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“Actually, yes,” Zollner said with a big smile as he pulled me out of the trunk and set me on my feet.
“She’s got a black eye.”
He must have meant where Zollner had socked me with the butt of his rifle.
“You’re very observant,” Zollner said pleasantly, without a trace of sarcasm – which made his reply all the more sarcastic.
“Aurelio’s not gonna be happy about that.”
“Then he’s free to take it up with me, gentlemen. As long as he pays me.”
We were near a boat dock on a deserted shore of the Venetian lagoon. I could see the outline of the city in the distance.
I assumed the speed boat tied to the pier was how we would get to our destination.
“You gonna cut my feet loose, or you want me to hop over there?” I asked sardonically.
Zollner looked at me sideways and waggled a finger at me like I was a naughty child. “Don’t try anything, Fräulein. I would hate to give you another black eye.”
He knelt down behind me and used a knife to cut the zip ties around my ankles.
I thought about kicking him… but decided I wanted to be in good shape when Massimo got there in case we needed to run for it. And having both of my eyes swollen shut wouldn’t help.
“Let’s go,” Zollner said as he gently pushed me towards the dock.
We got into the speedboat with him holding onto my arm. The mafia goons followed, and soon we were racing across the lagoon.
As we circled around the larger island of Murano, the much smaller island of San Michele came into view. It was only 1200 feet from the northwestern shore of Venice – and around half a mile from my grandmother’s palazzo, which was slightly farther south.
I wondered if that was why Aurelio had chosen it. If Nona didn’t agree to his demands, maybe he planned to make her watch through binoculars as he executed me.
Just wait till Massimo gets here, assholes.
The island was basically one giant graveyard, although it had some nice gardens, too. The most striking building on San Michele was the church that the island was named after. It had a 130-foot-tall bell tower and a white-domed façade. While they paled next to Venice’s more impressive cathedrals and palazzos, both the bell tower and white dome were still pretty iconic.
Somebody else on the boat had obviously been reading up on the topic.
“Did you know,” Zollner said excitedly, “that the island – named for Saint Michael the archangel – was originally two smaller islands. They were connected in the early 1800s when the channel between them was filled in.”
“Is that so,” I muttered.
“Ja! Neither of the islands was used as a cemetery until 1804, when Napoleon Bonaparte – who conquered Venice in 1797 – decreed that all corpses should be buried outside Venice for the sake of hygiene.”
“Fascinating.”
Zollner didn’t seem to catch my sarcasm. Either that, or he didn’t care. “What is even more fascinating is that in the decades after it became a cemetery, seawater would erode the island from underneath. Coffins would be sucked underground and out into the bay, where they would float in the water until they could be retrieved and reburied!”
I stared at him. “You’re a weird motherfucker. Do you know that?”
“I’m merely passionate about the things that interest me, Fräulein.”
“Like killing people?”
“Hunting them, mostly.” He looked me in the eye and smiled. “But killing them is fun, too – especially when I’m paid to do it.”
A shiver of dread went down my spine, and I had to look away.
The speedboat pulled up to the dock outside the white-domed façade of San Michele. Two mafia thugs helped me onto dry ground, after which Zollner marched me through a walled courtyard into the church.
