"At least the man has good taste in flowers," Antonietta said. "I need to speak to Marita. Would you mind telling Tasha I'll be in a little later?"

"Tasha will want to hear your news right away. She's been anxious about you. Between her and that dog, I haven't had a moments' peace."

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 gla.s.ses 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.

"Docs 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 pan 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 grat.i.tude. "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."

"You are not?"

"Not quite in the same way. You seem a bit violent and earthy. I prefer sophistication. Taking apart his empire and exposing him for the monster he is."

"That still leaves him to prey on other women. He drugged her. You know that. He drugged her, raped her, and blackmailed her."

She heard the bite to his voice. This time she knew the demon roaring for release was in him. She felt the slow unfurling of claws, the lengthening of fangs, the snarl of rage at a monster of a man who could torment a woman in an attempt to ruin her family life. Byron. You can be a very scary man.

Never to you, cara. He leaned down and kissed her on her mouth before taking her inside the palazzo.

Celt greeted Antonietta in his dignified but obviously affectionate manner, falling in at her side to guide her up the stairs to Paul's room.

Tasha turned quickly from her vigil by the bed and threw herself into her cousin's arms with a glad little cry. "I was so worried about you, Toni. No one was with you. You were gone so long."

"I was with her, Tasha," Byron said quietly. "I can make you a sincere promise that nothing will ever harm her when she is with me."

"He took wonderful care of me, Tasha. How is Paul?" Antonietta kissed Tasha's cheek and hurried quickly to Paul's side.

She had to keep her eyes tightly closed or she became disoriented and suffered vertigo. If she were still, she could use her eyes if she remained cautious and concentrated. I hope your friend is right about my eyes. It is difficult to remember to keep them closed. Even with the dark gla.s.ses, I still see objects that aren't there.

We will find a way to fix this problem, Antonietta. I know it is disorienting for you and nearly impossible to keep your eyes closed.

"Paul slept all day. He just woke a couple of hours ago." Tasha stroked back her brother's hair. "Justine and I have been taking s.h.i.+fts. We kept up on the fluids."

Paul is pale and weak, but he will live. We need to reduce his pain.

"That's good, Tasha." Antonietta laid her palm on Paul's brow. "I saw Christopher in the maze earlier."

Tasha sighed. "He pounded on the door. I was afraid he would break it down. I couldn't get him to go away, but then Franco came with Nonno, and they told him to leave. I'm not altogether certain he would have, but Diego arrived, and Christopher left."

"Not exactly," Antonietta said. "Diego had a short talk with him out in the maze. Christopher threatened to ruin his career and said a woman like you would never stoop to looking at a man like Diego."

Tasha pressed her hand against her mouth. "No. How could he say that?" Her voice was strangled. "Christopher is very vindictive. He might really do something to ruin Diego's career. Why? We've only talked a few times. It's not like I've slept with Diego. He's a very nice man with children to think of. I wouldn't involve him in a scandal, and Christopher would make it one."

"Diego didn't seem very afraid. Or maybe your protection mattered more than his career, because he grabbed Christopher by the throat and told him to leave you alone."

"He didn't?" Tasha looked to Byron for confirmation. "He grabbed him by the throat? For me?"

"He was very angry with Christopher for striking you." Byron shrugged. "If Diego had not made it very clear to Christopher that he was not wanted here, Franco or I would have." When Paul stirred, he placed a restraining hand on the man's shoulder. "Or Paul when he recovered. The nice part about having family who loves you, is they protect you when it matters."

"Byron asked me to marry him, and I said yes," Antonietta announced as she seated herself on the bed beside Paul. She tried to sound casual and matter-of-fact, but there was a tremor in her voice.

Celt pressed close to her, put his head in her lap to show camaraderie. Byron laid his hand gently on Antonietta's shoulder, his dark gaze on Tasha, willing her to say whatever Antonietta needed from her.

There was a short silence, a stilling of the air as if everyone held their breath. "What did Nonno say?" Tasha asked.

"He gave us his blessing," Antonietta said, rubbing Paul's arm. "How are you feeling, Paul? You're drinking plenty of fluids, aren't you? Do you need me to take away the pain?"

"Grazie, Toni, I was hoping you'd offer. Congratulations, Byron. There's no one in the world like our Toni. You'd better take good care of her."

"You do not have to worry, Paul. She will always be my first priority."

Antonietta waited for Tasha to say more. When her cousin remained silent, Antonietta turned her attention to directing healing energy to Paul. She could feel the steady flow Byron fed her, but he stayed in the background, allowing the actual healing to come through her.

When it was obvious Paul was more comfortable, not moving restlessly, Antonietta handed him a gla.s.s of water. "Drink this.

Did you talk to Justine about your absurd suspicions? Because she is not part of a conspiracy to steal. She isn't, Paul. I can't tell you exactly how I know, but I do."

"Then who is selling our things? I saw the painting. The one my mother loved so much. It was moved down to the temperature-controlled room with the filtered air to preserve it until we could remodel the art room." He eased his body into another position. "I loved that painting. There's no mistake, and I'm going to get it back." There was determination in his voice.

"Then I'll ask Justine to take an inventory to see what else is missing."

I thought you were going to fire her.

Paul's in love with her. He was willing to die to keep her out of jail. I can't very well fire her. If he feels that strongly about her, hopefully she feels the same way about him and thought she was saving his life.

You are far too softhearted. I cannot imagine what our children will be like. Josef is thoughtless because he has been spoiled.

Can you imagine ten Josefs running around the pa-lazzo barefoot and clinging to the sides of the walls and making the gargoyles come alive? Singing rap music? What have you gotten me into?

I can't imagine ten of anything, let alone ten little Josefs. And they will sing opera. How did I become responsible?

You walked onto the stage looking so beautiful and courageous, you stole my heart.

Antonietta burst out laughing. There was a sudden silence in the room. "I'm sorry, I know we're discussing a serious subject. I just..." She trailed off, mentally kicking Byron in the s.h.i.+n.

The strange phenomenon of objects rus.h.i.+ng at her face had lessened enough that if she held her head very still, she could see through the heavy black lenses. Tired of closing her eyes and anxious to see her family members, she stared toward where she knew Paul's face would be and lifted her lashes.

"Someone in this house is stealing," Paul reiterated. "The police know it, Interpol knows it, and no one but a family member would know the way through the pa.s.sageway. Who else but Justine?"Antonietta's heart gave a funny jump when Paul's face stopped moving. The blurred image cleared, and she was staring at her cousin. "Paul." She breathed his name softly. Reached out to brush at the hair spilling across his forehead. There was a curious burning sensation behind her eyes. He looks just like I remember my father looking. Tell me where Tasha is. She's so quiet I can't tell exactly.

Byron s.h.i.+fted closer to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "We do not know who could be doing this, Paul, but we believe you. If it is someone living in this house, it should not be that difficult to find out who it is." Tasha is standing to your left. He gave Antonietta the mental image of height to her face.

Her heart pounding, Antonietta closed her eyes and turned her head carefully to stare up at Tasha. She pressed back against Byron for comfort and opened her eyes. For a moment Tasha swam in front of her, distorted and out of focus. Antonietta persisted, forcing her brain to connect with her eyes. Tasha stared back at her. Antonietta couldn't prevent the small cry of joy.

Tasha's eyes widened in shock. "You can see me. Dio, Toni. You can see me. That's not possible. How can you see me?"

Antonietta burst into tears. Tasha immediately began weeping with her. Byron looked at Paul helplessly.

"Is it true?" Paul asked as his sister and cousin clung to one another. "It was you, wasn't it, Byron? You are like she is, you have the gift."

"She has to be careful of light and movement, but we are hoping it will improve for her. Most of the time she keeps her eyes closed or she feels sick," Byron explained.

"Have you told Nonno?" Paul asked the inevitable question.

Before Byron could answer, Tasha flung her arms around him. "I don't care if you scare me to death. Grazie for this. You can't imagine how much I'd hoped we could find a way to restore Toni's sight. Our money seemed so useless at times. She's always been so patient, but there were so many times she wanted a particular book and she couldn't get it right away... So many things. Just grazie, Byron."

He could feel the genuine love and grat.i.tude pouring out of Tasha, and it made him feel humble. Antonietta's family relations.h.i.+ps were very complex, not at all black and white like his world seemed to be for so long. He thought in terms of enemy or ally. They were far more than that. There was so much joy radiating from Tasha and Paul at the knowledge that Antonietta might be able to see, that Byron wondered how he could have ever suspected either of them of conspiring to kill her, yet he felt he had to be certain. He couldn't afford to take a chance with Antonietta's life. .

Tasha and Antonietta began to laugh together, sitting on Paul's bed, holding hands. "I think they're hysterical," Paul commented.

Byron waved his hand to still the room.

"I think you are right." Byron glanced at Antonietta. Forgive me, cara mia, I feel I have no choice but to be certain.

I am certain. Her protest was instant and adamant.