Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

confident Portia could be so passionate about anyone, yet she seemed to be devouring Vincente.
    Vincente kicked the door shut with his foot even as his hands were roughly roaming over Portia's body with a brutal, frenzied grasping.
    Nicoletta stared at the closed door for a moment, frozen in place, too shocked to move. The unmistakable sound of cloth ripping galvanized her into action. She retreated quickly down the corridor, rushing silently past the door, wishing she knew why she had such a bad taste in her mouth. Vincente and Portia looked more angry and raw than like two people in love. She was slightly sickened by the display and suddenly terrified at the power Don Scarletti wielded over her own body.
    Maria Pia was waiting for her in the large courtyard, ready for their daily walk. "What is it, piccola! You look as if you have seen a ghost."
    Nicoletta glanced at the two soldiers who were her constant shadows. Their faces were carefully blank.
    For the first time she wondered just how much they knew of the intrigues in the palazzo. They were loyal to the don. Did they tell him of the things they saw, when the aristocrazia and even the servants treated them as part of the furnishings? Most likely they did. She felt off-balance and strangely close to tears.
    Now more than ever she wanted to run away. She was out of her depth in this place.
    Maria Pia reached for her hand. "What is it, bambina? It is unlike you to be unhappy. Did the don hurt you? What is the cause of that look? Ah, is it that I did not prepare you adequately for your wedding night?" She spoke quietly, deliberately turning away from the guards so that she and Nicoletta faced the abundance of shrubbery.
    "I do not belong in this place," Nicoletta whispered. "I do not understand the people here, and I do not care to understand them. I want to go home, back to the hills, where I know what to expect and on whom I can rely."

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    Maria Pia was silent a moment. Then she put her arms around Nicoletta and hugged her as if she were still a child. "They are still people," she reminded her gently. "Just people."
    Nicoletta shook her head. "They are different. They do not value one another as we do. Portia struck her own daughter, Margerita. It was a horrible thing."
    " I often wish to strike that young woman," Maria Pia admitted. "If you had the chance, Nicoletta, you might give her a good clout yourself. She is a vain, wicked girl who thinks of no one but herself. Surely you are not upset that a long-needed slap was delivered to that girl. Look at the things she says to poor Sophie." Already Maria Pia's loyalty had swung solidly to the lonely little girl.
    Sudden tears swam in Nicoletta's eyes. "Portia said terrible things to Margerita. It is no wonder Margerita passes the vileness along to Sophie. Her madre called her names and condemned her when Margerita professed to love someone." Nicoletta looked helplessly at Maria Pia. "In truth, she is simply young, immature, a year younger even than I."
    "Portia Scarletti lives at the generosity of her cousin, the don. Unless Margerita marries well, they could end up with nothing. Portia Scarletti must be counting on a good marriage for her daughter," Maria Pia explained tactfully. "If this young man is a soldier or commoner, naturally Donna Scarletti would object to the match."
    "And then Vincente heard them fighting and came to help," Nicoletta said in a low voice, averting her face. "Margerita ran away, but he and Portia…"
    There was a small silence. "I see," Maria Pia said softly. "I suspected there was something between those two, although they keep it well hidden. She looks upon him with a kind of greedy possession."
    "It felt wrong to me," Nicoletta admitted reluctantly. "I did not feel happy for them, as if they were in love. Rather it felt like…" She trailed off. "Desperation? Lust? A battle, even. I cannot say for certain.
    But it was distasteful." It was more than distasteful; they had looked to be at war, grasping and clawing at each other's bodies. Was that how she looked with Giovanni? A faint scarlet crept up her neck and into her face.
    Maria Pia squeezed her hand gently. "When your husband looks at you, it is with tenderness in his gaze.
    It is the only reason I can bear your union with such a man. I still believe he is a heathen, and this castle has earned the name Palazzo della Morte, But, Nicoletta, the don's need of