Codes of Betrayal by Dorothy Uhnak Read Free Book Online Page B

sons were later set up in an auto repair shop of their own. And after high school Laura was sent to an eminent fashion studio in Milan, to learn the basics of fashion—design; sewing; the business of the industry. She was paid a small pittance as an apprentice, plus room and board.
    When she was twenty, she was allowed to show some of her own basic dress designs at a renowned show held in Paris. She caught the eye—and interest—of an international group. She was invited to parties; was swept into an older, wiser, more experienced world than she had ever known.
    Among her most ardent admirers was thirty-five-year-old Octavio of Florence—he said he was a prince, though he never really identified his pedigree. He was charmed by this passionate-eyed little girl who spoke excellent French and Italian. He loved showing her off in her exquisitely designed outfits. He lent her good jewelry, one piece at a time. Simplicity must be her style; nothing to detract from her natural, incredible beauty.
    Almost before she realized it, he was planning their wedding at his huge castlelike stone estate overlooking the Mediterranean. She knew hardly any of the people attending. No one from her family could come: her father was too helpless; her mother too frightened; her brothers too busy. She sent photos home and to Papa Ventura, who sent her a check large enough to impress even royalty. Octavio promised to set her up in her own house of design—in a while. Of course, she had no need to continue her studies, he said; she knew enough. He wanted them to have the freedom to be able to fly off to his home in the Bahamas; to attend the Cannes Film Festival; to accept interesting invitations from his many friends, all of whom made a great fuss over Laura. She felt that they were watching her as though they expected her to perform some outrageous act for their amusement.
    When they visited the large manor house of an aging dowager, high in the Austrian Alps, Laura sensed a certain excitement, a tension, not only from her husband but from the guests as well.
    Their hostess, surrounded by her young lovers, male and female, had planned an event in which Laura was to serve as the centerpiece of everyone’s desires. A sexual performance.
    Seized with disbelief as much as fear, Laura removed herself emotionally from the event. She retreated deep into the pure, untouched center of her being. The body that they touched, penetrated, abused, raped, sodomized, and devoured was someone else’s. She, Laura, was immune to all of their violations. No one realized that Laura had disappeared, that all they had to amuse themselves with was the empty body of an anonymous young girl.
    When they returned to their home in Rome, Octavio seemed unaware of any change in his young wife. He never really looked into his wife’s eyes; never realized the deep hatred and resolve that watched him through her ice gray unforgiving eyes. He saw only the slender, elegant, compliant girl. Who, in fact, was beginning to bore him as any overused toy tends to do.
    There was a particular trip he was planning to the Greek Isles, where they would celebrate her birthday in May. She asked where they would be. Exactly. On what island. Near what town. She studied the map intently as he pointed out—if it amused her, why not?—precisely where they would be. How they would get there from the yacht. Along what roads to the villa for the festivities.
    It was a quaint harbor. The peasants were dressed as though taking part in a musical comedy. Laura guessed that her husband and his friends had arranged the spectacle in her honor. The driver of the Mercedes that was to take Octavio and Laura to the villa was a tall, dark, pockmarked man who kept his face down as he loaded their luggage into the trunk of the car. He wore a driver’s black outfit and thin leather gloves and shiny black boots. The ride was along a narrow road, and Octavio glanced at his watch again and again. He was the host;