Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

I did not speak with him, simply observed him drinking in a tavern. Another man called him Cristano." Antonello turned his attention toward Nicoletta. He bowed slightly in the same courtly manner Giovanni often displayed. "I am sorry, sister. It seems I am responsible for this misunderstanding. I reported the sighting immediately, as we needed the soldiers to hunt for our missing cousin, Damian, and to guard our borders from the King of Spain, who often looks to gobble up our lands."
    There seemed to be a simple sincerity in his voice and manner, but Nicoletta didn't trust any of them anymore. She didn't believe a word Antonello was saying. She held Cristano's shirt to her, the evidence of his demise. When, exactly, had he died? She was connected with Cristano, yet the bird hadn't come to her as he lay dying. She should have felt the vibrations of violence the moment the murder had occurred.
    It made no sense. Why hadn't she felt the disturbance if her husband had slain Cristano in the maze? She had been close to the two men, separated only by the walls of hedges. Was the don capable of blocking out her strange ability to feel the ominous portent of mortal injury or death?
    Don Scarletti gave orders to his men to search the labyrinth inch by inch for further evidence. Vincente seemed furious. "Gino, is there something going on we should all know about?" he demanded angrily. "If Damian were alive, he would have found a way to contact us. What are all these secret meetings you and Antonello have been conducting lately, and your visitors we others are never allowed to see? People do not just disappear or get murdered in our own courtyard!"
    "This is not the time or the place to discuss such things, Vincente." Giovanni's voice was like a whip.
    "We must find out what happened to this boy."
    "Man," Vincente corrected. "He was a man who had eyes for your woman. If you disposed of him for some act or betrayal, you need only say so. He had no right to come here and attempt to steal your bride."
    Nicoletta gasped, both hands shoving hard at the wall of Giovanni's chest.
    He tightened his hold around her, refusing to allow her to escape. "Use your brain, Vincente." His voice was pure menace, low and arrogant and filled with contempt, a whiplash that caused his youngest brother to wince. "The boy could not have been killed in the maze and left there, or the vultures would have been overhead. And what of the soldiers who searched the labyrinth that day? When did I have time to dispose of a body? One soldier might be so loyal as to aid me, but an entire regiment? I doubt I wield the kind of power for that large a conspiracy. There has been no whisper of a body found. The boy was alive when I left him."

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    "I wish to help in the search," Nicoletta said. To her own ears she sounded defiant. If there were any further clues, perhaps the bird would reveal them to her. And she would be able to think more clearly without the don in such proximity to her.
    A small silence followed her words. Reluctantly Giovanni dropped his arms and allowed her to escape.
    "If that is what you think best, cara, then you must." He spoke quietly, his gaze on her fingers as they smoothed the bloodstained cloth.
    Nicoletta whirled around and immediately reentered the maze. She didn't want to give him a chance to change his mind. Her teeth bit nervously at her lower lip as she attempted to reason things out. What Giovanni had said to his brother made sense to her. He hadn't had time to murder Cristano and dispose of the body. And he had returned to the palazzo almost at once.
    When had Cristano died? Why hadn't she "felt" his death? The question beat at her like the rhythm of a drum, like her own heartbeat. She moved through the labyrinth slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, searching the bushes for telltale signs of violence. Several times she came across soldiers as they walked the pathways carefully on the orders of their don. Why hadn't she felt Cristano's death? Though she had been but a small child, she had even known when her mother died.
    Giovanni's words not only made sense, but he sounded sincere. Nicoletta sighed and shoved a hand through her long hair, sweeping it back to secure it in a haphazard knot to keep it away from her face.
    She wanted to believe Giovanni. The answer was there, so close, niggling away at the back of her mind, if only she could reach