Free Venice Vampyr by Tina Folsom Page B

brother ordered him to hurt her, he could do it, and there was no way she could avert it.
    Raphael released her partially, allowing her to turn to the side. “Isabella, this is my brother Dante.”
    Isabella looked up at the tall man who stood near the sofa. His hair was black like a raven, his figure broad. She could instantly see the resemblance between him and Raphael, only that this man was a little taller and his facial features more rugged, less elegant than Raphael’s.
    “It’s a pleasure to welcome you into the family,” Dante drawled.
    She knew it was a lie. Only minutes earlier, he’d told his brother not to trust her. But she knew she couldn’t let either one of them know what she’d overheard. If she did, she was doomed. Even thought she’d barely understood half of what they’d discussed, she’d understood enough to know that Dante was dangerous and would probably kill her if she got in the way of whatever they were planning.
    “Thank you, Signore,” she responded and lowered her eyelids.
    “Now, now, Isabella, you’ll have to call me Dante. We’re not very formal here. And you’re my sister now.”
    “Of course,” she added hastily, not wanting to upset him.
    “Enough of the pleasantries for tonight,” Raphael interjected. “Why don’t I show you upstairs and have a bath sent up for you? I’ll join you shortly.”
    Her pulse raced. “We’re staying here?” She’d assumed this was Dante’s house. And she didn’t want to stay under his roof. She’d rather be at her own home where at least she could summon help if she needed it.
    “Yes, we’re spending the night at my house,” Raphael answered.
    “Your house?”
    He nodded. “Yes. Or did you think you married a pauper? This is mine and Dante’s house. We’ve lived here all our lives. Come, I’ll show you to my chamber.” He cleared his throat. “Our chamber.”
    Isabella swallowed hard and placed her shaking hand in his outstretched palm.



Chapter Thirteen

    Not even the warm bath a servant had prepared for her could calm Isabella’s nerves. She tried to piece together the things she’d overheard, but nothing made sense. What did Raphael want from her, and what did he want from Massimo? Did he really believe she was under Massimo’s command? She’d always hated the man, even when Giovanni had still been alive. She hated the way he snuck around and considered her house his own, how he ordered her servants around and pretended to be the master of the house whenever he visited.
    For anybody to think that she would do his bidding was ludicrous.
    She won’t find out . Raphael’s words still echoed in her mind. What was he hiding? Was he a gambler? Did he already have a wife somewhere else? What was it that he didn’t want her to know?
    Clearly, he hadn’t married her for her money. As she perused his bedchamber, she couldn’t help but admire the rich furnishings, the expensive rugs, the beautiful paintings. Everything in his possession fairly screamed of wealth. Her own home looked like a pauper’s in comparison. No, it wasn’t her money he wanted.
    Which brought her back to Massimo. What did Massimo have that Raphael and his brother wanted? She had never really figured out what Massimo did. But she’d always hated the fact that when he came to call on them, he would take Giovanni with him, and they’d be out all night. Giovanni would come home disheveled and exhausted. But not once had he answered her questions of where he’d been.
    Isabella slipped under the covers of the large bed and forced her eyes shut. Somehow she would get through this. Tomorrow she’d go back to her own house and try to figure out how to extricate herself from this situation. Maybe she could appeal to the Doge and ask for protection. Protection from her own husband? What would Venetian society say? No, she couldn’t make this public. What if Raphael made it known how he’d taken her in that public archway in full view of a stranger? Her