Page 2 of Vengeance in Venice
“Go,” she whispered.
Nodding curtly, he released her and loped toward the fight, drawing something from the belt of his trousers that glinted in the moonlight.
When she was sure Alvise would not look back, she began to move after him, forcing herself to walk sedately while trying to make sense of the melee ahead.
The two men came out of nowhere, grasped an arm each, and started dragging her toward the dark passageway on their right. She opened her mouth to call out, and a rough hand clapped over her face.
*
Solomon’s joining thefight appeared to merely irritate the practiced thugs setting about their outnumbered victim. When he charged into the melee, hoping to scare them off, they tried to swat him away as though he were an annoying mosquito.
Interesting,he thought, as he forced his way to the victim’s side. This young man, breathing rapidly, was already bloodied and winded, but seemed game enough, even flashing Solomon a very brief and weary smile of gratitude before a fist swung viciously for the side of his head.
It was Solomon who blocked the punch, grasping the attacker’s arm and swinging him into his comrades, who were trying to surround their victim again, separating him from Solomon. They staggered into each other, allowing the defenders a moment of respite.
Solomon charged, head down, felling one man before swinging around, both fists flying to connect with another. The original victim, apparently heartened by this success, got in a few blows of his own.
Solomon’s main worry was the blade glinting in the light of a passing boat. Its wielder was not so much stabbing as slashing, and it was only a matter of time before he injured or even killed someone. Solomon brought him down with a well-aimed kick to the knees, and stood on the man’s wrist before swooping down to retrieve the knife from his nerveless fingers.
And then Alvise joined the fight, which changed the numbers to four against three. The attackers clearly did not like these odds, for they melted suddenly into the darkness, hurling only insults and threats as they backed off away from the canal to a narrow passage. Beyond them, back where Solomon had left Constance, two men were dragging a woman into darkness.
Constance.
He might have made some animal noise of fear, or it might just have been in his head. He didn’t care which. He was already pounding down the street toward where he had last seen her, no conscious thought in his head except that he could not lose sight of her. All other concerns, recriminations, and regrets had to wait before the one vital necessity of keeping her in sight until…
Someone caught his arm. “Signor, there is no point!”
The passageway was empty. The victim of the attack and Alvise stood on either side of him. He shook them off, but the man he had helped clung determinedly to his arm.
“No, signor. I don’t believe they will hurt her. And I know where they are taking her.”
Solomon stared at him, torn. Every second he wasted talking, Constance got further away from him. “This is part of your quarrel?”
“You helped me. They think she is connected to me, that this will hurt me.”
“Where?” Solomon barked. “Where have they taken her?” Could he even believe this bloodied stranger?
“Palazzo Savelli.”
Solomon flicked his gaze at Alvise. “Do you know it?”
Alvise nodded once. He exchanged some rapid words with the other Venetian. Solomon paid no attention. He was already striding back toward his boat.
“Send the police,” he threw over his shoulder at the victim.
“Oh, no, the police will do nothing. They are mostly in Savelli’s pocket. I come with you.” The man kept pace with Solomon, although he limped somewhat. “We shall steal her back. At the very least, Savelli will release her in exchange for me.”
Solomon did not waste breath on further speech until the three of them were in the boat and Alvise was rowing them up the Rio di Luca, turning into the Rio della Vesti. By the boat’slight, he could more clearly see the face of his ally, wiping the blood off his cheek and chin. The sleeve of his coat was slashed, and there was blood around the torn knee of his trousers.
“Who are you and who has taken my wife?” Solomon demanded. He was hanging on to his intellect by a thread as the nightmare threatened to engulf him in sheer panic. It all felt too eerily familiar—disappearance, loss, fear—and yet it had sprung out of a moment of pure happiness, of the kind she had once wished for him, back when they first met…
Focus, fool—this will not help her.
His rather battered ally was speaking. “I am Ludovico Giusti, a gentleman of Venice. I believe your wife was taken by the men of Angelo Savelli, like those who attacked me. We are…enemies.”
“Who is this Savelli?”
Giusti’s lip curled. “A rather wealthy so-called gentleman of Venice. As he has clearly demonstrated this night that he has no honor. He is a traitor, collaborating with the Austrians, with whom he always sides, even when we had the chance of freedom.”
