.

“They killed your grandfather,” Carlo said.

Tarcisio sputtered and put his cup down. “What?”

“And I doubt that riding accident your father had last year was an accident.” Carlo sat back and jerked a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, I am not known for subtlety, but it is best you are prepared.”

“How do you know this?”

“Last night at the
Villa Merona
, two of the brown robes came in.”

“They wore the robes? Did they see you?”

“No. I hid in the kitchens. They brought in an unconscious female who fainted during one of their ceremonies. I could not see her face, but the villa is full of guests now, it must be one of them. They were talking about Signor Ventiglia. The one named Luciano suffocated him with a pillow. Your grandfather did not die of malaria.”

Tarcisio held onto the desk before him with both hands and lowered his head.

Carlo came around the desk and placed a hand on Tarcisio’s back. Comfort was not his strength. He thought of his mother. He must have been hell to live with this past year. He gave Tarcisio a pat on the back, perhaps too hearty but meant to reassure. “All will be avenged, my friend.”
All will be avenged, Margaux.

He gave Tarcisio a few minutes before saying, “This morning I received a visit from Signor Baldoni. He has requested your presence at
La Verità
.”

Tarcisio’s brown eyes lit up with the fire of retribution. “Well, let us not disappoint him.”

Chapter Eight

Baldoni stood on a raised dais at the front of the hall.

His welcome speech took all the patience Carlo could muster. No one appeared to listen to the saccharine speech anyway.

The audience’s furtive glances at Carlo and Tarcisio were comical. Finally, like the devotees they were, the members of
il Dragone
followed Baldoni’s lead, and ignored their visitors.

He and Tarcisio were unworthy until such time as when they were baptized and branded with the ancient symbol of
il Dragone
seared into their flesh. Only then would the congregation deign to speak with them.

Carlo disguised his amusement at the chilly reception with a stoic countenance. He looked neither left nor right and kept his eyes on Baldoni.

“Hear me, brothers and sisters.” Baldoni’s booming command turned all heads his way as the crowd waited for an explanation of the visitors. “Tonight we are honored by two guests, Signor Tarcisio of the Inn of San Mercuriale and Marchese Falco who has traveled to our township from Lazio.”

The members of
il Dragone
sat in stunned silence. Their leader continued after a moment’s pause, with upraised hands. “We welcome you to
La Verità
.”

The furtive glances became sneers. There was an awkward silence, which made it clear the crowd did not share Baldoni’s sentiments of greeting.

At least not now. That would soon change.

“In a gesture of goodwill and in the hope of great success in uniting our town, I have arranged a ceremony commemorating this fateful day. Let us all make our way to the ceremonial hall.”

Murmurs of delight coursed through the crowd. There were smiles on the faces of
il Dragone
, who finally appreciated their presence.

Carlo glanced at Tarcisio. The moment had come. They were to be the night’s entertainment.

Carlo caught the gleaming eye of one man who was as tall as he. The round dark eyes looked familiar. This man was the owner of the
Villa Merona
.

He had been sleeping in the midst of
il Dragone
since his arrival in Forlì. His anger shifted to Tarcisio, who surely knew with whom the innkeeper’s loyalties lay.

Carlo cast a scathing glance at Tarcisio, but the man would not meet his gaze. He recalled the first frustrating conversation he had experienced with Tarcisio. No wonder the man had been on the verge of apoplexy when shown the symbol of
il Dragone
in the
Villa Merona
that day.

They followed the crowd through the hidden door in the painting and walked through the grand antechamber, past the red velvet curtains.

What gall Baldoni had. The killer was so confident he would extinguish their lives tonight that he did not mind revealing a few secrets to them in their final hour.

When they reached the circular limestone chamber, there was an older man with a close cap of silver hair waiting for them.

“Welcome, I am Brother Conti.” The man’s voice resonated, his eyes calculating as if assessing two lambs for slaughter.

Brother Conti’s was the deep, commanding voice Carlo heard issuing the order
‘Bring them back’
that night they’d spied on
il Dragone
. Though Brother Conti was small in stature, he had the bearing of a king. His old back was ramrod straight on a thin frame.

Brother Conti walked at the head of the procession through the tunnel.

Four men moved up behind Carlo and Tarcisio, a silent escort in case they changed their minds about attending the ceremony. One brown robe held Carlo while the other took his gun.

“I will shoot him, Senior. It is much faster,” Luciano said, close to the back of Carlo’s head. “You should not have left your fortress in Lazio, Marchese Falco.” Luciano’s laughter was a subhuman gurgle.

Brother Conti ignored Luciano, but Carlo could not do so. The big brown robed figure was poking him between the shoulder blades with a pistol as they walked.

“I could have taken your life anytime,” Luciano whispered in his ear. “I should have killed you for taking my Rosa.”

Carlo turned. The gun was now aimed at his chest. “What did you say?”

Luciano stopped in his face. “Know this; she begged for your life only after you put the ring on her finger. She must have a respectable marriage, but she loves me.”

Luciano spat in his face.

A gun went off.

There were shouts.

Blood.

My blood?
Carlo could not tell. His ears were ringing, and they were holding him face down on the hard packed earth.

Through it all, Luciano whined.

The ringing in Carlo’s ears intensified as the red haze cleared. The ringing became shouting and then it was arguing.

Brother Conti and Tarcisio were among those shouting, but not at each other.

“Kill him, and you will answer to the Duke of Amadeo!”

“You fool! Give me the gun…”

“I-I can’t breathe!”

“He broke your nose, you ape! Stop babbling, and breathe through your mouth. Lift him. We must not delay the ceremony any longer.”

The brown robes pulled Carlo up.

He saw Luciano again, and lunged.

Hands around his arms, waist and neck prevented him from getting any further than a better look at the bloody mush in the center of Luciano’s face.

“I am the one she wants!” Luciano growled before several others pushed him ahead.

“That depends on the day of the week!” Carlo could not get past the brown robes between himself and Luciano.

Hands continued to restrain him. Struggling with them would have been fruitless. Even if he managed to get away from those that held him, he would not get as far as the archway to kill Luciano before the other fifty-odd members of
il Dragone
set upon him.

The somber expression on Tarcisio’s face asked questions about a woman who was very much alive, and not Carlo’s beloved.

Whore
.

He had been vulnerable.

No, he had been a fool, thinking he had damned her soul to hell when he’d fucked her.

Rosa Bareschi had only been doing what came naturally, as she had with whomever she wanted in
il Dragone
’s ceremonial orgies.

Carlo would contemplate the gypsy princess’s downfall and Luciano’s death later. He had just put Tarcisio in danger. Why Luciano had not managed to shoot him was a mystery. It just did not seem to be his time to die.

They walked between the stone dragons into the ceremonial hall. They dragged Carlo and Tarcisio behind the golden idol of
il Dragone
, where a flight of stone steps led up to an alcove carved out of the limestone wall.

The brown robes did not wait for a signal. They marched their two charges onto the platform to stand before Baldoni.

Baldoni smiled as if they were his guests at a masquerade. “You show no surprise, Signor Tarcisio. So, what Brother Conti thinks is true. You have seen our ceremonial hall before.”

Tarcisio regarded Baldoni with calm reserve, his brown eyes gleaming with hatred. “I know what evil you do here.”

“You know nothing of evil. You do not know what it is like to walk in the dark all of your life, as we have in order to survive.” Baldoni’s words were so soft Carlo almost did not catch them. The man looked past him, towards the crowd, as if he were seeing those ancient days of persecution.

“Do not endeavor to tell me your woes,” Tarcisio spat out. “Untold numbers of Christians have fought and died for their Lord and Savior. Over the centuries, Christians have survived lies, betrayal, persecution, and even war from baseless factions such as
il Dragone
. There is a reason for it. In the hearts and minds of the fearless, Christianity is the true Church.
il Dragone
is nothing more than a weak link in history. It survives on the fear of its members, who have the power to break its grip on them if they would only gather their courage.”

Tarcisio turned to the flock below and continued to address their leader. “The reason they stand here tonight,” his upraised arm swept over the crowd, “is because they are afraid for their lives and the lives of their families. They do not wish to suffer the same fate as Oberto and Savino. You control the members of
il Dragone
with fear, but fear is a temporary state which can be banished with knowledge.”

Only the fire below crackled and hissed in answer as the members of
il Dragone
stared up at Tarcisio. The brown hoods they wore half concealed their expressions. There was no way to tell how Tarcisio’s exhortations were affecting them, but Carlo admired the man. Even while he awaited his fate above a pit of fire, Tarcisio sought to pull them back from the brink of eternal death.

Baldoni’s eyes were hard as coal and assessing whether the condemned Tarcisio had said something that rang true with his flock.

There was a snicker in the crowd, and then another … and Baldoni’s victorious laughter rang out.

“You seek to turn my people against me? You fail, Tarcisio.”

And so it began. It was a murmur at first, an urging from members who perhaps had lived too long in the ways of
il Dragone
and feared change.

The rumbling grew, whipping through the crowd.
‘Not worthy.’

Carlo wondered what the outcome would have been if even one person had raised their voice in hope to Tarcisio’s plea.
Would it have helped turn the tide? Would the night have ended with the saving of souls?
But there was strength in numbers. No one here spoke out against
il Dragone
. Member after member repeated the damning words until it was a vociferous cry.
‘Not worthy!’

“Do you see? We are stronger than words, Tarcisio.” Baldoni’s beady eyes traveled over his congregation in approval. He sighed. “Yes, much stronger.”

Baldoni turned to Carlo, whom he now addressed for the first time. His next words were spoken low, conversationally, and solely for him. “You seek to hold counsel against us, but you are lost. Dagio Regiotto was taken this eve.” Baldoni motioned, and two guards brought out the subdued caretaker.

There was something not right about Dagio’s features. They were slack, and his throat worked convulsively.

Is he drugged?

Carlo heard Tarcisio’s sharp intake of breath. Tarcisio reached out to Dagio, but two brown robes held him back.

Dagio opened his mouth and gurgled.

Dear God, they have cut out his tongue!

Baldoni’s stare never wavered from Carlo as he continued. “He was captured outside the gates of Forlì. Your father will never find you, Marchese Falco. Dagio can no longer confess our secrets, and tonight you die.”

The cult members smelled blood. The clamor in the cavern was deafening.

Icy fingers of dread crawled up Carlo’s spine. They clawed at his chest and grabbed hold of his heart, chilling his soul.

Tarcisio turned to him. His face resembled the yellowed cloth map of the death tunnels.

Dagio was to have met Carlo’s father and King Vittorio’s Guard at the city gates and guide them to the catacombs by way of Paolo Ignacio’s fields.

Now that Baldoni’s men had captured Dagio and so cruelly silenced him, the King’s army would have no guide into the catacombs.

Carlo looked to the stone archway through which they had come. A grave-faced Brother Conti stood sentinel by the entrance.

The King’s Guard would now have to enter through the inn above and then search for the hidden door that led into the catacombs below. If by some chance they managed to find the door in the painting of the Ascension, they would have no less than six portals from which to choose. All of the portals led to tunnels that spread out in spider web formation in different directions underneath the town of Forlì.

They would be dead before his father and the King’s Guard found the blazing ceremonial pit.

With no trace of them or any proof of wrongdoing, the accusations against
La Verità
would be just that, baseless allegations. The veil of secrecy would come down over the town of Forlì once again to protect the damned. To protect Rosa Bareschi.

The ground shook. The brown robed members screamed louder.

Shadows lengthened on the cavern walls. The shadows expanded and became darker, staining the walls.

Baldoni smiled at him as a thunderous roar came from below. “I will remember your courage. A pity. You would have made a great assassin.” He motioned to the brown robe. “Lead our guests forward.”

The two brown robes dragged Carlo to the edge of the platform. The crowd below cheered even as they backed away from the fire that was already starting to root upwards.

This
was
their final hour.

Carlo raised his chin. We will not die alone. I will take these two devils with me.

“Brothers in Christ,” Baldoni gloated. “Where is your Savior now?”

Tarcisio stopped mid-prayer to stare at Baldoni. “Waiting for us with open arms as the devil waits for you.” Gone was the fear from Tarcisio’s eyes. He was at peace now with his hands clasped in front of him. He resumed his silent prayers.

Tears streamed down poor Dagio’s dirt-smudged face. Dagio had a young wife and baby.

Carlo began to pray, not for himself but for the family Dagio would leave behind.

The fire dragon came roaring out of the flames. The red eyes looked directly at Carlo. The dragon towered above them now, its breath searing Carlo’s face. Flames licked the edge of the platform as the dragon’s massive head came closer.

Carlo turned and took a step back, but a brown robe was behind him.

“You must go. Now!” A familiar voice echoed through the cavern, shaking the walls.

Carlo turned back to the dragon. As he watched, the red eyes turned yellow gold.

I must be in shock.

Margaux’s beautiful eyes bore into his. He wanted to believe in this last soothing vision.

I will be with you soon, my love.

“Who speaks?” Baldoni looked up to the cavern ceiling and then back at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.