“She’s going to kill me,” Gabe muttered as he looked at his dead cell phone. Between Dani’s sexy come-on and the sketchy death of her aunt the night before, he’d forgotten to charge it. “I can’t believe you don’t have a personal cell phone, Marco.”
“Don’t blame me. Blame Gina. She’s the penny pincher, says I don’t need one because of my work phone. She’s got a point. Look, I know we said we’d keep my line clean, but if you gotta, you gotta.” They’d agreed not to use Marco’s government-issue phone to link him directly with the Forcelli family; with so much corruption in the Italian police system, Marco didn’t need to be part of a situation that even looked questionable.
“No, just pull over so I can use a landline someplace. I promised I’d let Dani know I’m okay.”
Marco grinned at his childhood friend. “Well and truly hooked,” he teased.
Gabe and Marco had run into a dead end related to Worldwide Security. The street address had turned out to be an abandoned warehouse near the train station.
“I’ll bet the others on the list turn out to be shells, too,” Marco said. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, big time. What about the holding company, Azure Consortium? Maybe we can get a bead on that.”
“Maybe,” Marco said without enthusiasm.
Gabe glanced at his friend. “Hey, man, don’t get discouraged. We’ve got options. Like you said, we wait a day or two for Tino to get back to us, and see if Dani and her cousin can make any connections within the company.”
“You sure Trevisan’s clean?”
“My gut says yes. He’d already nixed the Alberghi Paradisi purchase, said it was a bad investment. Santo seems so hot to make the move that he’s pulling out all the stops. Maybe he’s under pressure by somebody else. Something’s rotten when you’d off your own brother to make a deal happen.”
“No shit. Hey, I’m going to park on Garibaldi and we can walk to Erbe. I know a cafe where you can use the phone. Then I’ll just walk back to the station.”
Marco parked and locked the car, tossing the keys back to Gabe. As they made their way across the bustling piazza, Gabe saw something that stopped him in his tracks: Dani was sitting at a sidewalk cafe drinking and huddling close to Dante Trevisan. Gabe’s brain told him it was no big deal: they were no doubt comparing notes about the hotel company. However, his emotions were on another track entirely: she lied to him! She told him she’d stay put and here she was out in the open where anybody could take a pot shot at her.
Despite what he’d told her earlier that morning, Gabe was beginning to worry about her safety. The more he dug into this mess, the more he wondered whether Santo was in fact the head of the snake. Santo might want to keep her in the family, but what if someone else was calling the shots? Someone who thought Mando and Ornella were expendable. If that were the case, why would Dani be any different? The thought of something happening to her started his heart racing. Setting his jaw, he stalked toward the couple.
Marco, who had also spotted them, stopped Gabe with his arm. “I always say Verona’s just a small town at heart,” he said lightly. “Guess you don’t need the phone, huh?”
“She promised to stay at the villa,” he ground out. “She shouldn’t be out in the open like that.”
“Hey, chill. Nobody’s gonna pop her out here in public. And Dante’s a brute in a suit. He’s watchin’ out for her. You gotta relax.”
Marco’s words penetrated and Gabe slowed down. He took a deep breath and looked at his friend, who shrugged as if to say I know you got it bad, but now’s not the time or place to let it show. Finally Gabe nodded. “You’re right.”
Marco clapped him on the back. “As I’ve been demonstrating since you were six years old.”
The two men approached the outdoor cafe at a more leisurely pace. Still, Gabe couldn’t help feeling tense as he neared the couple, who continued to talk with their heads down. Finally Dani looked up, and Gabe couldn’t help it, he almost laughed at her expression. It changed from recognition to outrage in the space of two seconds. She looked exactly the way he felt. He decided then and there to take the high road.
“What a small world,” he said affably. “You saved me a phone call.”
“Oh, you mean it actually crossed your mind to call?” Dani’s tone was sharp enough to etch glass.
“Funny you should mention it,” Marco interjected. “Gabe’s been beside himself for the last hour because his cell died and he knew you’d be waiting for him to get in touch with you.”
Dani’s eyes narrowed and Gabe gazed back with the most innocent expression he could muster.
“True story,” he said. Then, because he couldn’t resist, he added, “Of course, I expected to call you at the villa.”
Dani read his tone perfectly and raised her chin in defiance. “Well, when one has been waiting by the phone all afternoon, and finally gets an invitation to go out, what’s a body to do?”
Dante had been watching the exchange like a front row spectator at a world cup tennis match. “Uh, we’re glad you’re here.” He glanced at Marco with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t worry,” Gabe said. “Marco’s working with us on this.” He introduced the two men.
Dante shook Marco’s hand. “I remember you from the memorial service,” he said. “And I understand you know a mutual friend or ours, Agnese Lombardi.”
Marco glanced at Gabe. “Yes, well, that was a while ago.” He pulled up a chair. “So you’ve got some information to share?”
“Yes, Dani and I think we’ve got something you’ll be interested in,” Dante began.
“Let’s hear it.” Gabe sat down next to Dani.
With one last glare, Dani got down to business. She gestured to the sheets spread on the table, then looked up again at Gabe. “I dove into the numbers Carla Rinaldi gave you, and Dante pulled his own figures. Between us, we think we have an idea of what’s been going on.”
Gabe figured he and Dani would hash out their differences later; this was far more important. “What have you got?”
Dani rifled through several sheets. “In Rome, Milan, Florence, and several other properties, including here in Verona, housekeeping was beefed up considerably over the past six months in advance of slightly higher occupancy rates. But within two weeks the staffing numbers had dropped, despite the continued higher occupancy. That level of fluctuation is not the norm, not even with a staff sharing program among hotels.”
Gabe peered at the spreadsheets. “So who’s making the chess moves? Carla told me it seemed to be coming from corporate.”
“That could be the case for the Milan property, but it’s not so clear elsewhere,” Dani explained. “It looks like many requests were generated locally, along the lines of ‘Hey, can we borrow Sonia for a few weeks? She got good reviews and we’re having a big crowd in the week of the fourth.’ But that kind of give and take probably has to be sanctioned at a higher level.”
Gabe looked at Dante. “Did you know any of this was going on?”
“Complaints never made it up to my level. I suppose because no one determined it was a sustained or system-wide issue.”
“I can see why,” Dani said. “The numbers aren’t dramatic enough in any one property to cause red flags. It’s only when you see the regularity with which it’s occurring every month, even though it’s at a different property, that you see something’s not quite right.”
“What about those weird company payments you uncovered?” Gabe asked. “Do they track with the staffing dips?”
“Well, they’re not tied to the same hotels.” Dani traced her finger down a column, then made an arc over to another. “One month the problem shows up in Florence, but the money flows into Milan. So I’m not sure if there’s a connection.”
“There has to be,” Dante said. “Look, it’s not unheard of in the hospitality industry to charge for one’s ‘consulting,’ especially within the luxury hotel tier. The money might be an honorarium for serving on a board, or a ‘thank you’ for exceptionally good service. Maybe a company wants to pave the way for an advantageous booking down the road. The reasons are endless, and the fees I’ve traced have very common descriptions attached to them. But the strange thing is, five years ago those payments were a fraction of what they are today.”
“And Santo’s the only one who could have generated them?” Gabe asked.
“The only one,” Dante confirmed. “He’s connected at the highest levels. I cross- referenced the uptick in consulting fees with the increase in housekeeping staff fluctuation across all properties and the correlation between the two events is unmistakable beginning around the same time.”
Gabe leaned back in his chair. “So the two are related and something fishy started happening around four to five years ago. Anything happen to Santo back then that you know of?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on,” Dante said. “He’s always kept his own counsel…except, wait. He did hire a new person about that time. A special assistant. Surprised the hell out of me, because Santo usually goes for very young, very attractive women. This lady is old enough to be my mother and she’s built like a tank. She’s from Eastern Europe someplace.”
Gabe shot Marco a look. “Could she be Croatian?” he asked Dante.
“Could be. I’m not sure. She’s a nice lady, don’t get me wrong, but not the usual hire for the executive suite.”
“What’s her name?” Marco asked.
“Flora Petrovic,” Dante said. “She’s very efficient. Santo seems to be pleased with her work. Who knows—she may be the one helping him arrange the consulting jobs.”
Marco looked up. “Wouldn’t he keep that income for himself?”
“Not necessarily. Since he’s generating the income as a result of his position with the company, he’d have to show it on the books. However, if it were done on his own time, most companies would compensate him for it. Given who Santo is, however, there’s no real daylight between him and Stella d’Italia. He lives and breathes it.”
“I wonder,” Dani mused. “When I talked to Aunt Ornella, she said something odd. Something like, ‘Ask your uncle where he spends his vacations, and when he lies to you, find out the truth.’ I was surprised he even took vacations. Where’s he been traveling for the past few years?”
Dante looked sheepish. “You know, I never asked. It was such a nice change having him gone, I guess I focused on that. I’ll look into it.”
“So where do we go from here?” Dani asked.
“I think it’s two-fold,” Marco said. “If you can get a tighter sense of how the staffing changes match the occupancy spikes, as well as who moved from where to where, maybe we can model it and try to predict what’s going to happen next. You said it doesn’t seem to happen at the same hotel twice in a row, but maybe there’s actually a rotation you can identify. If we know what workers are coming in—”
“Or who may already be in place,” Gabe added.
“You’re right,” Marco said. “If we can identify who might be next, maybe then we can tail them and see what’s going on.”
“Great minds think alike.” Dante reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small card-size box. “Look, we said we wanted to keep a low profile, so this isn’t something I can do. But you can, Dani.” He handed her the box, which she opened to reveal a small stack of business cards. They featured the Stella d’Italia company logo, embossed in gold, and the name “Daniela Dunn” in elegant script. Below her name was the title “Corporate Human Resource Analyst” and a phone number—Dani’s cell.
“What’s this?” she asked. Gabe leaned over her shoulder to look and nodded, understanding Dante’s strategy immediately.
Dante shrugged. “Uncle Santo wants you in the company, you’re now in the company. He just doesn’t know it yet. You can go out and interview our housekeeping employees, and with the card, they’ll talk to you.”
“Makes sense,” Dani said. “I’ll start looking into the Verona employees who disappeared, like Carla did in Milan. One of them was named Mirela, I think. Maybe one of her co-workers knows something that can help me out.”
“You mean, help ‘us’ out,” Gabe said. “We’re a team, remember?”
“Uh huh. A team. Right.” Dani rolled her eyes. “Who are you going to be, my bodyguard?”
“If I have to be,” he said, smiling.
“Ah, maybe you could be a trainee, or an intern,” Marco suggested. “I know the perks you interns get back in the States.”
“Very funny,” Gabe said. “I’ll be whoever you want me to be, as long as I’m there,” he said.
“So we’ll all touch base whenever we’ve got something, right?” Marco asked the group. Just then his phone beeped. He answered it and got up from the table. “Homicide. Gotta run.”
The three watched Marco walk briskly across the piazza. “I’ve got to go also,” Dante said, rising from his chair. I’ve got a dinner meeting and I want to follow up on some of the material we talked about today.”
“Um, Dante?” Dani reached for her cousin’s arm. “I hope you know I don’t take these cards seriously. I have no intention of coming to work for Uncle Santo.”
The look Dante gave her was serious. “Not him, certainly. But you might want to work for Stella d’Italia one day. Despite what we may uncover, it is a great and noble company.”
Dani gestured to the cards. “Well, I won’t shame you, even if it is just for show,” she assured him.
“I know you won’t, but we must clean house, and the sooner the better.”
Gabe watched Dante stride off in the opposite direction as Marco. Dante seemed about as committed to bringing down Santo as a man could be. What had Santo done to him?
Dani rose from the table as well, but before she could leave, Gabe reached out and caught her hand. “I’m parked a few blocks away,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride back.”
“No need. I’ll take a cab,” she said, her earlier aggravation back on the front burner.
“Dani, look. I—”
She held up her hand. “Really, no need to explain. Your cell phone died. You couldn’t call. I get it.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” he said, rising smoothly. He looked at her for a moment, took her face in his hands, leaned down and kissed her gently, yet completely. He could feel her stiffen slightly and then relax, becoming soft and pliable against him. He brought her closer, tilting his head and taking the kiss even deeper. He could feel her arms slide hesitantly around him for a few moments before she stepped away.
“What…what was that for?” she asked, touching her fingers to her lips.
He made a point of looking at his watch. “Because it’s now almost seven o’clock in the evening and I didn’t think I could go another minute without touching you,” he said. “May I buy you dinner?”
Dani slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll take that ride home, though. I’m exhausted.”
Gabe nodded, not wanting to push things. At least she hadn’t slapped him. But then, maybe she just hadn’t wanted to make a scene in public. As he walked with Dani back to the car, Gabe couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to keep himself from sliding irrevocably in love with her. It was a slippery damn slope and he had no idea what lay at the bottom of it.
Dante once again sought out his father, this time in the sacristy of Santa Maria Antica, where the older man spent every third evening after the six o’clock mass organizing the vestments of the clergy, as well as prepping the elements of the Eucharist that he would take to homebound parishioners the following day. The surroundings were as familiar to Dante as his own home. All his life he’d visited his father at this church, and the place had always evoked an odd combination of comfort and disappointment. Comfort because it never changed; disappointment because it was a constant reminder that Dante’s father had wanted, above all else, for his son to become a priest.
Dante had entertained the idea briefly as a child, but as soon as puberty kicked in he knew he would never go down that saintly road. Being with a woman was just too vital for Dante’s happiness to give it up, even for God. So it was particularly unnerving for him to see the unrequited love of his life walking up to the door at the same time.
Her dark, lustrous hair flowed halfway down her back; it had been years since he’d seen it untethered and it took incredible fortitude to keep from running his hands along its smooth path. She was dressed in a simple, modest blue dress that nevertheless couldn’t hide her beautiful curves. She looked extremely distressed to see him. Given the way they’d parted the evening before, he could see why.
“Your father asked me to meet him here. Did he ask you as well?”
Dante shook his head. “No, he said nothing to me. Just a lucky coincidence, I guess.” He tried to smile as mentally he began to regroup. He was here to ask—no demand—that his father tell him with certainty what had gone on between Agnese and Santo. Dante could feel, in his bones, that Aldo knew the truth. And it was time the truth came out.
But how could he even attempt to bring up the topic if she were present? It was an impossible situation. He would have to come back another time. “I’ll just say hello to my father and leave you to it.”
He was about to open the door when Aldo opened it from the other side, putting on his coat and turning off the light. He looked shocked to see Dante, but his expression quickly shuttered.
“Dante, I’m surprised to see you,” he said.
“I didn’t know you were meeting Agnese. I can come back another time.”
“No,” he said, taking a breath. “It could be a sign.” He crossed himself and gave Agnese a strange look of sympathy. “I’m glad you came, my dear. Both of you, come with me.”
Dante and Agnese exchanged looks; it was obvious she was as perplexed by his father’s behavior as he was. They walked down the hall and through a side door into the sanctuary.
Santa Maria Antica was a small, Romanesque-style church. The structure dated back to the twelfth century, and some believed even before that. It was austere, with round arches, plain columns, and simple wooden benches. Dante had always felt it matched his father’s modest, self-effacing personality.
Agnese seemed to read his mind. “You are at home here, Signor Forcelli, and I can see why,” she said in a soft tone. “This place suits you.”
“It does,” his father agreed. He walked down the nave until he reached a tiny chapel off to the side. Inside was an altar that displayed a marble statue of the Virgin Mary. A rack of candles in front of the altar held a few votives, most of which had burned down and out for the day. Aldo quietly took a match and lit a new candle. “Sit,” he said, pointing to a small bench.
“Father,” Dante began.
Aldo held his hand up. “No, please. This will be difficult enough.” He closed his eyes briefly, then looked directly at Agnese.
“One would think that when I light a candle here I am praying to the Virgin Mother,” he said. “But it’s to another Mary I pray. Do you know which one, Agnese?”
Looking puzzled, she shook her head. “No, Signore.”
“I pray to Santa Maria Goretti. Do you know her?”
The horrified look on Agnese’s face told Dante she knew very well who it was. For once, he cursed the fact that he hadn’t paid attention in religion class when it came to memorizing the saints.
“Who is it, Father?”
Aldo continued to gaze at Agnese. “She is the Patroness of Youth and looks after the victims of rape,” he said. “But more important, she is the patron saint of forgiveness.” He looked at Dante. “I asked Agnese to meet me here so that I could ask her forgiveness—not for what I did so many years ago, but for what I didn’t do. I am so very sorry, my dear. So very, very sorry.”
Wait a minute. Rape? Agnese was raped?? Dante couldn’t hide the look of shock on his face.
At his father’s words, Agnese’s face drained of all its color. She looked as if he’d struck her. Dante reached over to touch her but she flinched and stood up abruptly. She wouldn’t look at Dante at all.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have done nothing wrong. This is a…a mistake, I’m sure. Excuse me, I have to…I have to go now.” She turned and hurried out of the chapel.
“Agnese, wait!” Dante called out, but she ignored him and continued walking rapidly down the nave until she was practically running. He turned back to his father. “Why on earth did you do that?!”
His father stood gazing at the statue, his broad shoulders curling inward as if he were in pain. “I needed to reopen a wound,” he said simply. “I could see no other way to let the poison out.”
“Are you telling me Santo took Agnese without her consent? When did this happen?”
Aldo looked at his son, his face awash in guilt and shame.
“When?” Dante thundered.
“I’m not sure exactly, but I think it started shortly after…after Daniela left the country with her mother.”
There was a malignant pause between them as Dante made the mental calculations. “That would have made Agnese sixteen years old,” he said with deadly calm. “You’re saying it ‘started’ then. That implies he did it more than once. And you did nothing about it?”
His father had the look of a condemned man resigned to his fate. “I had my suspicions and I asked Santo about it, but he dismissed it, dismissed me for even asking about it. I convinced myself it couldn’t really be happening, that Fausta wouldn’t let it happen.”
“But Fausta did let it happen,” Dante said coldly. “And so did you. That’s…that’s despicable.”
His father nodded, making no attempt to defend himself. “What is that saying? ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing.’ But I am not even a good man, am I? I have lived with that fact for more than a decade. If it were not a mortal sin, and if I had more courage, I would relieve the world of my presence. But that young woman did nothing wrong and she deserves something better than living a life of shame and guilt for something she had no control over.”
Dante ran his hands through his hair and felt like pulling it out by the roots. “But why bring it up with me here? Did you see her reaction? She couldn’t even look at me.”
“God put you here, at this place and this time, for a reason, Dante. Stop and think. Agnese cannot hide from you any longer. You know the ugly truth. Now that the wound is open, it’s up to you to wash it clean…with love.”
“Are you kidding? She’d already told me she didn’t want to see me again, and now this?” Dread took up residence in his gut.
“Talk to God,” his father murmured, turning back to the altar. “He will help you find a way.”
“Like God helped you?” Disgusted, he got up to leave.
“Dante, wait. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Nothing, it turns out. Nothing at all.” He left his father praying to Mary, no doubt looking for more forgiveness than he could possibly find on earth.