Rising Fire. William W. Johnstone

is that hard-faced man who approached us in the restaurant?”

      “That’s right. He is Tomasi’s second-in-command and takes a personal interest in all such matters. I believe he . . . enjoys . . . hurting people. Since he was not there on the bridge that night, we can be sure that Tomasi had nothing to do with that attempt on our lives.”

      Denny nodded and said, “All right.” She wasn’t completely convinced, but she supposed Giovanni knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. “Where are we going to eat dinner this evening?”

      Giovanni made a face. “To my everlasting regret, cara mia, we cannot dine together tonight.”

      Denny was surprised. They had been together almost every night for the past two weeks. “Why not?”

      “I received an unexpected message a short time before I came here to see you. My grandfather has sent an emissary to Venice, and I must meet with him.”

      “Your grandfather,” Denny repeated.

      “Sì. As I told you, I have been . . . estranged . . . from my family for some time. But now, it seems that my grandfather wishes to explore the idea of restoring friendly relations. So he asked one of his associates who was going to be coming to Venezia anyway to look me up and broach the subject. The old man wishes to have dinner with me tonight.” Giovanni shrugged. “While I wish there was some other way to do it, if I am restored to my grandfather’s good graces, it will ensure that unpleasant situations such as the one with Salvatore Tomasi never again trouble us.”

      “You can avoid that yourself,” Denny told him. “Just don’t pile up any more big gambling debts.”

      “Of course, of course. That is my intention, I assure you. But life is uncertain. Problems arise. They are much easier to deal with when one has ample resources at one’s command. Besides . . .” He smiled. “It will be good to be welcomed back into the bosom of my family, if such a thing is possible.”

      When he said that, Denny felt a little ashamed of herself for doubting him. He just wanted his family to forgive him for his black sheep ways and take him back. She could understand that. Her family had never shunned her, but at the same time, she knew she hadn’t turned out exactly like they had expected. She had her own wild streak and often gave in to her impulsive nature.

      She took Giovanni’s hand and smiled across the table at him. “I understand,” she said. “You go ahead and do whatever you need to do this evening.”

      He returned the smile. “I will be thinking of you the entire time! That will help me endure what I am sure will be a tiresome evening with the old gentleman. Then, tomorrow morning I will go to the bank and take care of the final obstacle standing between us and happiness!”

      “Would you like for me to come with you?”

      Giovanni shook his head emphatically. “No, I don’t want you anywhere near Tomasi, Gian-Carlo, or any of those other louts! You must stay here at the Metropole with your brother, where you will be safe, and then, when all is concluded, I will call for you tomorrow evening. We will have a special celebration! And soon, if all goes well with my grandfather’s emissary, I will be able to pay you back for your oh-so-generous assistance.”

      “Don’t worry about that,” she told him. “There’s no hurry.”

      “Actually . . .” He picked up his glass of wine. “The hurry is now. I must prepare for this evening’s meeting. Wish me luck.”

      Denny clinked her glass against his. “Good luck, Giovanni . . . always.”

      They drank, then stood up. Giovanni hugged her, planted a brief kiss on her forehead, and left the lounge. As Denny watched him go, an idea stirred to life in her head.

      He might not have wanted her to come with him to this meeting with his grandfather’s emissary . . . but he might enjoy it if she were to surprise him at his apartment afterward. In fact, Denny mused, she was confident she could see to it that they both enjoyed that little surprise.

      CHAPTER 10

      Denny didn’t tell Louis where she was going that evening. She had dinner with him and then, knowing that he had a habit of turning in early, waited until he had gone into his bedroom in the hotel suite and closed the door. She had said she was going to bed, too, but instead she dressed in simple clothes so she wouldn’t stand out on the street, then lingered a little longer just to make sure before she left the hotel.

      She knew the way to Giovanni’s apartment, of course, and she didn’t have to take a gondola to get there. The two of them had walked all over Venice, and Denny had a keen, instinctive sense of direction. She followed the dark, narrow, winding streets, keeping her hand in her bag. Her fingers were wrapped around the butt of the Smith & Wesson. She didn’t expect to run into trouble, but if she did, she would be prepared.

      The canals were still busy at this hour, the streets and bridges less so. Denny was wary when passing groups of rough-looking men, but other than calling out to her in Italian, they didn’t bother her. She didn’t know all the words they said, but it wasn’t difficult to get the general idea of their comments. They probably thought she was a prostitute.

      She didn’t let them bother her. She had been hearing the same sort of thing from men for a number of years now, especially whenever she and Louis visited France. The Italian men weren’t quite as aggressive verbally—although they were more likely to pinch a girl’s rear end if she got within reach of them.

      When she reached the street that ran in front of the palazzo where Giovanni’s apartment was, she paused to look up at the building. Most of the windows were already dark, but light still glowed in some of them.

      Including, Denny realized as a frown creased her forehead, Giovanni’s bedroom window.

      Maybe he had left a lamp burning, although that wasn’t very likely. She hadn’t expected him to be back from the meeting with his grandfather’s friend yet, but she supposed that was possible. The meeting might not have gone as well as Giovanni had hoped it would.

      Denny hoped that wasn’t the case. She wanted Giovanni to be on good terms with his family again, and not just because of the financial advantages that would give him. Family was important. No one needed to be cut off from the ones who were supposed to love them the most.

      The best way for her to find out what had happened was to go on up there, she told herself. Giovanni would be surprised to see her, but she hoped he would be pleased, too.

      She went in and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Cooking odors from that night’s supper lingered in the air in the stairwell, a heady mixture of garlic and other spices. When she reached the second-floor hallway, she walked along it to the door of Giovanni’s apartment. Her hand lifted, poised to rap on the panel.

      The shrill, strident laughter of a woman came from inside the apartment before Denny’s knuckles could fall.

      She caught her breath and stepped back sharply as if she had just been slapped across the face. A deeper laugh with the rumble of a man’s voice in it came to her ears. She knew that sound, knew it all too well. She had heard it often during the past few weeks. And the laugh held a tone of intimacy that Denny recognized, too.

      Her heart slugged painfully hard in her chest. Giovanni was in there with a woman . . . laughing . . . and Denny’s mind whirled desperately, searching for something that would explain what she had just heard.

      Maybe . . . maybe the emissary sent by Giovanni’s grandfather had brought along some members of Giovanni’s family. That might be his sister laughing in there, or his mother or aunt. That was possible, wasn’t it?

      No, Denny told herself as the woman giggled. No, it wasn’t. That wasn’t the sort of sound a woman made when she was visiting with a long-absent relative. There was passion in it, and excitement, and . . . and . . .

      With her pulse hammering in her head, Denny leaned closer to the door