Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (49 page)

Vincente's father had never given Vincente the "key" to the
"maps" because
Nonno
had never revealed the significance of
the carvings to his son. Vincente had discovered the "maps" but not
yet the key.

Nicoletta stared into the black, gaping hole that was the passageway. She
had been in it once before. It harbored traps, rats, and it was very, very
dark. The ceiling was low and the walls so close they were suffocating. Did the
passageway harbor the screams of other unwary women? Women who had trusted the
Scarletti men? The terrible humming was coming closer. Which was worse? To die
at Vincente's hands, or die with an unseen blade slitting her throat quickly in
the passageway? Biting her lip hard, Nicoletta chose the dark, damp passageway.
She stepped cautiously inside, and the two halves of the rock began to slowly
slide together behind her. The pounding of the sea had been loud, booming
through the cave, an assault on her ears, but now the closed door entombed her
in sudden silence within the narrow walls. Nicoletta squeezed her eyes shut
tight like a small child. It seemed an easier way to face the blackness of the
underground chamber. She could tell the passageway curved upward from the cove
toward the palazzo. It was a very long distance, locked beneath the earth, with
masses of rock over her head.

Hurry,
piccola. The voice was soft, persuasive, as if he knew she was
frozen to the spot, unable to force her feet to move. He had called her
little
one.
It was reassuring, that small nickname. Vincente would never have
thought to call her that. It spurred her to action when nothing else could
have.
There is no danger until you feel difference in the texture of the
ground. For once I am grateful for your bare feet.

Her heart soared instantly. It was Giovanni! There was no doubt in her mind.
He was still alive, and he was guiding her, bringing her through the complex
tunnel. She had a hundred questions but didn't know how to ask them, so she
concentrated on the one thing he needed to know. If she didn't make it, if she
made a mistake and died in the passageway, she wanted him warned, wanted him to
know who his mortal enemy was. His own brother. Vincente. She thought the name
over and over in her head, replaying her ugly recent memories of the man,
hoping to give Giovanni a clue.

The narrow path was leading steadily upward, a steep slope that was slippery
and yet gritty beneath her feet. There was slime on the rock walls as there had
been in the cave. It was hard going to make the climb, and she was unable to
find purchase on the slick walls to help her move forward. Her legs ached; her
whole body hurt. She was becoming aware of her own exhaustion. And always there
was the terrible darkness.

She heard the murmuring then. Voices buzzing around her, so real that she
stopped abruptly, feeling around her blindly, frantically, with her
outstretched hands, so frightened she literally couldn't move. He was in the
passageway! Vincente knew the way to open the door, and he had followed her!
She knew he was locked in the dark with her, far beneath the earth. Keeping her
hand on the slimy wall so she wouldn't get turned around, she glanced behind
her, eyes straining to see in the pitch black of the corridor. There was a
strange flickering light glowing behind her. She realized Vincente had lit a
torch, and he could thus move much faster than she could.

It is all right,
cara mia.
Keep moving forward until you feel the
difference under your feet. When you feel smooth marble, you must slow down.
Take five paces along the left-hand side. Five only. Count them.

Nicoletta turned resolutely away from the light. Giovanni was somewhere
ahead of her, perhaps moving toward her through the passageway. She had to put
her faith in him. Trembling so much that she could scarcely move, she forced
her feet along the uphill grade. It seemed an eternity before she managed to
ascend the steep cliff and reach level ground beneath the palazzo. Her bare
foot suddenly found cool, smooth marble.

"Left side," she reminded herself softly. The terrible whispers
were louder now, but she still couldn't distinguish the words. It sounded like
the buzzing of a swarm of bees. Cautiously, Nicoletta moved to the left side of
the tunnel until her shoulder brushed against the wall. She took five steps,
careful to remember that Giovanni was taller than she and his stride longer.

Stop at your fifth step, and take one pace directly to the right side.
Make certain you step sideways,
piccola.

She caught the anxiety in his voice. He was closer now—it wasn't her
imagination! Giovanni was in the passageway, too, coming toward her from inside
the palazzo. She stopped moving, standing very still, her heart beating in her
throat. She wanted to stay right, there, waiting for him to reach her, though
darkness was pressing down on her. A noise behind her heralded Vincente's
approach.

"I know you are there, Nicoletta," he called to her softly,
amusement in his voice. "You must know the tunnel holds many traps. And
there are rats in here, hungry rats. You cannot possible make it through alone.
I have a torch."

She knew there were rats; she heard them moving, felt them brush against her
bare feet. Close to panic, she took the step to her right. Her legs felt weak.
Take
three strides forward, and then another directly to your left.
She tasted
fear in her mouth. Where before she had been shivering with cold, her hands
nearly numb, now beads of sweat were running along her skin. She took the three
paces and stepped directly to her left. Nothing happened to her; no blade slid
silently out of the wall or ceiling or floor to end her life.

Nicoletta realized that tears were streaming down her face. She jammed her
fist over her mouth to keep from sobbing. Hands caught at her in the darkness,
dragging her against a strong, warm body. Giovanni! He was there, tall and
enormously strong, his body a shelter for hers. His heart was pounding beneath
her ear, his arms tight bands around her. She would know him anywhere, even in
pitch blackness far beneath the earth. Relief swept through her, nearly
overwhelming her, and she sagged against him, held up only by the strength of
his arms. Then felt him wince.

Nicoletta felt that wince all the way to her soul. "You are
injured!"

In the darkness his hands framed her face, his mouth unerringly finding
hers. He kissed her gently, lovingly, a little desperately in his relief.
"It is nothing. Aljandro's stiletto nicked me. I will walk you through the
passageway. You must follow my steps exactly."

"I cannot see anything."

"You will."

And she did. Nicoletta realized just how extraordinary his talent was, his
ability to communicate in silence. With her hand firmly in his, she followed
his footsteps, directed by the map he projected to her mind. They were silent
while he concentrated on the intricate patterns that took them safely through
the passageway and out into the bedchamber she shared with her husband. It
seemed familiar, comforting, a haven, when once she had thought it so foreign.

Her relief was tremendous. Nicoletta staggered into the light blazing in the
room, blinking rapidly while her eyes tried to adjust to the brightness of the
many candles lit in anticipation of their return. A fire was blazing in the
hearth, and Giovanni hurried her toward its warmth. He was running his hands
over her, ensuring she was all right, searching for signs of damage. She burst
into tears and threw herself into his arms.

Giovanni held her as if he might never let her go, burying his face in her
hair, his strong arms around her, pressing her to him. "I thought I had
lost you,
piccola.
I knew a monster walked among us, knew he preyed on
women, but I did not think it was Vincente. He seemed to love his wife, to care
for Portia. I thought it was one of the soldiers, not one of my brothers."
There was deep sorrow in his voice, as well as rage.

"Margerita is wounded, Giovanni. We must get to her."

"She is safe in the palazzo. Maria Pia attends her, and my most trusted
guards are stationed outside the room. Sophie is safely in Signorina Sigmora's
care, as well. I returned with soldiers from the regiment you had attended at
the border. They were bringing young Goeboli to the palazzo as we had
instructed. The pass was blocked, but they found me and tended my wounds."
Giovanni was pushing back her hair, touching her face, her neck, wiping at the
dirt on her skin. "Francesco took you at your word. Poor Antonello could
not convince Francesco to allow him to hunt for me. He was put under heavy
guard. Vincente had already escaped through the maze."

"I did not know which of them it was until it was too late. There was
nothing I could do for Portia," Nicoletta confessed sadly. "Her
wounds were too severe, and she had lost too much blood by the time I heard her
cries for help. She had aided Vincente in his conspiracy, but in the end, she
could not allow him to murder her child."

"I know,
cara mia.
I spoke briefly to Margerita. She told me how
she met Vincente in the maze and he attacked her. Portia had followed, and she
attacked Vincente, but he easily overpowered her and stabbed her several
times." Giovanni sighed. "I blame myself now. There have been reports
of women in the various
villaggi
being misused and even murdered. I
ordered investigations, but often it was Vincent who volunteered to
investigate, despite his reputed distaste for the peasantry, when I could not
spare my men. And Antonello admitted it was he who moved Cristano's body from
the labyrinth because he believed I had killed the boy out of jealousy, and
wanted to protect me."

"Vincente is still in the passageway, Giovanni." Nicoletta's
fingers curled in his shirt. She looked toward the smooth marble wall, half
expecting it to slide open and his younger brother burst through.

"I am aware of that," he said gently. "But he cannot make it
through the tunnel without the map. He will be forced to turn back, and my
guards will be waiting for him."

"He knew about the map, but he didn't know the key."

"Mio padre
did not know the key to give it to him,"
Giovanni confirmed. "Nonno suspected something had gone wrong with his
son, my father, after our mother's death. Padre only held the title of don for
three years, and Nonno never revealed the key to him, so Padre could not give
it to Vincente, even though he was his favorite son."

"Vincente killed your
nonna.
He strangled her." Nicoletta began to weep again, shaking
violently with the aftermath of terror. "And my mother. And my aunt and
all the other women; he hurt them on purpose. It was Vincente. He killed your
nonna,
too."

Giovanni swept her back into his arms, holding her to him, his mouth
fastening on hers in a desperate attempt to comfort her, to comfort them both.
"Come,
piccola,
come into the bath. It will warm you. I will go see
to the end of this thing and return to you as soon as I am able." She
clung to him, afraid to let him out of her sight. "What of your wounds?
Let me at least see to them."

"There is no need. I must go. Do you wish me to send Maria Pia to
you?"

More than anything Nicoletta wanted the comfort of the older woman, but
Margerita was severely wounded and had just lost her mother. "I will go to
them after I have bathed," Nicoletta said.

"Your guards will be at the door. Do not leave without them. I have
your word on that?" His black gaze pinned hers.

Nicoletta found a small smile from somewhere deep inside. She had had enough
adventures to last a lifetime. "You have my word, Don Giovanni."

He bent his head to hers and kissed her thoroughly, completely, his mouth
hot and dominant and masterful. Deep within her, the smile blossomed into
warmth.

Nicoletta went gratefully into the room with the deep, sunken tub. Steam
rose from the surface of the water. She lit as many candles as she could,
letting their soothing fragrance fill the room. The water shimmered invitingly,
offering a measure of peace when her entire body was suffering from exhaustion
and terror. She tossed her clothes aside and padded down the steps, letting the
hot water caress her skin, warming her. The moisture lapped at the bruise
forming on her breast, taking away the terrible stinging but not the memory of
how it was put there. She was still shivering violently, enough that small
waves radiated outward from her, reminding her of the violence of the sea, the
violence hidden beneath the surface of a man.

She wept then. For her mother, her aunt, for Giovanni's mother and
grandmother, for his grandfather, Portia, and Margerita, and even for Angelita
and little Sophie, who would someday have to know what a monster her father
was. She wept for herself and for Giovanni. His father had been a sick man who
had turned his jealousy into a corrupt hatred, and he had fed his youngest son
the same diet, creating an abomination. She sat in the bath, the water lapping
at her chin, and allowed the tears to fall until she thought she would never
cry again.

Finally Nicoletta washed her hair, rinsing out the salt spray, the sea
smell, trying to realize she was safe at last. But even the long bath had not
taken away the terror in the pit of her stomach, the horrible dread that filled
her body, and the taste of fear in her mouth. She needed Maria Pia. And young
Sophie. Most of all she needed Giovanni. Sighing, she left the bath and dressed
in one of the soft nightshifts Giovanni had had made for her. She dragged on a
robe and went to the bedchamber door.

To her relief, she recognized Dominic, although the other guard was a
stranger to her. "Where is Francesco?"

"He guards Margerita, Donna Nicoletta," Dominic responded.