"It wasn't really all that difficult. I sent a maid to tell her mia nonna needed her in the tower. It always worked for my father when he sent for women. I used to hide and watch him. Sometimes I joined with him, or he with me. Your madre was not the first woman I had led to the tower. Up there we could take our time, do what we wished without fear of interference. That day, everyone knew Nonno and Nonna were fighting, and they knew Nonna often walked the ramparts or retreated to the tower when she was distressed. Of course your mother went. Everyone loved mia nonna. Your madre believed she was summoned, and she would never turn Nonna down. I knew no one would be up there on such a rainy day. The wind was howling, I doubt any could have heard screaming. She fought me. I had no choice really; she would have told Giovanni. I had to kill her. It was only bad luck that Portia and Nonna came out in the rain onto the walkway. They saw me struggling with her. Nonna tried to stop me. You can see I had no choice."
He sounded as if he expected her approval, as if he were making a matter-of-fact statement without remorse of any kind. "Portia understood." He sounded very reasonable.
Nicoletta felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Vincente cocked his head to one side, regarding her gravely. "Portia knew I was destined to rule. She acted at once." His smile didn't reach his flat, dead eyes. "It helped that I knew she had killed her husband. She poisoned him, you know. I told her I knew." The chilling smile was devoid of all emotion. He began to drag her down the old steps, which were slippery with the salt spray and mist from the sea. "I told her I knew, and it was a good thing, because I wanted her to be mine. I wanted her to prove she was mine. Women are so easy to control. They think they have power, but in truth they have none."
Far below her she could see the waves crashing along the cliffs. "She was in love with you," Nicoletta said softly, feeding his ego, searching for anything to keep him talking. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. Portia had made a bad bargain, believing she could control Vincente, but he had used her, as he had used so many other women, in ugly ways.
"She would do anything for me." Vincente tightened his hold, jerking her so close she could smell his perverted excitement. He was sweating, aroused, his face flushed and his eyes large. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep from struggling against him. "I brought whores to her." He shrugged casually. "I would tell her she could join me or I would have my fun with them alone." There was contempt in his voice. "She watched me with other women, I made her watch. And she slept with men I told her to sleep with. I slept with her own daughter, and she still kept coming to me, begging me to allow her to please me, as if she ever could." His laughter was low and nasty. "Portia had her uses, though. She kept your friend Cristano occupied with her charms while I talked with you and my brothers in the courtyard."
Nicoletta paled. She stumbled several times as she pretended to try to keep up with him. Her body felt stiff and awkward from the biting cold. The mist swirled around them, the wind tugging at their clothes, so cold and piercing that Nicoletta could feel it all the way to her soul. She used the numbing cold to her advantage, shivering, slipping, dragging at his arm to slow him down.
"Portia helped you with Cristano? Why? Why did you kill him? He would have left, and you never would have seen him again." Even her voice trembled, though not from the cold. Vincente terrified her with his calm reasoning. He was utterly insane. His father had perverted him, teaching him to utterly loathe women.
"He heard us talking, planning our move on Giovanni. Portia and I were walking together; we didn't know the boy was still in the maze, after Giovanni confronted him. He didn't see us, but if he had gone to Giovanni, my brother would have figured it out. I am not a heartless killer, Nicoletta." He pressed his cold lips against her skin. "I only do what is necessary to protect my plans, my heritage. Don't you see that? Portia charmed Cristano, luring him with her considerable assets. I knew she would keep him occupied. I went back later to dispose of him. Believe me, he was so preoccupied with Portia, he never felt a thing."
Nicoletta couldn't prevent the shudder running through her at the implication. Portia was certainly capable of seducing Cristano. Cristano's manhood had been affronted. He would have leapt at the chance of seducing an aristocratico. She now realized she had felt his death; he had been murdered there in the maze, but Nicoletta had attributed the terrible foreboding to little Ricardo's sudden alarum about Lissandra. Lissandra didn't die until after Nicoletta arrived at the farm. From the ramparts Margerita must have seen her mother with Cristano in the labyrinth and hastened downstairs and along the corridor upset that her mother had been consorting with a peasant. She had run into Nicoletta and Giovanni but had no chance to reveal why she was upset because, at that very moment, Nicoletta was feeling so strongly the violence taking place in the maze without comprehending the true source.
Vincente ran a finger down her cheek, jerking her back to her own peril. "Your skin is even softer than it looks," He shrugged. "I have no idea why the body was not in the labyrinth. I left it there for you to find, so you would believe Gino had killed your friend and so you would not gaze with such heat at mio fratello." His smile was a sickly parody of anticipation. "You will not miss Giovanni. I will see to that."
Nicoletta's stomach clenched and rolled. Vincente sounded perfectly rational as he talked. Anyone watching him would think they were having a normal conversation. That frightened Nicoletta more than all his threats ever could. He believed he was entitled to any woman he desired. He believed he was entitled to kill anyone in his path. Giovanni, more than any other, stood in his way.
Her dark gaze jumped away from his. He terrified her with his cold-blooded calculating. She nodded as if she found what he was saying reasonable. "And Margerita? Why did you hurt her?"
His handsome face twisted into scowling contempt. "She was like Angelita, my wife. Sniveling and fawning. Just the sound of her voice made me ill! You pointed out to Antonello and me that she might have seen what had happened from above. You were partially correct. I went to her immediately, and, like all women, she wanted to be taken to bed. It was quite easy getting the information out of her. She had seen Portia seducing Cristano, and she saw me entering the maze. She told me everything, and she stayed quiet when I told her to." Again the contempt he felt was evident in his voice and manner. Young Margerita had been easy prey for a man like Vincente.
They were on the beach now, the ocean lapping at the shoreline, darkening the white sand so it looked almost black and slick with blood. Vincente continued to drag Nicoletta toward the water's edge. Salt spray misted her face and arms; the sand clung to her bare, bloodied feet. The wind tugged at her thick hair, blowing the strands around her face. Nicoletta was feeling desperate. She searched for something to keep him talking. "What of your wife? Angelita? Why did you marry her, and however did you get Portia to agree to stay silent?"
Vincente's teeth flashed at her. "I had no money. The lands and title belonged to Giovanni. By agreeing to marry that dull but wealthy cow, I thought I would be rich. Portia wanted the money, too. But it was not to be. I tired of Angelita's whining. She was fun at first, a virginal little thing, but quite tiresome, begging me not to hurt her in our bed. It was amusing to shock her, but she took the fun out of it with her endless sniveling. I could not allow her out of the room after a time." Again he ran his fingers over her skin, making Nicoletta shiver with revulsion. His hand settled around her throat so she was forced to look into his mad eyes. "It was difficult to hide the bruises, and I could not allow Giovanni to see them. I helped her end it. I watched her. It took her a long time to die." His white teeth flashed again. "If you do not tell me what I want to know, you will take a long time to die, too."
The water was racing toward them, a solid, foaming wall. She stared at it helplessly. Did he mean to drown them both? It crashed through the rocks and up the shore to explode in the air and fizz along the bank until her ankles and the hem of her skirt were soaked. His hands tightened around her th
roat, squeezing slowly. "I suggest you learn that I mean what I say, unlike Giovanni. If you expect him to come charging to your rescue, do not. He is dead. Your good friend Aljandro was easy enough to persuade to join with me, and a few others I bought. They took care of your husband. After all, if I wish to ease the suffering widow's pain for a time before she dies by her own hand, she must first be a widow." Deliberately his hand slipped from her throat to squeeze her breast forcefully. His sick laughter was in her ear as he twisted the delicate flesh.
The force of the waves nearly knocked her over, wrenching her loose from Vincente's grip. She shoved him hard and that combined with the force of the water toppled him over. He swore furiously. Nicoletta whirled and ran for her life, heading for the dark interior of a large cave. The water was inching its way in, then retreating just as fast, leaving behind a carpet of sea kelp. If only she had Giovanni's gift, to be able to call to him, touch him, get reassurance that he was still alive.
The cave branched out, leading in two different directions. Take the left. The voice brushed at the walls of her mind. Calm. Loving.
Nicoletta heard the pounding of Vincente's boots on the sand, spurring her to action. She rushed into the left tunnel as fast as she could. The farther she went from the sea, the darker the interior became. She was forced to slow down, walking carefully in the wet sand, unable to judge where to put her feet. Her heart was pounding, her lungs exploding. She was exhausted, even with the fresh surge of inspiration from Giovanni.
Behind her, Nicoletta heard Vincente as he came after her. He was no longer running, but taking his time as he stalked her, making certain she could not escape him. She could hear him humming softly to himself, and it made her blood run cold. He was insane. Utterly, totally, insane. And she was trapped in a dark, damp cave with no way out, nowhere to go.
She forced herself to press close to the cave wall. It felt damp and slimy to the touch, but it gave her a sense of stability as she pushed forward in the darkness. She nearly panicked when she ran into a dead end. She would have bumped her head if she hadn't blindly, instinctively thrown out her hands in front of her. It seemed solid rock. Her heart stilled. Had it been Giovanni's voice in her head? Or Vincente's? She tried to replay the words, terrified there in the dark with her heart pounding so loudly it sounded like thunder in her ears.
Reach down low, and run your finger along the surface of the rock slowly until you feel a slight depression. It is very low and to your right. The instructions were a whisper this time, the voice husky and strange.
Nicoletta hesitated for a moment, but what could she do? She was trapped, and Vincente was coming up behind her; she could hear his horrible humming. She didn't ever want to feel his hands on her again. She slid her fingers obediently along the face of the rock, slowly, back and forth, to cover it inch by inch. It seemed forever before she felt the faint depression. Her entire palm fit in the groove, and she pressed it there.
Just as in the palazzo room, a crack began to open in the cave wall, growing wider and wider until there was a gap large enough for her to fit through. The secret passageway did lead to the sea--an escape, just as Giovanni had explained to her. When under attack and needing to retreat, the Scarletti family disappeared inside their palazzo walls with the family fortune. They would go into the passage that led to the cove, where boats were waiting to take them away to safety. Nicoletta understood now the carvings in the two "map" rooms, the stained-glass windows, and the golden boats. The reliefs and paintings looked as if serpents were carrying the hapless aristocratici into the sea, but when the morning light shone on the mural, the winged creatures were carrying them safely out to sea and the waiting boats, the soldiers--their attackers--drowning as their ships crashed onto the hidden rocks. It was there for all to see, yet no one but the reigning don would understand the significance of it.
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. Mak
e 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."