Transferring a fillet to his plate, Edoardo answered, ‘Vittorio Gatti.’
Hearing this, Mariella rose from her chair with both speed and defiance. ‘Thatman?! Inthisplace?’ She banged her fist on the table, causing everything on it to rattle. ‘No! Never! I won’t hear of it!’ She pushed back from the table with such force that her chair crashed to the floor behind her.
‘Vittorio Gatti. Why is that name familiar?’ Francesco asked, alarmed by the display.
Mariella’s cheeks were feverishly red. ‘When we opened the school all those years ago, Gatti came lurking. He saw the money we were making, the success and the reputation we built through sheer hard work. He wanted a piece of it then and made his intentions very clear. He pushed and pushed for a buy-in.’
‘Why is he still interested after all these years?’ Francesco asked.
‘Revenge,’ Lucia said, exhaling loudly. ‘The ultimate show of victory. The final parade to trample over my parents’ grave. Becausetheycan’t stop him now.Dio. . . How is this happening?’
Mariella banged again on the table with an impassioned fist. ‘Umberto and Elena wanted nothing to do with him back then. They knew he was involved in dirty dealings in the city. Money exchanging hands. Businesses closing suddenly. They pushed him away. Refused him time and time again. So then, when it was clear he was getting nowhere, he began spreading rumours across the lagoon about the school, about Umberto and Elena.Failurethis.Corruptionthat. But it didn’t break their resolve. They were the life and soul of this place. And you, Lucia, are the embodiment of that.’
Lucia’s green eyes, the same as her mother’s, narrowed. Her voice lowered just enough to let her words seep out, tainted by grief, tinted with terror. ‘Vittorio Gatti saps the life from Venice. One icon at a time.’ She turned and made her way to the window. Pulling back the lace voile curtain she said, ‘It was Gatti who purchased La Commedia all those years ago, Francesco. Remember?’
She looked at the derelict two-storey building across thecallefrom her own. And despite being two storeys in comparison to Lucia’s palazzo’s three, it was the same height, because the internal floors were higher.
‘La Commedia was once the beating heart of thissestiere, Edoardo,’ Lucia continued. ‘Hard to believe that a restaurant can change the spirit of a city’s quarter, but La Commedia did. It exuded joy and life. And the music played until so very late. But no one on thecallecared. Propercucina veneziana. Mostly locals. Always run by the same family, the Rigons. Do you remember them, Mariella?’ But Mariella was too incensed to engage in Lucia’s reminiscing.
Francesco chimed in. ‘I remember thenonnawith the blue gingham apron. With the long pl—’
‘Plaits! Yes. She used to sneakgalaniacross thecallein little white paper bags for me. Mamma didn’t want me eating too many sweets, but thatnonnaalways found a way to get them to me.’ Lucia shook her head wistfully. ‘At least fifteen years ago, Edoardo, Gatti bought the business. Offered more than it was worth and eventually pushed the Rigons out. He let it go to ruin. On purpose. Just like the rest of the businesses he tramples for his tax cuts and write-offs. I could write you a list of thirty, maybe forty. Descends from old Venetian money. He’s a monster.’
Turning to face Edoardo, Francesco asked, ‘Knowing all this, how in good conscience could you even consider selling Jacopo’s share to Vittorio Gatti? He will surely want to see the school fail. Crumble from within.’
While chewing the last of his roasted potato, Edoardo shrugged and said, ‘Business matters have no social conscience.’
Lucia scowled, and her polite veneer suddenly wore thin. ‘This is not the Venetian way.TrueVenetians are a dying breed. There are so few of us left here on the lagoon. Why does Gatti deserve to be considered? La Scuola Rosa is an institution of excellence, impeccable reputation and, above all, living Venetian history.’
‘Because Gatti,’ Edoardo said, pausing for effect, ‘has promised to pay Roberto double its sworn value.’
There it was. Like the water level markers protruding from the emerald canals, measuring the rising tides and floods, Vittorio Gatti had set the benchmark, forcing Lucia into a sink-or-swim battle.
Lucia felt light-headed under the metaphoric weight of this news. She grabbed her chair back for support and held on so fervently that it startled Foscari. Sensing that Edoardo was the catalyst for Lucia’s unease he dropped his front legs low to the ground and growled in the lawyer’s direction, earning a condescending laugh from Edoardo.
Lucia, who had been treading water since she was eleven, was exhausted. ‘Non ci credo. È impossibile.’ She returned to pacing, while Mariella pointed a serving spoon in Edoardo’s direction, working herself up to a fresh explosion.
Francesco intercepted Mariella and coaxed the women to return to the table.
Lucia’s usual pale complexion now looked grey in the low lighting of her apartment, and the shock had robbed her eyes of their iconic green depth. ‘What’s it all worth?’ she asked tremulously.
Edoardo rifled through papers then slipped her a printed spreadsheet. His index finger travelled to the sum in the final cell and he tapped on it twice. ‘But double it, as you will need to outbid Gatti’s offer.’
Lucia absorbed the six figures – multiples thereof – but kept her expression impassive. The school’s success –hersuccess – suddenly felt like a curse.
It was so overwhelming. Suffocating. As if the thing she had tethered herself to so passionately – sodefiantly, in fact – were suddenly dragging her through the canals.
Looking at all those numbers on the page, Luciaknewshe didn’t have the money. Between the frantic maths her mind attempted in the moment, and the grief she still felt at having lost Jacopo so recently, she came undone. If she turned down the chance to beat the offer on the table, she would lose the future she had always envisioned for herself – a life spent serving their community of learners, imparting wisdom and culture, challenging minds with language and new learnings, all within the sacred confines of her quite literally rose-coloured life.
No.
She wouldn’t allow that to happen.
At least not without a fight.
‘What are the terms?’ she asked, forcing a determined and direct tone into her voice.
Edoardo raised an eyebrow. Lucia couldn’t decide if he was surprised by her potential participation in the deal, or simply amused by a vain attempt. ‘If you sign the expression to purchase contract, Lucia, you essentially start the clock.’
