The Devil's Song Read online

  The Devil’s Song

  Silvana G. Sánchez

  Copyright © 2019 by Silvana G. Sánchez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or undead), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: selfpubdesigns.com

  Contents

  I. Part One

  II. Part Two

  III. Part Three

  Also by Silvana G. Sánchez

  Cast in Blood

  Water

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  To my beloved son Iker,

  Who spread his wings too soon.

  The Butterfly in honored Dust

  Assuredly will lie

  But none will pass the Catacomb

  So chastened as the Fly—

  Emily Dickinson.

  I often see them sinking in the freezing waters. Tattered lace and soaked velvet float amidst the wreckage. Her soft locks of blonde hair entwine in an ethereal dance and slowly glide away from her pale countenance. The vacant stare of her widened eyes fixes upon me, not a spark of life gleams inside them.

  A chill rushes down my spine.

  Below the grim vision of my dead mother, Father falls deep into the abyss, a heavy statue with arms stretched in one final effort to escape his fate.

  Those vivid images have stayed with me for the past three weeks. And although they are but the ramblings of my mourning imagination, they roll before my mind’s eye more often than I’d care to admit.

  I quiet my pain believing the sea’s extreme low temperatures might have eased their passing, but true peace only comes when I sing. The song fills my mind in such a way that it leaves no room for those tormenting thoughts.

  Music is my sole delight, a window to escape the bitter reality that stormed into our lives the minute the news arrived. Your parents are dead, the painful blow came from our father’s solicitor, along with other dreadful news: You are penniless, Signorina Leone.

  Our lives changed forever in one wretched instant. We lost our family’s estate and fortune… Everything, gone.

  A hard lump builds in my throat. Fine beads of sweat glide down my brow. Heaving a heavy sigh, I clear them with the back of my hand. Impossible to believe winter has struck La Serenissima when this room’s warmth is utterly stifling.

  Wrinkling my apron with both hands, I slip on the crooked stool beside the table. Dirt and fine specks of flour dust the wood tiled floor… How does one clean a floor? We used to have servants who’d do such things for us, but those times are long gone.

  “Cosa fai, Letizia?” My brother stomps his feet on the doorway, shaking away the freezing cold.

  “Fabrizio, you are back!” I rush to hold him in my arms. “What news from Florence?” I eagerly ask. “Has Father’s solicitor solved everything?”

  My questions sail unheard through the room’s warm air.

  “Ma, cos’e questo?” Fabrizio frees from my embrace and moves to the window. He opens both window shutters with one quick push. A gust of wind filters inside the kitchen. He peers outside and looks at the street both ways as if he expects someone to appear out of the dark.

  “Is something wrong?” I say, moving closer to the table. A tug at my apron removes it. I pull my shawl from the chair and wrap myself with it fast.

  “I want this window open at all times, Letizia…” he says, looking back.

  “But it’s six o’clock in the morning… It’s too cold!” I mutter with a frown, gripping the shawl tight.

  “You don’t understand,” he says with a gentler voice. “The smell, Letizia… It lures them in like the Pied Piper’s melody.” He pauses to give me a candid stare. Fabrizio’s eyes remind me of my mother’s—her blue eyes, not the empty one’s that lately haunt my sleep. “Do you remember the old tale, the one with the children?”

  “Those children drowned in the end.” I give him a wry smile. “Everyone drowns…”

  “Letizia, this is serious.” Fabrizio pulls a chair and sits before me. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands together. “I met with Father’s solicitor, we spoke to Baresi. The man is adamant, he will not move a finger to help us.”

  “Baresi is a fool.” I purse my lips.

  “Baresi has threatened to take this house from us if we do not pay,” he adds.

  “No, that cannot be…” I muse. “Fabrizio, this is our house!”

  “Not ours anymore,” he says, defeated. “Must I remind you? Father lost everything to that fool. This is Baresi’s house now and we are his tenants.”

  “It’s not fair.” I clench my fists, wrinkling the shawl. It’s unforgivable that my parents died so prematurely and left me and my brother at too young an age to fend for ourselves. But overall, I resent my father’s dim-witted choice to gamble our house away into the hands of a known usurer and cheat.

  “This is our life now, dearest.” Fabrizio’s voice is tinged with infuriating resignation. “No more can be done. We must accept…”

  “Living in this house is unbearable enough!” I get on my feet, determined to change our fates, although lacking all means to do so. “What about Ca’ di Leone? Will we ever get our house back?”

  “It’s all gone now,” he says under his breath, getting on his feet.

  “That insufferable man…” I pause. “How can you bear it?” The words escape my mouth when I least expect it.

  Fabrizio’s lips stretch in a bitter smile. “Così è la vita.” That’s life, he says, moving towards the stairs with a weary gait. “Our new situation calls for a few changes, but we’ll get on, by and by.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of…” I muse, hugging my arms.

  “I am for bed,” he says, holding the stairway’s railing. “The journey drained me completely. I might not wake until tomorrow!”

  My gaze follows him until he reaches the top of the stairs. “Truly?” I ask, not quite convinced. “And if Carina should call?” Teasing my brother has become my newest sport. Teasing him about his secret infatuation with our neighbor has shown more promise than any other subject. I’ve suspected of his feelings towards her for a few days now.

  “Well, if that should happen…” taking a quick look back, a hint of mischief twinkles in his eyes. “Then you must absolutely wake me.”

  Fabrizio chokes a laugh as he continues to climb the stairs. A minute later, his footsteps no longer echo in the hall.

  Not ours anymore, Fabrizio’s words are pinned into my thoughts. My worst fears have materialized into one fearsome reality: nothing can be done to restore our family’s legacy. And thus, we are doomed. Doomed and far from feeding our smallest hopes.

  The first rays of sunshine filter through the windows, yet the wind is still cold. The oven’s heat died long ago. I wrap my shawl around my back and over my shoulders. The bitter winter has made me appreciate the importance of owning a good woolen shawl. The one I hold now used to be my mother’s. Fastening the precious garment across my chest is a warm embrace that reminds me of her.

  Life stirs in the street with the bustle of ongoing workers and tourists on their way to the piazza San Marco. Soon, the door knocks and the first market sellers arrive to buy bread. After the first sale of the day, I cross myself and thank the Lord. Hope is renewed in my heart when the second and third buyers come… We might be
able to escape Baresi’s claws after all.

  By the time I’ve sold the last piece of bread, the marangona strikes announcing that it’s noon. Time to close the shop.

  The many worries that whirl in my head as I reach the door dissipate when it knocks three times. Strange that whoever stands behind it chose not to pull the brass bell outside… Ah. There it is. With one quick tug, the pristine chime echoes in the entrance.

  I’m genuinely curious to discover our visitor’s identity. Surely, no vendors would arrive at such a late hour… So, who can it be?

  My heart pounds faster and harder. If Pietro stands behind that door it would be best it remained unopened. Pietro calls himself one of Baresi’s associates, but I very well know the man is no more than a thug, a villain paid by that fiend to do his dirty work.

  A week has passed since Pietro’s last visit. He then threatened my brother with the vilest words. I shudder to think I might face him alone.

  A few minutes pass in silence. Has he gone?

  I open the door to find absolutely nothing—that is to say, I see something, but not someone. The street is empty, the bustle of the ongoing day rumbles somewhere beyond the stone wall before me.

  The most innocent creature waits at my door. Its delicate nature compels me to observe it in detainment. The slow flap of its wings holds me in a trance. Black-rimmed bright blue velvety wings… A precious butterfly.

  “Hello there,” I say, getting on my knees, leaning towards the creature. “Did you knock?”

  “He must be the luckiest thing alive,” a voice says.

  Startled, I look up. Brown leather shoes, pristine white stockings, and dark blue breeches; lavish blue jacket sewn in gold brocade. Fashionable lace peers from his jacket’s sleeves and matches the white cravat.

  Getting on my feet, I follow his soft jawline and stop at his delicate lips. Sparkling blue eyes fix at me as the corner of his lips curl in a smile.

  “Mattia…” I say, clasping my hands over my apron.

  “One can only hope to gain such attention from you as that pesky insect…” he murmurs, swishing the butterfly away with his black cane.

  My brow furrows at the indelicacy of his manners. It should come as no surprise to me, even as a child Mattia showed signs of cruelty. His obsession with shooting sparrows horrifies me to this day.

  Despite the disgrace that befell our family, Mattia calls on us occasionally. He has not cut off all ties with us as most of our friends did the minute they heard of our misfortune.

  The frequency of his visits increased ever since his father died. He then inherited a vast fortune and a luxurious palazzo by the Grand Canal.

  Does he come here to mock us, to revel in his newly acquired grandeur?

  Perhaps I judge him harshly.

  I tilt my head slightly to the right, examining his countenance. Sheer pride gleams in his eyes as he holds my stare. His hands join on top of the ebony cane that lands before him.

  “Fabrizio sleeps, Mattia…” I utter.

  “That is a shame.” He clucks his tongue. “Laziness is an unforgivable sin—the mother of all sins, I believe.”

  I cannot help but frown. My hand clenches the door handle. Slamming the door on his face would fill my heart with joy, but it would go against all manner of propriety.

  “Fabrizio traveled long hours from Florence…” I muse. “I have taken over the shop for the day.” My brother has done his best to get us by in the midst of the direst conditions, but what does Mattia know about hard work?

  “It is unbearable to think your delicate hands might be spoiled by arduous labor… Oh, well.” Mattia heaves a heavy sigh. “Since I am already here…” Removing his black felt hat, he pushes the door and steps inside. I am baffled and struggle to find the words to send him away when he slips into the bench by the fireplace.

  “Please,” he says, pointing to the other wooden bench before him.

  My lips part, but no sound comes through. I untie my apron and remove it, quickly crumpling it between my hands into a darkened ball that I lay on my lap when I sit.

  “Fabrizio’s absence is most convenient for what I have to say,” he begins. Clearing his throat, he taps the rug with his cane twice. His fingers fiddle his lace cravat as he purses his lips. “It will not come as a surprise to you to learn of my affections, Letizia.”

  “Your… affections?” I ask. “Do you mean to say you have found a woman whom you love?”

  “Love…” He sneers. “I have found such a woman, yes. I dare say I found her years ago.” His eyes wander the walls for a moment and his expectant gaze then lands on mine.

  “I have never considered myself a sensitive man, Letizia.” Mattia stands. He steps closer and stops inches away from me. “But in this instance, I am willing to please your feminine delicacy.” Getting on one knee, he holds my hand. “Marry me, Letizia Leone.”

  A chill runs down my back at the sound of those words.

  “Mattia, I—” A heavy knock pounds the door. I am grateful—more than words could ever say—to whoever stands on that doorstep. “I must get the door.” I slip my hand away from his, and leaving the apron on the bench, I move to the doorway.

  The rusty hinges squeal as I open the door.

  My eyes widen and my lips stretch in an irrepressible grin. “Carina!” I reach for her shoulders and embrace her with more warmth than ever before.

  Carina frowns, receiving my welcome with suspicion. “Stai male, Letizia?” Are you unwell, she asks, taking a step back to sweep my expression with her scrutinizing gaze.

  Holding her hand, I lead her inside. “Carina, have you met Signor Moretti?” I point to the parlor where he stands before the hearth. “He’s come to see Fabrizio.”

  “I’ve not had the pleasure…” She purses her lips. “How do you do, signore?”

  Mattia lifts his cane in the air and catches it midway with his right hand. He slips on his hat and gives a silent nod to my beloved rescuer. His fingers brush mine as he heads to the door. A disturbing wave travels up my arm, like a poisonous ivy that strains every inch of its path.

  “I look forward to continuing our conversation,” he says in a whisper. “I am most interested in hearing what you have to say on the subject.” A quick bow. “Good day, ladies.”

  The door shuts behind him.

  With her mouth agape, Carina turns to face me. “Signor Mattia Moretti…” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “What on earth did he want here? Should he not be attending some fancy ball or banquet?”

  I smile and shrug my shoulders. Carina holds my hands fast and bursts into laughter, and of course, I join her.

  “Letizia… Have you forgotten?” she asks, fixing her soft locks of red hair over her shoulder. I genuinely have no idea what she means. “You promised to come with me to the market.”

  “Oh!” My cheeks burn. “Forgive me, Carina. You have shown nothing but kindness to me since I moved into this house, and this is how I repay you.”

  “That’s enough shame right there…” she teases, raising her brow. With a gentle smile, she pats my hand. “We might still make it before the shops close.”

  Daylight grows dim. We head to the piazza with a hurried pace. The strong wind can only announce a heavy thunderstorm heading our way.

  Merchants and buyers scream an ongoing battle, bartering to the best of their abilities. Luxurious fabrics brought from the East spread before my eyes with the most exquisite designs I’ve ever seen. The scent of Mir and exotic spices lingers in the air.

  Moving through the jostling crowd, Mattia’s proposal echoes in my head. Marrying him would solve the matter of our debt to Baresi. It would mean restoring our family some dignity. I have nothing to offer—no dowry, no position that would tempt him. It seems strange that he would find any interest in me at all.

  Can I marry without love?

  “Andiamo, Letizia!” She calls me from the other side of the horde. I cannot avoid lagging on our way through the market, my mi
nd whirls with incessant worries.

  “Stasera, la più prodigiosa cantante d'opera, Syneca Fiori…!”

  In the middle of the piazza, the banditore reads the theatre’s headline, and my heart flutters with the promise he brings: Syneca Fiori, the virtuous soprano from La Scuola Veneziana dell’Opera.

  Syneca’s prodigious voice is the Republic’s pride. Years ago, as a child, I had the privilege to witness her extraordinary talent. Mother had been a patron of the Arts for many years. Fortune smiled upon me the day Mother chose to take me with her to the Opera’s rehearsal.

  The prima donna’s voice carved a deep mark in my young spirit. Within me stirred a passion for music that compelled me to pursue my studies. The very next day, I was assigned a tutor who would educate my voice—Father considered it most convenient since a good singing voice increased a woman’s desirability for marriage.

  How I wish to admire Syneca’s voice once more! “Oh, Syneca Fiori…” I sigh, taking a hand to my chest.

  “An impossible dream, Letizia.” Carina locks her arm around mine. “Those tickets are too expensive… Besides, we needn’t attend such affairs. You’re as talented as any soprano.”

  “Together for the first time, the prodigious prima donna and La Voce Galante, Carlo Ricci, in the timeless story: L’Orfeo!” The banditore raises the libretto in his hand, reminding each passerby that they should procure their seats soon, for tickets will most assuredly run out quickly.

  “Carlo Ricci…” Carina muses, tightening her grip.

  “A terrible fame precedes his name,” I tease. “But I hear Carlo Ricci is a formidable lover… Most castrati are.”

  “Letizia, hush!” Carina snaps out of the daze, noticeably shocked.

  I cannot help but giggle, amused by my friend’s naive nature. Carina is the most unspoiled young woman the world ever knew, and perhaps that is why I absolutely adore her. She must fall in love with my brother, or at least that is my most fervent wish—that we may be sisters in the near future. But I dare not meddle in such matters of the heart which are so far beyond my understanding. I have never once been in love, so how can I possibly engage in the fine arts of matchmaking?