Giovanna was angry.
No, angry was not a strong enough word. She was furious. She was enraged. Livid, even. And as her feet instinctively took her out of the misty maze behind the basilica to approach the Piazza from the north, her mind raced with equal fervor.
All her life she'd been discounted, occasionally due to her age, but always because of her gender. First, it was her mother—God rest her soul—telling her what girls could or could not do. Then briefly her husband took over chastising her for unladylike behavior.
Only her father had ever encouraged Giovanna to pursue her passions and make use of her talents, and today was no different. Yet the fact that the most recent rebuke came from someone who'd already witnessed her capabilities first hand made it that much worse.
The procurator's son owed his seamless recuperation to her, but apparently that wasn't enough for him to trust her with caring for Don Delfini. And not only did Matteo neglect to thank her for pointing out his foolishness in choosing the ducal residence for assistance, but he also relegated her to hide away in his home until he could return. The absolute gall of the man!
But as Giovanna neared the Procuratie Vecchie, her thoughts unwittingly drifted from having stumbled into palace intrigue to something more personal.
Matteo Barozzi, for all intents and purposes, had kissed her. He'd kissed her, a married woman whose husband they had barely just left behind to possibly die in a damp prison cell. Worst of all, he'd prefaced the act with a clear statement indicating his distaste for what was about to happen. And still, Giovanna now wet her lip with the tip of her tongue as she recalled how Matteo's mouth had felt on hers—soft, full, and warm, remaining in contact for a moment longer than what was probably necessary.
Turning the final corner, she also couldn't help, but remember the weight of his body against hers, the warmth passing between them, and the brief exhilaration she'd gotten from his passionate touch. Of course, it was all to shield them from suspicion as potential witnesses to a crime, and yet . . ..
Giovanna raised her fist to knock on the palazzo's door before finishing her thought.
And yet nothing.
She was foolish for even pretending that her daydreams had any merit. Matteo lived in this elegant house just a stone's throw from the Republic's seat of power where he himself held a chair as a member of its elite Council. He had a title, money, and a reputation. To him, she was just a means to an end—first as a physician to heal and more recently as an alibi to live. She had to stop thinking any different.
When the door opened, she was ready to give her apologies for the disturbance and instead of staying as promised, head home. But the sight of the boy who'd two days earlier had opened this very door to her as she was leaving gave her pause.
"Are you unwell?" she asked in place of a more proper greeting while looking at his ashen skin and sunken, bloodshot eyes.
The boy's expression immediately changed from weary to panicked as he stepped closer and waved for her to lower her voice. "Please, signora. You must not make such accusations. I've merely had a sleepless night, that is all," he pleaded as a dark stain colored the fabric at his wrist, sign of a careless move over the juices of a roast in the kitchen, no doubt.
Seeing no evidence of buboes or fever, Giovanna decided to accept the boy's explanation. "Of course. But perhaps you should ask Don Barozzi for a more comfortable chair," she said, recalling how Matteo had caught the boy sleeping on the job.
The servant's brows furrowed. "Do you know me?" he asked suspiciously.
It was at that point that Giovanna realized she'd said too much. She'd been in the Barozzi household only once and even then, it was in the guise of a plague doctor. Revealing that she'd seen the boy before meant giving away her secret.
"No, I . . . I don't believe so," she muttered while trying to think of something to cover up her mistake. "It's just that nights at the door can be quiet, especially during quarantine when no one should be outside, am I wrong?"
The boy finally smiled, the act brightening up his whole expression. "You are not, signora. But how can I help you?"
"I—"
"Giovanna!" called a woman from behind. "Wait. I need to speak with you."
Giovanna turned as an exotic beauty emerged from the fog. With flowing red hair, loose and colorful garments weaved with the finest of threads, and skin as pure as milk, she cut a figure that was hard to forget. It is for that exact reason that Giovanna knew that they'd never met.
"Yes?" she asked, her eyes darting over the low-hung mist for any signs of accomplices or others who looked suspect.
The stranger gulped in the air when she stopped as though she'd been running. "I . . . I am Dilara—a friend of Ottavia. You must come. She needs our help."
Giovanna stepped away from the door and ushered the newcomer a few steps away. The move was symbolic for the boy at the door remained in earshot if he also did not retreat. But as he had still not attended to Giovanna's request, he dutifully remained at his station.
"How do you know me?" asked Giovanna, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. Given the dangerous encounter she'd just witnessed with Matteo, she felt it prudent to ascertain whether she was in the company of friend or foe.
Dilara smiled, making her even prettier than before. Up close, she had tiny freckles on the bridge of her shapely nose, which added a childish innocence that strikingly contrasted with the intensity emanating from her hazel eyes. "My brother has a spice stand in the Rialto Market. It was there that I saw you with Ottavia several weeks ago," she said.
Giovanna still wasn't convinced of the girl's honesty. "And why did I not see you then?"
Dilara blushed before looking away. When she'd turned back, she pointed at her reddened cheeks. "This is why. I stayed out of view, hidden behind the stall's curtains for this very reason. This is what happens when I merely think of her. One look at my reaction to your friend's presence and our secret would be revealed."
Giovanna lowered her gaze to compose her emotions. So this was the girl who'd most recently captured Ottavia's heart! Although there were other things she would have rather discussed, she had to return to the matter at hand.
"I understand," she said, looking up again. "One last question, please, and then we can get to the point, but you must tell me: how did you know where to find me?"
"I didn't," Dilara replied with a frown. "That is why I've been searching the islands every free moment I've had since he took her away."
Giovanna gasped. "Away? Who took her? And where?"
"Her husband-to-be caught us yesterday morning. He was very angry, indeed. And I promise that there was nothing we could have done to stop him," she rambled as her eyes welled with tears. "My brother is a humble foreign merchant and he couldn't risk—"
"Yes, yes, that is expected," Giovanna interrupted, anxious to hear more about her friend's fate rather than of the remorse from those who let her slip away. "But where is Ottavia now? Where did Nicco take her?"
"Giudecca," Dilara said clearly, gathering her composure once again. "She is confined to the Convent of Saints Cosma and Damiano. The nuns have her under lock and key until her wedding day."
"And after that, she'll be under Nicco Grimani's lock and key," Giovanna whispered, understanding the severity of the situation.
Dilara took Giovanna's hand. "So, will you help me? She was so terrified of going to that place. We need to get Ottavia out."
"What then?" Giovanna asked, already feeling like the whole thing was futile. "We cannot hide her from Nicco forever. He has spies and men in all of the Veneto ready to get her back at a moment's notice."
"That is why she cannot stay here," Dilara said, finally showing a hint of a smile once more. "My brother's ship is anchored in the lagoon, ready to leave for Istanbul—or any other place her heart desires—as early as the day after tomorrow."
"You are sure that she would want to go with you?" Giovanna asked.
Dilara nodded. "Yes, and as her best friend, you must also know that I am right."
Giovanna sighed. She did. It was true that in her heart, she knew that Ottavia would want nothing more than to get as far away from Nicco Grimani as she could. And if it could be at the side of the woman facing her now, all the better.
"Very well," Giovanna said. "How do we begin?"