The Trouble With Serpents

Toni Grant

Description

Ruthless as she is beautiful, when her own team falls down, Giuliett turns to the Australian Ares Outlaw Motor Cycle Gang leader, Robbie L for support and the two outsiders form an alliance.
Book three in the Serpent Series explores the influences of fate and loyalty as it picks apart the impacts of relationships stretched by grief, greed and honour. Underneath, the tale explores the shambolic Italian political landscape as well as the escalating tensions and arrangements between the southern Italian and Nigerian mafia clans. The Trouble with Serpents is set predominantly in Italy, as well as outback NSW, Fiji, Afghanistan, Russia and Poland.
Hiding in plain sight behind the hype of Carnevale in Venice, five mafia families meet to elect a new leader of their combined clans, the Capo di Tutti Capi. Nicholas Delarno has the right to lead, but until recently, everyone thought he was dead.
The Commission members are curious and nervous. In a show of leadership Nicholas claims the coveted role, bringing with him a return to the old ways, values and traditions that have stood the families well for decades. Something most of the clan members are keen to embrace after the chaotic leadership of former boss Don Carlo Seta. And they are willing to sacrifice their misgivings over the new Capo's missing years to satisfy their self-serving needs for secrecy, stability and economic power.

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thrillers
• Crime
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Brolga Publishing
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780645372342
• Langue: English

Extrait

Published by Brolga Publishing Pty Ltd
ABN 46 063 962 443
PO Box 452
Torquay Victoria 3228
Australia
email: [e-mail]
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission from the publisher.
Copyright © 2021 Toni Grant
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data
Toni Grant, author.
ISBN 9780645372311 (paperback)
ISBN 9780645372342 (e-book)

Printed in Australia
Cover design and typeset by WorkingType Studio

BE PUBLISHED
Publish through a successful publisher National Distribution to Australia & New Zealand International Distribution to the United Kingdom Ebooks Worldwide Sales Representation to South East Asia
Email: [e-mail]
OTHER TITLES BY TONI GRANT
Serpent Song
Serpent Sting
Short stories by Toni Grant
Tannum Friday: Wolf
Tannum Friday: Hawk
Play Adaptations
In conjunction with Black Box Creatives, Dubbo
Brainstorm I
Brainstorm II
Used with permission from Company Three, UK
from the original youth theatre production BRAINSTORM.
www.tonigrantauthor.com
T he centre of our world. Together we worked on every chapter, every project, every idea in the same modus operandi – you covered in the red dirt sand from the dam and paddocks, satisfied from your daily walk and swim; and me, having walked that bush track with you, had watched out for snakes and kangaroos, photographed all manner of interesting natural finds and enjoyed your antics and zest for life.
On our return to home, by the time I’d made coffee, you’d have finished breakfast and were ready to come inside. Then you’d settle beside me on the timber floors, halfway between the sun and shade. Smelly in that wet doggy hair kind of way. Together in the quiet, accompanied by the sound of distant tractors and finches playing in the garden outside, I’d work and you’d help.
After we lost you so unexpectedly, I admit I had a lot of trouble and it took a very long time but, my friend, I did eventually finish what we started together and the ghost of you was with me every step of the way.
And in spite of me, I eventually found your beautiful tranquillity, if for a moment or two, whilst I wrote and when I walked a new track, thinking about you and how much you loved life.
This book is for you Buster, and the endless joy and love you brought to our family, our friends and me. I miss you so.
1
Le Maschere, Season of Carnevale Venice, Italy
A golden eve, rich with rose and yellow clouds, and if one dared to look, the view from San Giorgio Maggiore’s bell tower witnessed the distant plains alight beneath the purple night encroaching.
In the immediate view, the protected lagoon of the Canale di S. Marco didn’t disappoint. Washed in shades of aqua and pink, shrouded in that peculiar Venetian light, it shimmered in sunlight’s last rays.
Across the watery divide, glowing yellow orbs emphasised the shoreline as elegant streetlights, two abreast, protected a wide promenade like silent bronze sentries. They created a grand sweeping arc, an illusion as islands joined together as one by light and bridge.
A hard edge, elegant in uniformity and repetitive design, defined by blocks of smooth stone held the silky water at bay.
Slap. Slap. Slap. The gentle, continuous motion of the sea rose and fell against the barricades and the wide, seaweed covered steps. On schedule, the waterbus came and quickly went. Elegant timber hulled craft glided past, cutting through restless watery motions with well-manicured bows.
This was no meditative experience, despite outward observations. And only the truly, most dire romantic revelled in tonight’s magical natural display. Because, a spectacle of make-believe had captured this most elusive city, its visitors and residents alike.
Venice was alive with the season of Carnevale. And like a seasoned grand old dame, she would never disappoint.
Stacked to the brim, the city glittered in festival, anticipation and hype. On this particular night, most were dressed in costume, their faces hidden by mask and hat. Others arrived to observe the chaotic, noisy scenes through the lenses of cameras and phones clipped to telescopic sticks.
Whatever your pleasure, whatever your fantasy, everyone was here to celebrate the season. Utterly and completely mesmerised by the heady spectacle that was a Venetian party to end all parties.
In a plush bedroom suite overlooking the hectic lagoon the tension was different.
“Tighter. Pull it tighter.” Giuliett Seta instructed.
“Are you sure Madame? If the corset is too tight it will be difficult to breathe.” The older woman looked at her with an expression of motherly concern.
“Pull it tighter.” She breathed out, expelling the last of her breath from deep inside her belly. She smiled at the seamstress. “The mask, Madame.”
“Thank you.” Giuliett said.
Stiffened black lace in a filigree design formed a desired effect, placed to cleverly disguise her eyes. It curled delicately over her angled cheekbones towards crimson lips. Next, the black velvet Venetian hat, trimmed in exotic feathers, lace and pearls was pinned upon flaxen coloured hair that had been bundled into an elegant French knot.
A short swing coat wrapped her slim shoulders and brushed lean hips. Pleated lace and black crystals brought focus at the extended cuffs. Masculine high waisted pants and low heel brogues finished the costume, blurring the line between masculine and feminine.
Amidst the dark exotic decoration, the eye was drawn to the naked expanse between cheekbone and the corded black lace along the top of her corset. Here, the exquisitely tailored velvet coat and bustier were relegated to a supporting act. The soft fullness of her décolletage was now dramatically framed. It screamed out for attention. Giuliett smiled.
“Magnificent Madame!” The tailors gasped in unison. Giuliett breathed a shallow out and in. She turned from side to side. She smiled at them reflected in the mirror.
“The back Madame?” A manservant handed her a large oval shaped mirror and she turned. The heiress nodded.
“Yes, that will do very nicely.” She said.
She returned her reflection .
“I need that.” Giuliett said, her voice cracking slightly as she pointed to a velvet rectangular shaped box on her nightstand.
He strode quickly towards her, presenting the box to the heiress with a slight bow.
“Thank you.” She said.
Giuliett held it reverently for a long moment before suddenly snapping open the lid. With a wistful smile, she acknowledged the glittering contents, opulent against the dark inlaid silk. Peeling the stunning decoration from the box, Giuliett held it gently in her palms as the stones dripped through her open fingers. She stared at it for a long time.
“You may help me Sir.” She said to the manservant, and her voice faltered again in emotion. He nodded and stepped behind her. Her head tilted softly as he fixed the clasp.
Giuliett faced the mirror again. The elaborate collar set with sapphires, rubies and emeralds glittered around her neck. Brilliant cut diamonds sparkled in caught light. Large teardrop pearls dripped at intervals at her neckline.
Its beautiful audacity rivalled any Romanov piece. It was her favourite gift from the Russian, Anya Frida Volkov. Giuliett fingered the creamy white orbs at her clavicle. With the money piece wrapped around her throat, no one could challenge her authority and a calmness washed over her.
“Now, we are perfect.” She said quietly to herself. “What would you say Anya? Am I now as beautiful as you?”
“Thank you.” She turned towards the help. “Please wait one moment.” She said. The heiress opened the drawer of a small writing desk. She took out three neatly written envelopes.
“For you. And you.” She said, smiling at them. “And for Henri. Tell him I am very pleased and he has certainly outdone himself today. Tell him ‘Prepare to be the talk of Venice!’” Giuliett concluded with a flourish and a smile.
“Thank you Madame, this is very unexpected.” They glanced between them. The matron spoke. “We shall pass on your message. And from our House to yours, we hope you have a wonderful evening. Good night Madame.”
“Good night.” Giuliett turned back to the mirror, leaning in to closely inspect the heavy eye makeup hiding her identity. Was she really there under that mask?
She glanced at the clock on the sideboard. She paced and waited.
At the click of the connecting door between the suites, she turned elegantly towards her tall, wiry consigliere. The feathers moved around her in a gentle hush. She smiled mysteriously up at him.
“What do you say Enrico?” Giuliett asked, spreading her hands out for him to notice her. “It is the season for diamonds and pearls. Decadence before sacrifice.”
He ignored her. In his long slim fingers, he held a small painted box and, on his face a churlish, dark expression.
Giuliett looked at the item glittering in his hands. She looked at his belligerent face. Her confidence faltered.
“No thank you, not tonight. I don’t need it.” She said quietly and half smiled. It felt good to reject that habit. “This evening is the most important night of my life. And I want to remember everything about it in every satisfying detail.”
His eyes held hers with sullen coldness.
“Enrico, my mind is clear and I don’t need it.” She repeated, her voice gaining strength.
Setting it down on the small desk, he began the ritual. Unfurling the sides of an enamel origami butterfly, its wings opened dramatically to reveal the mirrored lid fitting snugly on a lantern shaped box. Inside the box, a gold-plated card separated two small compartments and its contents. He scooped some onto the mirror, and deftly cut a cocaine line.
“It’s ready.” His authoritative tone reminded her of her father. She looked at his stern expression as he pour