Page 131 of Niccolo (Mafia Kings #7)

A fter wolfing down some food in the kitchen, I left for my ‘date.’

The Galleria Borghese sat in the Villa Borghese, a massive public park about three miles north of where I was staying.

The park was beautiful, with a winding road through tree-lined spaces. There were sculptures and ornate fountains everywhere, and the light of the setting sun cast enchanting shadows.

Rome in summertime is extremely warm, and tonight was no exception. A long line of tourists in t-shirts and shorts snaked down the front steps of the museum entrance and out into the paved courtyard.

As I walked away from the taxi, I scanned the crowd for Niccolo.

Seconds later, I heard a familiar voice behind me:

“Ciao, bella.”

A shiver traveled up and down my back.

Not of fear… but pleasure.

I turned to see him walking towards me, his dark hair tousled and a big smile on his face. His swimmer’s body was draped in a white linen shirt that opened just enough to show his broad chest.

“I’m so glad you came,” he grinned.

As he got close to me, he put his hands on my hips and moved to kiss me.

Despite the nearly overwhelming urge to feel his lips on mine, I stepped back.

“I’m here for professional reasons only,” I said coolly.

My rejection only made his smile grow bigger. “Of course, of course. Right this way, then.”

He gestured for me to follow him.

As we walked, I looked over at the tourists. “Seems quite busy.”

“It is. The Galleria is only open in the evenings on certain summer nights. I’m sure most of these people reserved their tickets weeks ago.”

“Then how are we getting in?”

“It helps when you tip the doorman a thousand euros.”

“Don’t you mean ‘bribe’?” I asked sardonically.

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” he replied as we ascended the steps.

We walked up to a security guard, who nodded at Niccolo and waved us both through.

As we walked through the gift shop, Niccolo started talking. “This is one of my favorite places in all of Rome. It was originally a country villa built by Cardinal Scipione Borghese in the 1600s – a rascal with a passion for art.

“He commissioned hundreds of paintings and sculptures from some of Italy’s best post-Renaissance artists and would stop at nothing to obtain works by the great Renaissance masters.

“It’s said he lusted after a painting by Raphael that was the altarpiece in a small convent. When the nuns refused to give Borghese the painting, he hired a couple of thieves to break in and steal it for his private collection.”

“Sounds like a man after your own heart,” I said.

“The Catholic Church was the original Cosa Nostra,” Niccolo said cheerfully.

“Or, at least, men like Borghese would have fit right in. But despite his methods, the Cardinal assembled one of the most astounding private art collections in history – and, in a bit of ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ inspired hundreds of wealthy Romans to commission equally great pieces of art.”

We stepped into a room of pure opulence.

The walls were made of yellow travertine, with marble and gold filigree everywhere.

Alcoves within the walls contained elegant white sculptures of human figures.

The domed ceiling high overhead was covered with stunning paintings.

The floor was a geometric mosaic of different shades of marble – reddish brown, tan, white, and golden yellow.

No matter what direction I looked, there were so many beautiful things that it boggled the mind.

“There’s too much to see here – an entire week’s worth – so I’m just going to show you a handful of my favorites,” Niccolo said. “Come.”

We walked into another room with a stunning sculpture of an athletic man, frozen a split second before launching a rock at us with a sling.

“If you ask anyone outside Italy, they’ll tell you that the greatest Italian sculptor was Michelangelo,” Niccolo said. “Ask any Italian, and they’ll tell you Bernini was even better.

“He was born a few decades after Michelangelo died, right after the end of the Renaissance. Here’s his version of David, depicted the instant before he defeats Goliath.

Borghese used to have this piece right in front of a doorway, hidden from view until you walked in.

When he brought guests into the room, they were startled – as though they were Goliath, about to be killed by David’s stone.

“But while this one is wonderful, there’s another statue by Bernini I love even more.”

We walked into the next room, where the centerpiece was a statue of a bearded man clutching a struggling woman held aloft in the air.

“The Rape of Proserpina,” Niccolo said as he stared admiringly. “Better known by her Greek name, Persephone. You can see Pluto – or Hades – in the act of carrying her off to the Underworld.

“Notice the details – Hades’ cackling face.

Persephone’s look of anguish and despair.

” Niccolo pointed up at her face. “Look – there’s a single tear on her cheek.

Can you see it? See the shadow of it? No one had ever sculpted a detail that small before – not before Bernini, and seldom since.

Look at Hades’ fingers pressing into her skin as he grabs her, like the marble is actually skin! ”

It was true – I could see a single tear trailing down Persephone’s frightened face, frozen mid-scream.

And Hades’ fingers created dimples in the stone, as though Persephone was alive.

“Look at the emotion on her face! It’s astounding,” Niccolo said reverentially.

It was hard not to be overcome by such an amazing work of art – both its beauty and the terror in Persephone’s expression.

“Come – you have to see the paintings by Caravaggio,” Niccolo said, taking me by the hand and pulling me along.

Without thinking, I let him…

And an electricity passed between us as his large hand took my much smaller one.

We entered a room filled with magnificent paintings.

“After what I said about Borghese, you know I have a soft spot for scoundrels,” Niccolo joked.

“Caravaggio was definitely a scoundrel – probably bisexual, he liked rough trade, got into drunken street brawls, and hung out with prostitutes.

He had to flee Rome after he killed a man, supposedly the pimp of a prostitute he fell in love with.

“He died mysteriously in his 30s. Some claimed it was from malaria or syphilis… though others say an enemy from his past caught up with him.

“But, my God, he was a genius. Look at the subtle shading of light to dark! No one uses light like Caravaggio – not then, and not in the 400 years since his death. He inspired generations of painters after him – and not just painters. When Francis Ford Coppola was about to direct The Godfather, he instructed his cinematographer to look at the paintings of Caravaggio. That was the look he wanted – the interplay of light and dark.”

“If he inspired The Godfather,” I said drily, “no wonder you like him.”

“Careful,” Niccolo grinned.

He pointed at a painting of two women with halos. One was dressed in red and held the hands of a naked child about three years old. The little boy stood on her feet, and together they crushed the head of a flailing serpent.

“Caravaggio created an immense scandal when he painted this. It’s said he used a prostitute as a model – a very well-known prostitute. When people saw this painting, they didn’t see the Virgin Mary – they saw a harlot they recognized from the streets of Rome.”

“That’s the Virgin Mary?” I asked in surprise.

The woman wasn’t depicted in the traditional blue robes of the Virgin, but rather in a scarlet red dress – not exactly a chaste color.

“Yes, along with the Christ Child, and St. Anne standing next to them. You can see mother and child are crushing the head of a snake – a metaphor for victory over Satan with the Crucifixion and Resurrection.

“But notice something: the Virgin is the one actually doing the crushing. Jesus’ foot rests atop her own. The true scandal was that Caravaggio suggested a woman could be partially responsible for defeating the Devil.

“The Church removed the painting just eight days after it was put on display – and our charming scoundrel, Cardinal Borghese, snapped it up for his own private collection.

“There’s one other painting of Caravaggio’s that I want you to see. Look.”

He pointed at an image of a young man holding a bearded, severed head.

“We saw Bernini’s version of David just as he was about to cast the stone that killed Goliath,” Niccolo said. “This is Caravaggio’s version, after David beheaded the giant. But there’s a hidden meaning in the image.

“When Caravaggio fled Rome after killing a man in a brawl, he spent years wandering from Sicily to Naples… but he longed to come home. However, he could not return without fear of being executed for his crime.

“As a cardinal in the Catholic Church, Borghese was one of the few people in Rome who could formally absolve the painter of his sin and save him from the civil authorities. Borghese was also a great admirer, having purchased several other works by the artist. So Caravaggio created this painting as a peace offering – and a sign of penitence. It’s said that he modeled Goliath’s visage after his own.

In fact, you can see from that self-portrait over there that they’re the same face. ”

It was true; the face in another painting looked like a younger version of the beheaded giant.

“It was Caravaggio’s way of begging to be allowed to come home. It was said that the Cardinal was so moved by his gift that he was planning to pardon him… but Caravaggio’s past caught up to him first.”

I stared at the painting of David and Goliath – both gruesome and beautiful, with its subtly shaded darkness.

It struck me that I was looking at the same sort of violence I had bought into when I went to work for Fausto.

I’d thought it was all a game, at first… a chess match…

Until I heard Aurelio die on San Michele…

And then watched the murder of the morgue attendant.

I shivered and had to look away.