Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

thought that, too, but now I do not believe that is not so. I do not comprehend why he has invoked the Bridal Covenant when he knows I am different. If he was going to condemn me to death, he would have done so last night." Nicoletta shivered. "Someone in the palazzo knows who murdered my famiglia, and I intend to find out who that person is."
    Maria Pia gasped in alarm. "You cannot. They died so many years ago, and it is dangerous to stir up old wounds. You could be in terrible danger."
    Nicoletta inserted the key in the lock and turned it. She glanced over her shoulder at Maria Pia, her dark eyes sober. "I am in great danger now. I know I am. I feel it. I will not be the rabbit cowering in wait for the wolf to take me." She lifted her chin in determination. "There is evil here, but I will go to meet it, not wait, shivering like a babe, in my room." She yanked open the door.
    The guard there, a different man from the night before, nodded politely to her and stepped aside so that she was free to enter the wide hall. Sunlight was beginning to stream through a series of high, arched, stained-glass windows, casting colorful rays dancing across the spacious corridor. The second guard was stationed a few paces down, standing at a window, but his attention clearly centered on Nicoletta as she started toward him. She kept her chin held high and her hand clasped tightly with Maria Pia's.
    "Would one of you be so kind as to instruct me where the kitchen is?" She was proud of the fact that her voice didn't shake in the least.
    "Follow me, Signorina," the man by the window said, and he turned to lead the way.
    Nicoletta was acutely conscious of the other guard behind them and the servants stopping their work to stare curiously at the little procession they made as they walked down the twisting staircase and through the many turns of the palazzo toward the kitchen. She looked around her, inspecting everything, determined, in the light of day, to uncover some of the palazzo's secrets. Without the dancing candlelight, its vaulted ceilings gave off a cathedral-like, rather than gloomy, effect. The rows of windows provided sunlight and spectacular views. The servants were industrious, the palazzo spotless.
    As they approached the cook's domain, Nicoletta was expecting a dark, dank room with scorched walls, sinister carving knives, and heads on platters, but, in truth, the enormous, airy kitchen was as clean and neat as the rest of the rooms she had seen. The pleasant-looking cook, Bernado, was working diligently beside an older woman. Sophie was seated at the smallest of three tables and let out a glad cry of welcome.
    Nicoletta caught the child as she leapt into her arms. "I knew you would come! I told Bernado you would come. I told him to fix you something special." She wrapped her arms around Nicoletta's neck and squeezed hard.
    Nicoletta laughed as she pried the child's off her. "Thank you for the invitation, Sophie. Bernado, I am Nicoletta. I have invaded your domain at young Sophie's invitation. Do you mind?"
    Bernado was already aware of the gossip flying about the palazzo. The don had chosen a bride from the neighboring villaggio, and he knew this young woman guarded by his elite personal soldiers had to be the intended wife. He bowed low and indicated a chair. "Always a pleasure to entertain such beautiful women, signorinas."

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    Maria Pia beamed at him, grateful someone was being kind to her young charge. Bernado and Celeste, his assistant, fixed enough food for the guards, too, and the meal was quite good. Nicoletta complimented Bernado and with a few smiles and jests soon had the small group grinning and laughing.
    Sophie sat close, and after the meal Nicoletta leaned against the counter to talk with Bernado, absently playing with the child's hair.
    Don Scarletti heard the echo of laughter spilling through the cavernous corridor as he made his way to his study. It stopped him in his tracks. He could not remember the last time he had heard laughter in the palazzo. Real, honest laughter, not the affected, silly nonsense Portia's daughter, Margerita, used so coquettishly around every male aristocratico she came near. The sound was like sunshine, dispelling the gloom of the halls, and he found himself turning and following the melodious notes beckoning him.
    He stood in the kitchen doorway, one hip leaning lazily against the wall as he watched her.