Midnight in Venice (11 page)

Alessandro standing with his arm around another woman.
Alessandro and Katarina's engagement party
:
the Billionaire of Venice finds his princess.

And now Olivia had a face to put to his wife. A beautiful face. And he was looking at her with adoration. She felt a moment of unease that had nothing to do with her current predicament.

She flipped through the scrapbook. The clippings followed the themes of the photos: galas, racetrack wins, old concert programs. Nothing about his wife's murder. No, that wouldn't be kept in a scrapbook such as this. As a matter of fact, there was a gap of a couple of years, and then
Alessandro Rossi of Race-Car Fortune Joins
Guardia di Finanza.

A man dressed like Napoleon chased a giggling Josephine Bonaparte into the room and pushed her onto the settee. Oblivious to Olivia's presence, Napoleon nuzzled his face into Josephine's breasts, which swelled over the top of her low-cut dress.
I warn you it'll be a bit wild
,
Alessandro had said. And the night was still young.

Olivia closed the book and went to stand in the doorway. There had to be close to a hundred people in the room now, everyone in costume. It was testament to the size of the room that it hardly seemed crowded. She saw Beatrix talking to a plague doctor and a masked sultan. Olivia waved, and Beatrix, excusing herself, came hurrying over.

“Have you seen Alessandro yet?” Olivia asked hopefully.

“No, not yet.” Beatrix said. “I thought maybe I'd found my sultan for the evening, but that was the art dealer Silvio Milan I was talking to, and he seems to be with that plague doctor. First time I've heard of a female plague doctor. Not a very sexy costume, but maybe that's the idea, and she isn't wearing anything underneath!” Beatrix giggled. “Still, to go out like that with Silvio Milan—she must be very confident in her femininity.”

Or she doesn't want to be recognized
,
Olivia thought to herself. Maybe she should have worn a plague-doctor outfit herself.

“Anyway,” Beatrix continued, “Silvio owns a palazzo just a few doors away. Would you believe some of the men who work for him were arrested for drug smuggling this afternoon? The police even suspected Silvio! Silvio says they're looking for another of his employees, a
woman
. Can you believe it? She was supposed to be taking some glass to his art gallery in New York. But she ran away from the police, and no one knows where she is. I bet Alessandro's caught her by now. Small world, isn't it? And Venice is even smaller.” She grabbed Olivia by the hand. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Silvio. He's very important in the art world.”

Olivia didn't know what to say. Silvio would recognize her eyes, if not her voice. She started to make some lame excuse about being tired when Beatrix dropped her hand.

“Oh my God! There's Alessandro now! Wait here, I'll go get him!”

Olivia stepped back into the shadows of the study doorway. Napoleon and Josephine were gone, and the room was empty. Alessandro was wearing his jeans and black leather jacket over a dark shirt. But it wasn't just the lack of costume that made him look out of place. Among all the glitter and gaiety, he was serious and tense, his hair looking as if he'd run his fingers through it too many times that day.

“Would you believe that guy in the silver mask is Johnny Depp?” said a woman dressed as a mermaid complete with sparkly green scales.

“Who cares?” said her companion, a sexy peacock. “Did you see what just walked into the room? Who is that god?”

“
God
is right,” the mermaid agreed. “That's Alessandro Rossi. And he's as gorgeous as his photos. I never quite believed they were real.”

“He's the only person here not in costume,” said the peacock.

“I should hope not. It would be a crime against humanity to cover that face with a mask.”

By now, every woman in the room had turned to look, a wave of murmurs rippling through the crowd. Beatrix all but ran across the room to welcome him, nearly colliding with a waiter balancing a tray full of champagne glasses. The waiter, barely flinching, pirouetted gracefully to avoid her and continued on his way. She launched herself at Alessandro and covered his face with kisses. As she was at least a foot shorter, this was accomplished by jumping up and down.

Beatrix whispered something in his ear, and Alessandro started across the room toward Olivia, his path blocked as people stepped forward to greet him with kisses on both cheeks.

Heart pounding, Olivia tried to rehearse what she would say to him, but no words took shape in her mind. This wasn't going to work. He thought she was guilty. It was going to be so humiliating to be arrested in front of all these people!

She backed into the shadows, placing her hand on a chair to steady herself as he entered the room. “Come with me,” he said in a low voice as he took her arm.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Don't take me out there.”

“I won't. We're going to calmly walk to the other end of this room and go somewhere where we can talk in private. Now come quietly, and hopefully this won't make the gossip magazines too.
Italian Billionaire Cop Dates Drug Smuggler
.” There was no amusement in his tone, so she walked with him into a smaller room lined with art, art she would have noticed any other time, but tonight all she saw were those angry eyes. Why had she thought this meeting would go any differently?

He closed the door behind them. She raised her hand to remove her mask when he caught her wrist and held it in a firm grasp. “If I see a certain Olivia Moretti, I have to arrest her. So it's good I don't see her.”

“I can explain,” she said desperately.

“Maybe you can start by explaining why
she
ran away from me at the airport.”

“I . . .
she
doesn't know. She just went with the crowd. She wasn't aware of what she was doing . . . I didn't know the drugs were in the suitcase,” she said. “It wasn't even the same suitcase. You have to believe—”

“Stop! It's okay. I
do
believe you,” he said, taking her into his arms, tearing off her mask, and covering her mouth with his.

She kissed him back urgently. First with relief, then with desire. And he thought Beatrix's parties were wild before . . .

“God,” he swore. “If there's anything good in this, it's that I didn't have to wait a week to kiss you again.”

“I know I joked about calling in a bomb threat, but I didn't set this up, I swear!”

“I'm sorry I sounded angry right now. It was wrong. It's me I'm angry with. I've been kicking myself for letting you get away and putting you in danger. Did I wonder for a moment whether you were involved? Of course. But I'm sorry I doubted you.”

“You were just doing your job, and I
did
have a suitcase full of heroin.”

They both smiled at the absurdity.

“I've been searching for you all day,” he said, “praying I wouldn't find you in a dumpster too. We picked up both Dino and Luigi, and we're ninety-nine percent sure Luigi is innocent, but Dino is not. We searched Dino's place and found the red carry-on bag you described.”

“I could identify that bag.”

“That's good. We suspect Dino switched the glass into the one he gave you. Everything was timed for you to arrive at the last minute, since there was only a small window of opportunity to get the suitcase around Security. We have Benito too. He's Dino's cousin. We persuaded him to tell us everything he knew or we'd charge him with being an accessory to murder. What is it detectives say in American movies—he sang like a canary? Anyway, he didn't seem to mind turning his cousin in. We just don't know if we have everyone, or how many details Benito isn't privy to.”

“So now what? Do you still have to arrest me?”

“Technically, yes. But I think I can convince my boss to let me take you to my family's villa in the country. You'll be safe there.” He smiled. “We'll call it house arrest. And if I'm really lucky, you'll let me kiss you again properly.”

She managed a smile in return. “I'll get my coat.”

“We'll take the servants' staircase. We'll never get through that crowd,” he said, taking off his jacket and holding it out for her.

“But you'll be cold,” she protested.

“I'll be fine,” he said, gently replacing her mask and taking her hand. “I'm glad I gave you that invitation. Still, it seemed like a chance in a million you'd be here . . .”

Outside, a fine misty rain was falling. From somewhere above came the sound of fireworks.

“We're going to take the vaporetto to Piazzale Roma,” he said. “My car is there. But I don't want you seen with me. Someone might be hoping I'll lead them to you. It would be better if I had a costume, but it's too late for that. I'll follow you to the vaporetto stop. Do you know which one to take?”

She nodded.

“Good. Take it all the way to Piazzale Roma and meet me at the other side of the ticket office. I'll be right behind you the whole time. Got all that?”

She nodded again and turned to go, but he still had her hand in his. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it. “It's going to be okay, I swear.” He released her hand, and after taking a deep breath, she reluctantly started down the narrow street, trusting he wouldn't lose her.

When she arrived at the busy vaporetto stop, water was lapping over the dock. “Just a slight shift in wind, and we'll hear the high-water sirens,” said an old man in the line ahead of her.

The shelter rocked as the boat pulled up and the attendant slid open the gate, ordering, “Inside, inside.” Olivia pressed through the crowded deck into the equally crowded cabin, where she was forced to stand in the aisle. There was no sign of Alessandro.

Most of the passengers got off at the Rialto, where the restaurants and bars were blazing with light, and by the time they reached Piazzale Roma, she was almost alone.

Feeling panicked, she disembarked and walked through the brightly lit ticket office to the other side.

There, waiting for her as promised, was Alessandro.

 

Another disaster. If they betray me, I'll kill them.
It's not my fault things didn't go as planned. I held up my end.
I'd be the last one to tip
off the police.

If I can come up with a Plan B, we can still salvage this. Think, think, think, think. THINK!

 

As Alessandro drove his black Rossi sports car off the causeway onto the mainland, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was premature, he knew. Here he was, a member of the Guardia di Finanza, whose very mission was to bust drug rings, spiriting away a wanted witness, if not suspect, in what could be an international heroin-smuggling operation that also seemed to be in the business of murder. It was a good thing Columbo was almost as convinced of her innocence as he was.

“Are you sure this isn't going to get you in a lot of trouble with your boss?” Olivia asked as if reading his mind.

“I'll call Columbo as soon as we get to the villa. He's a reasonable guy. You're safe, and that's all that matters.” He could hear Columbo now:
Okay, but is she safe from
you
?

“But just in case he tells you to bring me in, can I have a shower first? I can't wait to get out of this costume. I feel like I've been in it for days. I wish I had some clean clothes.”

“Of course you can have a shower, and clean clothes are already arranged. But I must say, you look very sexy in that dress.”

She laughed for the first time that day. “Alessandro Rossi, you're a flirt.”

He returned her laugh. “Nobody has called me that for a long time.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze before switching gears. “You believe me when I say everything's going to be all right?”

“I believe you,” she said, leaning back against the headrest and closing her eyes.

He knew that to keep his promise, this case had to be solved. Not just getting Dino, but getting everyone behind this operation. How long had this been going on?

What an awful day. He'd been sure she'd disappeared forever, like Katarina. What a cruel irony it would be to lose another woman he loved!

Because that was what it was, wasn't it? Love. He hadn't known her long, but he hadn't known Katarina long either when he'd realized he loved her. Maybe it was like that for him: he knew immediately when it was right. The day he'd met Olivia with the chattering teeth, he'd already started to feel it, and by last night after the concert, he'd wanted nothing more than to pick her up in his arms, take her home, and make love to her.

He wasn't sure he believed in things like fate—that some god or the cosmos had an unavoidable plan for a person—but it was beginning to feel as if he'd been destined to meet Olivia. After the wind-up teeth had failed to bring them together, fate or whatever had given him another opportunity.

Well, this time he wasn't going to blow it. He would hang on to her for dear life.

 

Olivia woke as the car came to a stop in front of a pair of tall iron gates. “Are we there yet?” she asked sleepily, thinking how she'd said the same thing so often to her dad on long car trips.

“We're here,” Alessandro said. He picked up a remote control from the dash. The gates opened inward, and he drove slowly now, gravel crunching under the tires, the headlights revealing a sweeping drive flanked on one side by trees and the other by a large pond.

An elegant Palladian villa shrouded with mist came into view. “This is your home?” she asked. She'd seen this house before in design books, the kind that graced coffee tables and were named things like
The World's Most Beautiful Homes
.
Stairs rose on either side of a colonnade the White House would have envied, while the facade was punctuated by tall, graceful windows.

“My family's home, yes,” he said as the car came to a stop.

She fumbled with her door but was unable to penetrate its high-tech mysteries before Alessandro came around and opened it for her. The sudden cold came as a shock. Alessandro put his arm around her as she stared up at the house. “It's incredible.”

“I spent all my childhood summers here, but just my father lives here now,” he said. “He left for the Maldives right after his birthday party. The staff are expecting us.”

As if in a dream, she followed him up one set of stone stairs toward the now open doors. As they stepped inside, a tall, handsome woman in her mid-fifties greeted Alessandro warmly, kissing him on both cheeks.

“So nice to see you, Helga,” Alessandro said. “This is Olivia.”

“
Piacere
, Olivia,” Helga said with a faint German accent. “I left a bottle of your favorite wine in the library, Alessandro.”

Olivia could barely get out a stuttered
buonasera
as she gawked around the palatial entrance hall. Every inch of it was frescoed, and marble staircases swept up either side to a landing far above. She apologized to Helga for being rude. “I feel like Cinderella at the ball.”

Helga laughed. “It's okay. This house is stiff competition. Alessandro told me you wouldn't have any luggage with you, so I've set out some essentials for you in the wisteria-garden bathroom. If you have anything you'd like laundered, just leave it in the hamper behind the door.”

When Helga left them, Olivia raised an eyebrow at Alessandro. “Essentials? Did you send Helga shopping when you called her? Or do you often bring women with no luggage home with you?”

He laughed. “I can assure you, this is a first—but I do have resources.”

“I'll say,
and
a wisteria-garden bathroom.”

“I'm sorry. It's all a bit much. It gets a little embarrassing at times.” He indicated one of the doorways off the entrance, and they entered a round room ringed with elegant glass-doored bookcases and furnished with leather sofas and wingback chairs. A winding iron staircase led up to a balcony that encircled the entire room, and that held yet more bookcases. On a central table sat an antique globe, while above it, in the center of the ceiling, cherubs holding books in their hands looked down on them from a sunny blue sky. “Tiepolo?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” he answered, picking up what must be his “favorite wine” and pouring it into a glass that looked like it belonged in a museum. Eighteenth century, she guessed. What if she dropped it? It was worth more than everything she owned! “Don't you have an old plastic cup or something?” she said. “It scares me, drinking out of that.”

“Not to worry. It's just a good reproduction. We have dozens of them—we use them for parties.”

“Thank God,” she said, taking a sip. “When I was a little girl, we'd visit my mother's aunt Millicent on Sundays. She was very English. She had a room she called the parlor, and she served tea in china teacups. I dropped one, and the handle broke off. She made me drink out of a mug after that.”

He laughed. “Believe me. I don't want to remind you of your old aunt.”

“Remind me again why you decided to be a cop when you have all this?” The words were out before she could stop them. She clasped her hand over her mouth and came very close to dropping her glass after all. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Your wife . . . That was incredibly stupid of me. It's just that this is so overwhelming. I live in a dumpy little apartment in Toronto. I mean, that's what my sister calls it. I actually like it . . . or I did—”

He cut her off with one of those heart-stopping smiles. “I know. It seems crazy. Don't apologize. It's okay. Look, I know you want that shower, and I really have to call Columbo, but I need to say something first.”

He indicated a leather sofa and sat opposite her on the edge of the coffee table. Taking her glass, he set it beside him. It all seemed so serious, and she didn't know what to think. But that didn't stop scenarios from speeding through her head. What was he going to tell her? Was he regretting he'd let things go this far with her? Was he about to tell her he wasn't ready for this because of his wife?

“I don't know how to say this,” he said, taking her hands in his, and she realized it was too late. No matter how much she steeled herself, this was going to hurt, and she could already feel tears welling up.

“If you're not ready because of your wife . . .”

“No. Yes. Finding her has been an obsession for me, and until a few days ago I couldn't even admit she was dead. Thanks to you, I'm finally ready to move on. You're what's important to me now. From now on, my thoughts, hopes, and dreams are with you and you alone. But I know you might not believe it yet, and so I understand if you'd rather not be with me right now. If you'd rather wait until you're absolutely sure I've put all this behind me . . .”

She looked at him, not quite understanding.

“Look, this isn't easy for me,” he continued. “Believe me, there's nothing more I want right now than to carry you upstairs. But I have to give you that choice. Will you wait for me?”

“Will you wait for me?” she echoed, thinking he sounded like some nineteenth-century explorer going off to sea. She didn't know what to do about the rest of what he'd said, but she sure as hell wasn't going to wait for him. She wanted him now.

She got up from the couch and, standing over him, leaned down and pushed him back. Her skirt spread over the table as she covered his body with her own and kissed him. If he was surprised, it didn't faze him for long, and he was soon kissing her back just as intensely. The wineglass she'd been so worried about smashed to the marble floor, but she no longer cared if it
was
priceless eighteenth-century glass.

“Does that answer your question for you?” she asked breathlessly against his mouth.

“Do you know how much I want you right now?” he whispered as he pulled at the strings of her bodice. “Though I don't know how to get this bloody costume off.”

“Well, I guess it's a good thing you're a cop and not the hero of a bodice ripper,” she said.

He laughed. “And I'm not sure I want our first time to be on a coffee table.” Yet it might have been, had his cellphone not rung.

“Damn,” he said. “It must be my boss, Columbo. I have to talk to him. He's probably wondering where the hell I am.”

Still, by the time they managed to disentangle themselves, the call had gone to voicemail.

“Why don't you have your shower while I call Columbo?” he said.

“Only if I can have it in the wisteria-garden bathroom.”

“Of course. Only the best for you. Go up the stairs and make the right at the top before the ballroom. This brings you to the east wing. Walk all the way to the end of the hall, turn right again, and it's the first door on the left.”

“Do you have a map? In my apartment back in Toronto, I say the bathroom door is the one that doesn't lead to the fire escape.”

He laughed. “Feel free to check every door if you'd like. You'll know when you've found it.”

She looked down at the shards of glass mixed with wine on the marble. “I'm sorry about that—I told you I wasn't to be trusted. I'm glad it was a reproduction . . . but I should clean it up.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said, kissing her lightly one more time. “I'll take care of it. But try to drink the next one.”

“I will,” she promised, and as she started up the sweeping staircase in the entrance hall, she could hear him say, “Rossi here.”

She took the hall to the right, but not before she looked into the ballroom. The lights from the landing were enough to make the great chandeliers glint, while an expanse of marble floor seemed to fade into infinity as much as into darkness.

He was worried his wife's death would come between them, but what about this? This was wealth she couldn't fathom. Wasn't he supposed to marry someone equally rich and have children with titles? Wouldn't marrying Alessandro come with responsibilities like going to charity balls with international jet-setters? She honestly didn't think she had that level of confidence, and wasn't there a phoniness to the whole thing?

But Alessandro wasn't phony, and she couldn't imagine him wanting to hang out with phonies. And he did seem to want to “hang out” with
her
.

What would his father make of her, a slightly awkward art history graduate from Canada from an undistinguished family? Her own father had been born in Padua, true, but he was the son of a factory worker. She smiled at the thought of bringing her sister, Claudia, here. Oh, wouldn't that be sweet revenge for all her condescension!

She took the hall to the right as instructed, walking on Turkish carpets spread over marble floors. Paintings lined the walls, many, to her surprise, modern. She stopped in front of one. Magritte? She turned around. Matisse? And this just on the way to the bathroom!

Yes, it would be fun to see her sister's face. Olivia would date him for that alone.

In the end, it wasn't the first door on the left, it was the first on the right, and she laughed to think he didn't know the way around his own house. The room on the left was amazing enough, a walk-in linen closet that was better stocked than most department stores, but the wisteria-garden bathroom took her breath away.

Heated marble floor, marble pedestal sink, toilet, bidet, shower, and a bathtub more like a small pool. The fittings gleamed with gold and a high arched window was covered with floor-length gauze curtains, while the ceiling and walls were frescoed with trellises hung with garlands of brilliant purple wisteria.

Thick white towels hung over heated racks, and on the gilt chair beside the tub were the promised “essentials”—all in white silk. Just her size. And while she was sure he wouldn't tell her, she really wanted to know how he'd pulled
that
off.

She undid the bodice and let it fall to the floor. The skirt and underskirt were next, and then the simple black dress she'd put on that morning for her flight to New York. Could it really have been only that morning? She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight—only twelve hours since Alessandro had found the drugs in her luggage.

She stuck everything in the hamper behind the door. Really, she'd prefer if Helga burned it all rather than wash it. But then she supposed she'd need her black dress again—she couldn't very well go home in a white silk negligee. But the costume she never wanted to see again—even if Alessandro did find it sexy.

Someday
, she thought, looking into the depths of the tub,
I'd like to soak all night in that
. But for now, she was happy to have a shower. After all, as wonderful as the bathroom was, the thing she wanted most was to get back to Alessandro.

She showered quickly and, after slipping on the white negligee and robe, retraced her steps down the hall. Hearing piano music, she followed the direction of the sound down the stairs, through the library to where Alessandro sat at a concert grand piano, the name fazioli stamped in gold on the side. She recognized what he was playing. “Un sospiro” by Franz Liszt. “A Sigh.” It had been her father's favorite piece of music.

He turned to her without a break in the music, one hand passing effortlessly over the other, a simple heartbreaking melody over a murmur of broken chords. “You look lovely. Are you warm enough?”

She nodded. “Your playing is so beautiful.”

“Come and sit with me,” he said. “I told you I'd play for you again.”

He moved over on the bench, and she sat beside him.

He played for a few more moments before speaking. “Columbo is fine with you staying here. Benito admitted the drugs were planted on you, and Dino has agreed to talk, but only after he's guaranteed immunity. That should give us at least tomorrow together before I have to deal with this again. Columbo insists on sending a couple of guards. They'll stay in their cars out front. Silvio and Marco both know you're safe, and Marco said he'll get in touch with your family and tell them not to worry.”

“Thank you. I should text Marco myself and let him know I'm okay.”

He nodded. The piece ended with a series of slow, solemn chords, and as the last one faded away, he said, “So now that's out of the way. I could offer you another glass of wine, but I'm not sure I can wait for you to drink it.”

“I can't wait either,” she said, and he lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her through the room and up the stairs. She didn't notice whether they took the left hall or the right, nor the magnificence of the bedroom, nor that the clock had struck midnight.

As he kissed her everywhere, her “essentials” dropping to the floor, all she cared about was getting his shirt off. And that done, his jeans . . .