Antonietta kissed Don Giovanni’s cheek. “I’ll be right in, I promise.”
Shadows filled the chapel. The only light came from the flickering candles in a small alcove. The dancing light washed over the sculpted face of the Madonna recessed into the wall above the rows of candles. Marita was seated in a pew in front of the life-sized sculpture, weeping softly, a rosary wrapped around her hands. Tears poured down her face. Byron thought she looked haunted.
Byron and Antonietta slipped into the pew beside her. She kept her head down. “I knew you would come today. I knew you would have to come.” Her voice was very low. “I was going to leave this morning, but I knew I owed you an explanation.”
“Marita, this is your home. No one has asked you to leave.” Antonietta searched carefully to find the right words. “We’re family. Whatever is wrong, tell us and let us help you fix it.”
“It can never be fixed. Never. I can’t undo what happened, and no matter what, Franco will never forgive me.”
Antonietta reached for Mania’s hand. In the dark of the chapel, through the dark glasses Byron had given her, she could see the tear-ravaged face of her sister-in-law. Lights burst around her and made her stomach lurch, but she concentrated on Marita, willing herself to get past the dizzy shapes coming at her and see only her cousin’s wife. “Let me help you, Marita. I’m asking you, one sister to another. I love Franco and the children. They need you. Going away isn’t your answer, and I think you know that.”
“Margurite is not Franco’s child.” The confession burst from Marita, horror she could no longer contain. She erupted into another storm of weeping, burying her face in her hands, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.
Antonietta tried not to show her shock. It was the last thing she expected from Marita. “That can’t be. It’s not possible.”
“Years ago at a party at the Demonesini palazzo, Don Demonesini raped me. I was thrilled to be invited.” Marita shook her head. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t remember much at all. Don Demonesini paid me so much attention. He gave me drinks. I wasn’t drinking alcohol, so I don’t even have that excuse. I remember him taking me to a room. I tried to say no, I tried to push him away, but I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t move. He did horrible things to me. There was someone in the room with us, someone taking pictures. It was a nightmare that will never go away.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rage swept through Antonietta, a violent swirl of emotions. She couldn’t tell if it was her feelings or Byron’s, but a demon lifted its head and roared for release. For retribution.
“How could I tell anyone? I was so ashamed. My head hurt for days afterward, and I was sick to my stomach. And a month later I was late with my period. I didn’t make love to Franco for a couple of weeks after the party, I couldn’t bear him to touch me. I felt filthy. How could Margurite be his? He loves her so much. He was so happy when I was pregnant with her. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t break his heart.”
“Marita, it wasn’t your fault,” Antonietta said. “There are tests to determine paternity.”
“No! I won’t do that to her. Margurite loves Franco, and Don Demonesini is a monster. I will never, never let her know she is his.”
“I do not think she is Demonesini’s child,” Byron said.
Margurite’s thought patterns are the same as yours and that of your cousins. Christopher’s barriers were a bit different as are some of your servants. Helena’s thought patterns are closer than Christopher’s. I do not think it is possible Margurite is a Demonesini.
“Does Demonesini know you suspect Margurite is his child?” Antonietta asked.
“He’s mentioned her age numerous times and says she has Christopher’s eyes. I lied and said I went to a doctor and made certain there was no baby, but I didn’t. I didn’t.” She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “He had the pictures of me. He threatened to sell them to a tabloid. It would ruin Franco. You know it would. And the children would see—”
“So he told you to talk Franco into giving him the information he wanted to underbid us on the contract with the Drange Company five years ago,” Antonietta guessed.
“Franco would never have given them the information. Never, ever in a million years. He lied to protect me. I went to his office and I found the papers Demonesini told me would be there, I copied them and took them to him.” She slumped back in the pew. “He knew, when it all came out, Franco knew I had to have done it. He lied to the family, and I let him. I let you all think he was a traitor to his own family. You should have seen his face when he found out, the way he looked at me.” She covered her face with her hands again. “I broke his heart.”
Antonietta shook her head. “What reason did you give Franco for doing such a thing?”
“I was hysterical when he confronted me. I was certain he would find out about the rape, and Demonesini would sell the photographs. I think he was afraid he would have to put me in a hospital. Franco just stopped questioning me and told me not to say anything no matter what happened.”
“And the Handel score?”
“I thought if I could give Demonesini something worth a lot of money, he would give me the pictures.”
“Did you take anything else from the palazzo to give him, Marita?” Antonietta’s tone was very gentle, but Byron could hear the compulsion already buried deep within her voice.
Marita shook her head. “No, I don’t know why I thought of the Handel score. I heard you working on it with Justine, and the idea suddenly came to me. I just waited until I had the opportunity to visit Don Giovanni and I asked him to put my necklace in his safe. He opened the safe with me standing right there. Trusting me.” She pressed her hand to her temple. “I’m glad you caught me. I’m glad you found out the truth. When I leave, you can tell Franco about the pictures. Don’t tell him about Margurite. It would break both their hearts, and if Don Demonesini insisted on his rights, poor little Margurite would be in his hands.”
She is telling the truth. She is not part of a theft ring, she knows nothing about it.
“Demonesini will never get near Margurite. You have to tell Franco about the photographs. You’re a strong woman, Marita. You’re a Scarletti, and we don’t back away from trouble or even scandal. If he wants to incriminate himself by selling those pictures to a tabloid, let him try. Franco will see him not only ruined but jailed. You don’t know Franco if you think he will let Demonesini get away with this. Trust him. Tell what happened. Tell him everything. Let him decide if he wants or needs a paternity test. Once you tell Franco, Demonesini has lost his hold on you.”
“I’m so afraid,” Marita said.
“If you tell him, there’s a chance he will accept everything and work with you to find a way out of this mess. If you sneak away and leave him and the children, all of you will be miserable, and you’ll never know what his reaction really would have been.”
Marita squeezed Antonietta’s hand in gratitude. “
Grazie
, Antonietta, for making me feel like I’m truly family.”
Antonietta hugged her hard. “You are family, Marita. Go make peace with Franco so you can dance at my wedding.”
Marita cried out. “You are really getting married?
Nonno
has given his blessing?”
“Yes, he’s happy for us. We’re going to tell Tasha and Paul.”
“Paul’s not well, Antonietta, but he still refuses a doctor. He’s been sleeping most of the day, so much so Justine was alarmed, but he woke around sunset.”
Antonietta stood up. “Go to Franco, Marita. Go somewhere quiet and pull the teeth from Demonesini. If Franco becomes enraged, and he will, it will be at that horrible monster, not at you.”
“The pictures are graphic.”
“Have courage.”
Marita nodded and slipped away. Antonietta sat for a long moment in silence. The flickering candles set bizarre shapes dancing in front of her eyes. “How sad that she didn’t tell her husband immediately.” She leaned her head against Byron’s shoulder. “Why is it I keep getting glimpses of Don Demonesini lying dead on the floor and you standing over him with sharp teeth and demonic eyes? Surely you aren’t thinking of harming him in any way.”