have a boat and driver lined up for mid-afternoon.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” she said, wondering why the island was not accessible by public transportation. Up until a few weeks ago, when Falcone’s company had taken ownership, the property had belonged to the city and been under its jurisdiction.
A man spoke in a baritone voice from behind her. “Good morning.”
Anna turned around to see a ruggedly handsome man entering the office. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a powerhouse of a fellow with thick waves of black hair and a Mediterranean complexion. His hazel eyes locked with hers, and Anna felt something jump inside her.
“Alejandro, come in. This is very timely. Alejandro Ramirez, meet Anna LaServa, the design architect for the hotel. Alejandro is the man in charge of the hotel’s construction,” Falcone explained.
“A pleasure,” Alejandro said without taking his eyes off her.
Anna picked up a hint of a Spanish accent in his deep voice. She extended her hand, which got lost in Alejandro’s large one, and felt an undeniable spark travel through her as they shook. In a rare moment of being caught off guard, she blushed and broke eye contact with him. She decided on the spot she liked this man, with whom she would need to consult frequently during the course of the project.
“Alejandro, I’m making arrangements for Ms. LaServa to visit the island today. I assume you will wish to accompany her.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed.
“I would accompany you both as well,” Falcone said, looking down at the papers on his desk, “but unfortunately, I’m expected elsewhere today.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine.” Anna cast a sidelong glance at Alejandro, who she noticed continued to stare at her.
Falcone returned his attention to Anna. “Very good, then. My assistant will show you to the office now. She or Alejandro should be able to answer any questions you may have. And I will send word as soon as arrangements are in place for you to visit the island.” Falcone looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I must be off now, I’m already late for another meeting.”
After they said goodbye, Falcone’s assistant escorted Anna and Alejandro to a nearby office. There they set to work poring over the documents. As she immersed herself in the paperwork, slightly distracted by her proximity to Alejandro, all thoughts of the unsettling dream of the previous night faded away.
* * * *
Several moments later, Falcone entered the office of his partner, Luciano Ferro, on the third floor, directly above the office in which Anna and Alejandro worked.
“Well?” Ferro asked.
“Everything is in order. She appears to be more than competent,” Falcone replied.
Ferro gave a terse nod. “Good. Let’s hope she’ll have no trouble in carrying the project to fruition. There’s too much money at stake. If we don’t get the project underway in short order, our investors will lose confidence and pull out.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Falcone snapped. “I’ve done the best I could. You know very well no Italian will set foot on that island. And procuring services outside the country takes time. I’ve managed to line up an architect in less than two weeks. What more do you expect?”
Ferro waved off Falcone’s outburst. “I know that, Paolo. And you’ve done well. Sit, sit. I did not mean to criticize your efforts. Construction will begin soon. We will both be wealthy men before long.”
Mollified by Ferro’s apologetic tone, Falcone sat and accepted the cigar Ferro held out to him.
Chapter 8
Poveglia Island, Venice
1927
The last thing Dr. Rossi unpacked from the remaining box on the floor of his new office was a photograph of him with Serafina and their children. After polishing the glass of the framed photo with the sleeve of his pristine lab coat, Rossi angled the picture just so on the large desk. He looked around the bright room with more than a little pride and a sense of
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” she said, wondering why the island was not accessible by public transportation. Up until a few weeks ago, when Falcone’s company had taken ownership, the property had belonged to the city and been under its jurisdiction.
A man spoke in a baritone voice from behind her. “Good morning.”
Anna turned around to see a ruggedly handsome man entering the office. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a powerhouse of a fellow with thick waves of black hair and a Mediterranean complexion. His hazel eyes locked with hers, and Anna felt something jump inside her.
“Alejandro, come in. This is very timely. Alejandro Ramirez, meet Anna LaServa, the design architect for the hotel. Alejandro is the man in charge of the hotel’s construction,” Falcone explained.
“A pleasure,” Alejandro said without taking his eyes off her.
Anna picked up a hint of a Spanish accent in his deep voice. She extended her hand, which got lost in Alejandro’s large one, and felt an undeniable spark travel through her as they shook. In a rare moment of being caught off guard, she blushed and broke eye contact with him. She decided on the spot she liked this man, with whom she would need to consult frequently during the course of the project.
“Alejandro, I’m making arrangements for Ms. LaServa to visit the island today. I assume you will wish to accompany her.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed.
“I would accompany you both as well,” Falcone said, looking down at the papers on his desk, “but unfortunately, I’m expected elsewhere today.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine.” Anna cast a sidelong glance at Alejandro, who she noticed continued to stare at her.
Falcone returned his attention to Anna. “Very good, then. My assistant will show you to the office now. She or Alejandro should be able to answer any questions you may have. And I will send word as soon as arrangements are in place for you to visit the island.” Falcone looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I must be off now, I’m already late for another meeting.”
After they said goodbye, Falcone’s assistant escorted Anna and Alejandro to a nearby office. There they set to work poring over the documents. As she immersed herself in the paperwork, slightly distracted by her proximity to Alejandro, all thoughts of the unsettling dream of the previous night faded away.
* * * *
Several moments later, Falcone entered the office of his partner, Luciano Ferro, on the third floor, directly above the office in which Anna and Alejandro worked.
“Well?” Ferro asked.
“Everything is in order. She appears to be more than competent,” Falcone replied.
Ferro gave a terse nod. “Good. Let’s hope she’ll have no trouble in carrying the project to fruition. There’s too much money at stake. If we don’t get the project underway in short order, our investors will lose confidence and pull out.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Falcone snapped. “I’ve done the best I could. You know very well no Italian will set foot on that island. And procuring services outside the country takes time. I’ve managed to line up an architect in less than two weeks. What more do you expect?”
Ferro waved off Falcone’s outburst. “I know that, Paolo. And you’ve done well. Sit, sit. I did not mean to criticize your efforts. Construction will begin soon. We will both be wealthy men before long.”
Mollified by Ferro’s apologetic tone, Falcone sat and accepted the cigar Ferro held out to him.
Chapter 8
Poveglia Island, Venice
1927
The last thing Dr. Rossi unpacked from the remaining box on the floor of his new office was a photograph of him with Serafina and their children. After polishing the glass of the framed photo with the sleeve of his pristine lab coat, Rossi angled the picture just so on the large desk. He looked around the bright room with more than a little pride and a sense of
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