Chapter 39 – The Masquerade Plan
The night's silence reigned over the summer garden. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the orange trees, while moonlight spilled across the marble columns, bathing the courtyard in silver. Empty teacups, sherbet glasses, and gently smoking pipes marked a moment of deepening conversation. Giovanni was lost in thought, his eyes adrift in the flickering light of the garden lanterns. Then, as if to break the silence that hung like a shadow of the past, he spoke:
"I hear from Viki... the man you're after is Gritti."
His voice carried the weight of lived sorrows.
"Fate is a strange thing… Gritti hired me as the chef for a masquerade ball he's throwing at his villa in two days."
Everyone in the garden exchanged glances. Murad's attention sharpened. Giovanni relit his pipe, drew a slow breath, and continued:
"I don't know what business you have with him. But my sister's wish is a command to me. How can I help?"
Murad paused a moment, bowed his head in gratitude, then answered, his tone now firm and resolute:
"Our intent is to either capture Senyor Gritti or, if that's not possible… neutralize him. He must answer for his treachery against the Ottoman Empire. But Gritti will be expecting us. We cannot enter his home openly. We must be silent, and precise. The masquerade ball... it's the perfect opportunity."
The plan was already forming in Murad's mind. He turned to Giovanni.
"Were you given invitations for the ball?"
Giovanni nodded slowly.
"Yes. Three invitations. One for me, which I won't use since I'll be working. The others are for my wife and Viki."
Murad smiled lightly and made his request:
"Then I must ask you to lend us your and your wife's invitations. I'll attend with Balibey and Viki as guests. I also ask that Cafer and Kasım be allowed to enter the kitchen, disguised as members of your staff. We'll need support from the inside."
Giovanni hesitated briefly, then nodded again.
"I believe I can arrange that."
Murad smiled in gratitude. A brief stillness settled over the garden. Then a glance sharp as a dagger was cast from Viki to Balibey. When she realized she would be attending the ball with him, she faltered. Her heart began to race. As her eyes lingered on Balibey, a quiet voice echoed in her mind:
"Get it together, Viki... he's just a brute. He'll leave soon enough and never come back."
She looked away, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Soon the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Giovanni spoke of his fondness for Ottoman cuisine, while Kasım shyly complimented the sherbet.
The night wore on. Murad rose slowly to his feet.
"With your permission, it's time we left. We need rest."
Though Giovanni insisted on hosting them for the night, Murad politely declined. It was time to part.
"Let us meet again tomorrow night," Murad said. "To finalize the preparations."
Everyone stood—except for Viki.
Murad and his men retraced their steps in silence, walking through Venice's cobbled streets and then gliding across the canals by gondola, returning quietly to their inn.
The last sound of the night was the soft breeze tapping at Murad's window. After changing, he sat by the window and gazed outside. Faint echoes of laughter still lingered in the distant streets, but to Murad, the world was silent.
His thoughts replayed the day's events: meeting his cousin, seeing his mother's eyes in his uncle's face, hearing the name of his enemy, laying out the plan...
Then, a small smile crept onto his lips.
"Fate… sometimes it approaches like an old friend."
When he rested his head on the pillow, his eyes began to close. The cool embrace of sleep was far more comforting than the warmth of a royal throne.