Fire Maidens: Venice Read online

  “Cut that out,” the guard muttered, shoving him.

  Tony growled. Then his nose twitched, and he growled at the scent of thick perfume. The guards had bustled him out of the music room, down the hall, and out onto the patio overlooking the Grand Canal. Earlier, the place had been packed with guests, all clustered around one woman.

  Julienne de Marbot. The countess from France, or so someone had claimed. The malicious one with something to hide. Had she fled with the other guests at the false alarm, or had she snuck off in a different manner?

  Every instinct told him it was the latter, and he scanned the sky.

  “Wait,” Cara insisted, breaking him out of his thoughts.

  A boat was waiting at the edge of the terrace, and the guards had already helped Don Ercole and Fiorina aboard. Fiorina beckoned to Cara, who hesitated, looking back.

  “We’re leaving,” Don Ercole barked.

  Cara didn’t seem to mind, but Fiorina pleaded, “Please. Please, stay with me.”

  Cara gazed at Tony, looking pained. Truly pained, as if they were lovers about to be parted forever.

  Tony wrestled with the unfamiliar emotions that crowded into his heart, making his chest too tight. But Fiorina, the poor girl, seemed so helpless that he tilted his head, signaling to Cara.

  Don’t worry about me. Stay with her.

  Cara bit her lip then finally boarded. The moment she did, the motorboat sped off, dragging a corner of Tony’s heart with it like a line the crew had forgotten to cast off.

  “Man, I can’t believe you’re back in Venice,” one of the guards muttered to him.

  Another shook his head. “They’re going to lock you up for life — or worse.”

  Tony ignored them. For the first time in ages, he felt like he was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Which made no sense, but hell. His family had taught him to follow his heart, while the Foreign Legion had taught him to go with the flow. Both were pointing him in the same direction — the way Cara had gone.

  So, he waited, studying the stars until another boat roared up. Not the polished cruiser that had whisked away Don Ercole and the other VIPs, but a workaday runabout where everyone crowded together in an open cargo space. Still, when it took off, it went in the right direction — the way Cara had gone. Meanwhile, Matteo and the other prisoners were loaded on to a third boat and taken in a different direction.

  We’re getting special treatment, his lion noted.

  Still, Tony had to wonder. Was that a bad or a good thing?

  Due to the strict speed limit on the Grand Canal — one of the few obeyed in Italy — the trip took a torturously long time. Tony studied the stars and the buildings they passed. It was close to midnight, but Carnevale action was still in full swing. Music burst out of bars, and partygoers filled the side streets.

  Finally, the boat cruised under the Rialto Bridge, throttled down, and bumped to a stop at a dock with red-and-gold painted posts and a gold-edged flag of Venice, featuring the winged lion.

  Tony sucked in a long breath, taking it in. Palazzo Rigoni. It wasn’t often that a guy like him entered the headquarters of Venice’s Guardians — the shifter elite who controlled the city much like the Doges had, centuries earlier. But there he was, for the second time in his life. Would this visit be better than the first?

  The palace’s facade and interior hinted at a glorious past, but the effect was spoiled by water swirling over the marbled floor. Like much of Venice, the building was gradually sinking, due to corroding foundations and rising sea levels. La Serenissima was a beauty, but the city was singing its last song.

  “That way.” A guard shoved Tony along an elevated walkway made of narrow planks.

  Tony stomped down hard, making the plank vibrate. That resulted in a gratifying curse and splash as one of the guards toppled into the shin-deep water.

  The others laughed, but everyone sobered upon reaching a brilliantly lit lobby. There, the guards escorted Tony up a grand staircase with grim expressions that said, If you’re not worried yet, you should be.

  Yes, he ought to be. But his steps were quick and hopeful, because Cara wasn’t far now.

  My mate, his lion rumbled. My destined mate.

  He gulped but didn’t stop to think it over. He didn’t have to. The stars had crystallized the thought in his mind.

  As for why, and why now… Well, maybe fate was finally smiling on him. Maybe this was a new mission — something he’d been desperately seeking since leaving the military.

  Which meant he was more hopeful than anxious — enough that he nearly forgot he was being hauled in to face charges he’d been evading for the past decade.

  A clock bonged ominously at the top of the stairs, reminding him how dire the situation was.

  Tony strode past it and into a grand meeting hall. A dozen heads turned, most of them scowling as if he were the scum of the universe. But Cara flashed a bright smile, making his blood warm.

  “Bring him in,” Don Ercole ordered as if Tony hadn’t just sauntered in of his own accord.

  Tony sighed, trying to remember one thing. As arrogant as the Guardians were, their goals matched his — peace and prosperity for all residents of Venice, human and shifter alike.

  Well, most of the Guardians want that, his lion grumbled.

  That was the problem. Who could he trust?

  He looked around, identifying familiar faces. Some hadn’t changed, while others had aged dramatically. Whether that was the result of hard work or hard partying varied. The grumpy-looking elders with expressions that said, I can’t believe I was dragged out of bed for this were the ones who toiled hard, tackling Venice’s many challenges. Others were rosy-cheeked and clad in costumes. If they were grumpy, it was because they’d been dragged away from yet another raging party.

  Most of the Guardians were lions, the shifter species who had founded Venice centuries earlier, but there were also a handful of wolves and two sleepy old dragons.

  “What is this all about?” one of the women in the room snipped.

  Tony looked over. The older woman was vaguely familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. The bossy, bitchy kind most people steered clear of.

  “Donna Ismerelda, we finally have him.” Don Ercole pointed at Tony, who made a mental note of the name.

  Ismerelda. Definitely someone to steer clear of, he decided. Not that he had a choice.

  Don Ercole turned to the rest of those gathered. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the cowardly murderer who took the life of one of our own — a Guardian, no less.”

  Tony growled under his breath. Cowardly?

  Accused murderer, he was about to correct Don Ercole, but someone spoke first.

  “There must be some mistake. He stopped the intruders who were after Fiorina.”

  It was Cara, speaking up on his behalf when no one else would. Not the men he’d grown up with, not the older women who’d known him since he was a baby, and not the older lions familiar with his family’s reputation. Just Cara, a near stranger.

  “You stopped the intruders who were after Fiorina.” He pointed out.

  “We both did.” Cara’s eyes sparkled.

  For a moment, it felt like they were the only two in that vast room, filled with wonder and mutual admiration. Then Ismerelda sneered at Cara, breaking into that magic spell.

  “And who are you?”

  Every syllable was like a hornet sent to sting, and together, they formed a buzzing horde that would have chased most people out of the room.

  But Cara held her ground. “Cara Alari.”

  Ismerelda made a face that said, That still doesn’t tell me who you are.

  Luckily, an older woman — dear old Donna Luisa, a friend of Tony’s grandmother — spoke next. “Miss Alari is a guest of our friend and fellow Guardian, Grazia Pittoni.”

  Every brow in the room furrowed as if to say, Well, that explains a few things.

  Even Tony knew Grazia Pittoni — by reputation, at least. She wa
s the lion shifter equivalent of Peggy Guggenheim — a dazzlingly rich, eccentric heiress who indulged in her many passions. Literally. Word had it, Grazia Pittoni had taken in — and thrown out — countless lovers in a series of tempestuous relationships that had scandalized Venice in her day. Her passion for art was just as legendary. More recently, she’d funneled her hurricane-force energy into environmental issues plaguing the city.

  Grazia was unpredictable. Flamboyant. Larger than life. The kind of woman who enjoyed shaking things up.

  Just then, the doors burst open, and Grazia herself breezed into the room, tossing a colorful scarf over her shoulder. “Yoo-hoo. Did someone say my name?” The sixtysomething woman batted her eyelashes, then smiled at Cara. “Oh hello, darling. Did you enjoy the party?”

  Cara opened her mouth, then paused. When she finally spoke, she chose her words carefully. “Let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected.”

  Grazia burst out laughing. “That’s Venice for you.”

  Ismerelda glared. “We have serious matters to discuss.”

  “I bet you do,” Grazia muttered, heading for the liquor cabinet in a corner of the room.

  “Yes,” Ercole thundered. “Let us get back to the crimes this man committed.”

  Grazia poured herself a grappa. “Crimes? Have they multiplied in his absence?”

  Tony tilted his head. Wow. Grazia Pittoni — the Grazia Pittoni — was aware of his case?

  “What crimes?” Cara demanded.

  Ercole looked like he was about to rail at her, but Fiorina spoke first. Her voice was weak and shaky, as if speaking in public took all the courage she could muster.

  She pointed at Tony. “He saved me.”

  “My dear girl…” Don Ercole started.

  But Fiorina, pale and shaky as she was, insisted. “He did. He saved me.”

  “Have a good look,” Don Ercole growled. “What you see is the face of a killer.”

  Fiorina went white, but still, she stepped forward. Then she hesitated, clearly afraid.

  And who wouldn’t be, given Ercole’s menacing expression. Everything about him said, I am older and wiser. I am in charge here. And you will listen to me. You will obey me. This man is guilty. Repeat after me: this man is guilty.

  Tony scowled. Guilty unless proven innocent. That was pretty much how his “trial” had gone ten years earlier and the reason he’d fled when he’d had the chance.

  Taking Cara’s hand for support, Fiorina stepped closer. Tony held his breath, wishing he weren’t quite so tall.

  Not too tall for Cara, his lion hummed happily.

  That was true. She stood half a head taller than any other woman in the room. Even without the height, her broad shoulders and confidence would have made her stand out. But Fiorina, on the other hand…

  Fiorina was the Bambi of the shifter world. A fragile beauty facing a dangerous world for the first time.

  “Don’t you see?” Don Ercole boomed. “That man is a killer.”

  Tony didn’t seek out Fiorina’s eyes. He waited for Fiorina to look into his, letting her make her own judgment.

  Eyes don’t lie, his grandfather used to say.

  Except some did, as Tony had learned the hard way. He prayed Fiorina wasn’t too young and sheltered to know the difference.

  Her clear yellow-brown eyes gazed into his, and in them, he saw fear. Fear of him, and fear of failure. Fear of the people around them, and of something in her past. He saw sorrow, uncertainty…

  Jesus, he wanted to mutter. You poor thing.

  But when Cara squeezed Fiorina’s hand, other emotions shone through. Boundless joy. Hope. Faith, even in a world that seemed beyond repair. Laughter. Love. Energy.

  Tony’s heart warmed. Whatever Fiorina had been through, there was sunshine inside her not even the darkest forces could extinguish.

  “He saved me.” Her words came out in a whisper, but they echoed in the silence of the hall.

  Silence broken by Ercole’s hiss. “This man is a murderer. He killed your father.”

  Tony whipped around, thunderstruck. Whoa. The man he was accused of killing was Fiorina’s father?

  Fiorina stepped back, ashen-faced. “That was you?”

  Tony’s hopes plummeted. No. I swear it wasn’t, he was about to say, but Fiorina’s eyes went wide before he could.

  “Oh my God. It’s you. It really is you.”

  Tony gritted his teeth. Madonna. He was doomed.

  Chapter Six

  Tony shifted his weight from foot to foot. He truly was spacciato now. Screwed, as his Canadian army buddy, Heath, might say.

  His gaze wandered to Cara. He knew so little about her, yet he yearned to learn more. To spend time with her. To get to know her. To romance her the old-fashioned way. But how could he ever do that now?

  He jutted his jaw and looked back at Fiorina. Somehow, he had to convince her of the truth. The funny thing was, her eyes held no malice, just wonder.

  “This man saved me,” she whispered, stepping closer.

  Don Ercole huffed. “Anyone can see—”

  But Fiorina shook her head. “I don’t mean tonight. I mean the night my father was murdered.”

  A ripple of shock went through those gathered, though none could have been as surprised as Tony. What was she talking about?

  It was only when Fiorina nervously pushed her hair back that it all clicked into place. Why Fiorina seemed familiar. Why the Guardians treated her with reverence, even while addressing her like a child…

  “It’s you. It really is you,” Fiorina whispered.

  Tony didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there, staring into her pale, yellow-brown eyes — the only others that witnessed that terrible night.

  The night that had changed everything.

  Get him, the grim order echoed in his mind. And get his wretched family. Every one of them — the wife. The son. Kill them all — except the daughter. We need her alive.

  Tony teetered on his feet, reliving it all.

  He’d barely turned twenty-one when he’d been hired as security by one of Venice’s Guardians — a job he’d celebrated at the time. Helping Tiberio Mannini would help Venice, because Tiberio’s businesses prospered, and Tiberio gave generously to local charities.

  My success is your success, Tiberio had promised. Do a good job, and Venice will be forever in your debt.

  Tony grimaced. What a fool he had been.

  In his first few weeks on the job, all he’d witnessed were legitimate business dealings. But one night, Tony was called in to accompany Tiberio to a last-minute meeting. One that set off every alarm in Tony’s mind.

  The meeting wasn’t in an office, for one thing. It was in the study in the top story of a sumptuous villa along the Rio de Baracaroli, not far from the Grand Canal. A private home — after midnight. Clearly, the owner hadn’t expected any visitors. In fact, Fabricio Fellini, one of the younger Guardians, had greeted Tiberio in his pajamas.

  Something’s off, Tony’s lion had growled, immediately on edge.

  Still, he’d taken up position outside the door, making sure not to listen too closely to their hushed voices. After all, a loyal guard didn’t get mixed up in his boss’s business. But when those voices rose, he couldn’t help but wonder why. And when the heated argument changed to shouts of alarm, Tony had burst through the door — just in time to see Tiberio’s men leap at Fabricio.

  Get him, Tiberio had ordered. And get his wretched family. Kill them all — except the daughter. We need her alive.

  Tony couldn’t believe it. One of Venice’s most respected shifters attacking a fellow Guardian in his own home. Was Fabricio Fellini a traitor?

  Tiberio’s most loyal man, Caselli, had given Tony a look of warning. Play along with this, or else. The boss’s orders are orders.

  Not that kind of orders, Tony wanted to growl. But he’d been too shocked to act at the time.

  We can handle him, Tiberio declared as his men overwhelmed Fabricio. Y
ou get the others.

  Before Tony could protest, Caselli shoved him out the door and hurried him down the stairs.

  So, you finally get your first real job, kid. Don’t fuck it up.

  Tony had felt sick as he’d followed Caselli downstairs to where the family slumbered.

  Luckily, Fabricio had warned his mate, who had gathered up their children and started to flee down a back stairway. Tony would never forget her look of horror as he and Caselli thumped down the stairs.

  Leave us alone. I implore you, the woman begged. Don’t hurt my children.

  Her only protection was an elderly servant who brandished a sword plucked from a display on the wall. The man was so old and shaky, the point of the sword dipped and wobbled.

  Don’t worry, Caselli had grinned. We won’t hurt you. We’re here to protect you.

  His cruel smile gave away the lie. The woman didn’t buy a word, and neither did Tony. But what should he do? All his life, he’d been trained that orders were orders. Loyalty was loyalty. The Guardians of Venice could do no wrong, and traitors could not be tolerated.

  But this was wrong. Wrong in every way.

  Which was when it finally clicked his mind. Fellini wasn’t a traitor. Tiberio was.

  When Caselli lunged for the children, their mother screamed.

  That sound pushed Tony into action. Without thinking, he yanked Caselli back and flung him against the wall. Then he shepherded the woman toward the next landing and turned to block Caselli.

  Stop. Think. We can’t do this.

  Caselli stood, looking murderous. Yes, we can. We will. At least I will, even if it’s over your dead body. Sacrifices must be made, you know.

  An instant later, Caselli had jumped Tony, and a ferocious fight ensued — all just steps from the terrified woman and her children. Fury clouded Tony’s mind, and his movements became a whirlwind. His only clear memory was a chilling moment when he’d let out his lion claws and slashed at Caselli, leaving three parallel lines across his face. That, and Caselli’s murderous look, compounded by the blood dripping down his face.