Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

untruth, as she'd sworn she couldn't, she hastened to the shrine to the Madonna to seek forgiveness and charity.

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Chapter Five
    The air of the village fairly hummed with energy the next evening. Nicoletta shook her head as she watched the festivities from behind a large tree. She pressed herself tight against the trunk, hoping she looked like one of the nameless, faceless children the aristocrazia never seemed to notice. She had bound her generous breasts and wore a loose, shapeless dress, a bit worse for wear but clean. Her feet were inevitably bare, but her skirts hid her shapely legs. Her hair was bound and covered tightly with a scarf. Still, she was taking no chances, determined to stay as far as she could from the don.
    During the long hours of the day the adults had continued cleaning and polishing the villaggio in hopes of making it more acceptable to the don. All houses and stoops were now neat and tidy, and no wash hung on the bushes or trees. The small boys were deployed as runners, stationed in the neighboring villaggi to report on the don's progress. He was moving slowly from the small towns and farms, inspecting the young women and evidently finding none to his liking. He was steadily moving toward them.
    Nicoletta was agog at the girls, her friends, all of marriageable age, simpering in their finest clothes, scrubbed and powdered, forgetting every tragic death, every sinister rumor. They stood together in groups, talking in whispers, erupting every now and then into fits of nervous giggles. They thought only of the riches, the prestige, and what a coup such a marriage would be. Nicoletta's fingers twisted tightly into the material of her skirt, and her heart thudded hard in her chest. He was coming. He had found no bride yet, and deep in her heart she knew that he wouldn't. He was coming for her.
    She was trembling, a fine shiver she couldn't quite control. Her hands were icy cold, and her stomach was doing funny little somersaults. The fog had once again rolled in, bands of it winding in eerie wisps around the trees and houses. There was a terrible drumming in her head, like the sound of thunder heralding a storm. He was coming for her. It sang in her head, a hideous refrain. Self-preservation warred with her sense of duty. The don could not be defeated. Strong men had tried, and they had died for their efforts. He was coming for her.
    Nicoletta felt goose bumps creep over her skin. Close. He was close now. Her legs felt rubbery, her knees weak. It took all her willpower to stand her ground, albeit as a shrinking violet propped up by a tree.
    He came into sight riding a huge black horse with a flowing mane and tail. The horse was restless, prancing sideways, tossing its head, but the powerful figure astride the animal looked calm and in complete control. Many outriders accompanied him, strong men every one, with an obvious pride in and complete loyalty to their master. Nicoletta could see the emotions on their faces, and it frightened her all the more. These would be the men who would burn her at the stake if he commanded it. They would do anything he commanded.
    Don Giovanni Scarletti, with his great height and broad shoulders and thick chest tapering into narrow hips, had the hard stamp of authority on his handsome, angular face. He was no youth but a full-fledged man. His mouth had a merciless touch to it; his eyes were frankly sensual, glittering black obsidian, heavy-lidded with thick black lashes. He looked intimidating, a man born to command.
    He robbed Nicoletta of her breath. He was handsome and frightening and so powerful looking, he seemed completely invincible. She didn't look directly at him, terrified of drawing his gaze. One of his men took the reins of his horse, and Don Scarletti dismounted in one fluid motion. He appeared patient and gracious as the elders of the villaggio greeted him with several long-winded speeches and presented him with gifts. The village musicians did their best to entertain, loud and enthusiastic rather than on key.
    The sound grated on Nicoletta's already raw nerves.

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    She was mesmerized by the don, by his graceful movements, the play of his muscles beneath the fine material of his shirt, the way power clung to him. He looked strong and capable, utterly confident, invincible. A dark sorcerer casting his