Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse by authors_sort Read Free Book Online

soul. She shivered again and decided what she had felt was fear.
    He had looked at her with interest stirring in the depths of his eyes. No one had ever looked at her the way Don Giovanni Scarletti had. He was no callow youth but a grown man, a nobleman at that, rumored to head a secret society of assassins. Others in power either left him strictly alone or vied for his attention, coveting his loyalty. But more than all of that, his family was cursed. No village woman, nor even many Scarletti wives, had survived long in the Palazzo delta Morte —Palace of Death. And he had looked at her, marking her as prey. The thought crept unbidden into her fanciful mind.
    A log in the fireplace burned through and collapsed in a shower of sparks, flames flaring momentarily to cast an image of hell on the wall. Nicoletta's breath caught in her throat as the heavy door swung slowly inward. A man hesitated in the entrance.
    Nicoletta didn't believe in cowering beneath the covers. "Signore?" She managed to keep her voice even, in spite of trembling uncontrollably. "What is it?"

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    "Scusa, signorina, I did not mean to disturb you. I wanted to see my daughter." Despite the natural arrogance in his tone, he was extremely polite for an aristocratic. This was Vincente, the youngest of the three Scarletti brothers. He had the same muscular build and confidence of his older brothers, as befitted one born to nobility, but the similarities ended there. Where Don Giovanni Scarletti had a palpable aura of power and danger and authority about him, this man seemed ravaged by sorrow, almost as if he couldn't stand straight beneath the weight of his burden. His young wife, Nicoletta seemed to recall, was one of the casualties of the Scarletti curse, leaving him a widower with no mother for his child.
    Immediately Nicoletta's heart went out to him, her compassionate nature sharing his sorrow. Normally she would never speak directly to a member of the Scarletti family—it was as natural to her as breathing to avoid contact with nobility and outsiders—but she couldn't help responding to him. "There is no need to worry, signore, the bambino will live. The soup she shared with Don Scarletti was tainted. She was given medicine to aid in her healing." Her voice was soft and soothing, unconsciously reaching out to
    "heal" him, too, as she so often did with her people.
    He bowed, a courtly gesture of respect. "I am Vincente Scarletti. The bambino is all I have left in this world. When I saw the bedchamber below empty, I…" He trailed off. "I do not know how I thought to check the nursery. I was numb and walked here blankly, without thought."
    No wonder sorrow was etched so deeply into his face. Nicoletta reassured him. "A small incidente, no more, Signore Scarletti."
    "I thank you for saving the don and my daughter. I do not know what our famiglia would do without mio fratello, the don. And the bambina is everything to me."
    "Maria Pia Sigmora is a healer without equal," Nicoletta lied, straight-faced. She was grateful for the shadows in the room that prevented the man from examining her too closely. His brother's scrutiny had been enough adventure for one night.
    "Vincente! What is going on? Has Sophie taken a turn for the worse?" The woman, Portia Scarletti, who had been weeping earlier in the hallway, poked her head into the room, wrapping her hand familiarly around Vincente's arm. Her face mirrored her deep concern.
    Nicoletta studied her closely. Portia looked far younger than what must be her thirty or so years.
    Margerita, her daughter, appeared to be at least fifteen. Portia wore a long, form-fitting gown that revealed more than it covered, and even in the middle of the night, her hair was dressed perfectly.
    Portia took in the women and child in the room with one swift glance. "Ah"—she crossed herself devoutly—"thank the Madonna, the bambina is well. Come, Vincente, you