Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

looked at the child and was instantly ashamed of her own preoccupation. Ketsia wore a beautiful garment, one obviously made at the don's command. It must have been thrilling for young Ketsia to have been singled out for such special treatment. "You look absolutely beautiful, Ketsia," she said sincerely. Nicoletta reached out and adjusted the crown of flowers on the child's head. "I am honored that you are to aid me this day. Grazie."
    Ketsia beamed at the compliment. "She must wear her veil so he cannot see her face before the ceremony," she said very solemnly in her most grown-up voice. "You will see to it, Signora Sigmora?"

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    Maria Pia nodded her agreement as Ketsia hurried on ahead and Nicoletta carefully dusted off her feet before slipping the shoes onto her feet. She arranged the veil over Nicoletta's face and dropped the heavy curtains to close off the interior of the coach to prying eyes.
    Nicoletta entwined her fingers tightly in her lap as the driver shut the door, leaving her alone with Maria Pia. Her heart seemed to be beating loudly in her ears, like the warning rhythm of a drum. She sat quietly with her head bowed, trying desperately to pray, to reach for the good Madonna as Maria Pia so often instructed her to do in times of crisis. The air in the coach seemed to be swallowed up, leaving her nothing to breathe.
    You are not riding to your doom, piccola, only to your husband. Am I so terrible that your fear must choke both of us? The masculine voice was husky, sensuous in her mind. She could feel a peculiar warmth seeping into the cold in the pit of her stomach. It moved through her like a drifting cloud, warming her bit by bit.
    You are holding your breath again. Do you think your husband is as cursed as your friends are telling you? Cara mia—a note of amusement crept into the sensual timbre of his voice— if I was intending to strangle you, I would have done so when you forced me to chase you down in the hills in the cold of the night. He was blatantly inviting her to share his amusement at the rumors others whispered about him. About his family.
    The motion of the coach jolted her thoughts, which stuck in her mind like a dagger. His family. Someone had strangled his grandmother. The woman was dead by a man's hand, and no one had been held accountable. Nicoletta's own mother and aunt had died brutally in the Palazzo delta Morte. And what of Vincente's young wife, Angelita? Almost no one spoke of her death. Portia's husband had died of a wasting illness, yet the healer had not been called to the palazzo. The wind seemed to increase a bit in vehemence as if reflecting her thoughts, buffeting the coach and whistling insistently.
    Why hadn't Giovanni Scarletti felt the evil stalking his home? Even Maria Pia could feel it, and she did not have an ounce of "different" blood running in her veins.
    Why would you think I have not felt it? There was no laughter this time in the voice, no sinful temptation. He sounded more serious than he ever had. I have felt it for more than half my life. It is something we have no choice but to endure.
    Endure? Nicoletta was nearly thrown off her seat when the coach abruptly stopped. At once her heart began pounding again. She would have to endure whatever her husband commanded. Once she was bound to him, he owned her body and soul. Her hand flew to the door fastening of the coach, almost of its own volition.
    Soft laughter echoed in her mind. I am right beside the coach atop my steed, piccola. Do you think to outrun us in your finery? I should have to carry you back in a most "unseemly" manner. Once again his voice was sensual, a teasing invitation to join him in the deliberate intimacy of his mind meld.
    Nicoletta subsided against the seat. She would not be foolish enough to run like a rabbit and provide sport for his soldiers. She could just picture the members of his elite guard wagering on whether she would attempt to escape her fate. She closed her eyes and centered her thoughts on Giovanni, holding onto her memories of him like a boat to an anchor. He was gentle with her. He was kind to Sophie and Ketsia. She held onto those thoughts, held them close to her.
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    as one of her usual escorts. She had heard him called