National Villa Pisani was built by Alvise Pisani, the Doge of Venice. It was as luxurious as the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, with 114 rooms. Hitler and Mussolini had met there in 1934.
Generally speaking, there were always many high-ranking officials around the "Führer." A SS major had once lived in Julian's villa.
No matter how evil the Nazis were, those carefully selected SS officers were often very handsome.
Those Junker aristocrats had no regard at all for the italians' "superstitions." The engineers blew up the villa's sculptures and architecture, leaving behind broken walls and ruins that made it look even more like a haunted house.
"It could still be used after some repairs," the real estate agent said without the slightest sincerity, as if anyone would be stupid enough to buy a ruined house, fix it up, and then live in it.
"The original blueprints are still here. Look." He hurriedly pulled out a stack of plans from his briefcase. "The first floor was a ballroom, the second floor was a viewing gallery, and from there, you could enter the ladies' casino."
"Oh, my God!" Pomona exclaimed. "They actually gambled?"
"Marriage is a gamble. An opera performer married an aristocrat—she was indeed very fortunate." The agent shook his head with a sigh. "They spent a sweet time in this villa. Oh, right, the casino still has its sea-monster chandelier, and the frescoes have been preserved rather well. They're all genuine works from the sixteenth century."
"How much would it cost to restore it?" Severus asked.
"You should know that houses designed by Palladio are not for sale," the agent said sweetly, like a little girl.
"Yes, but it'll cost several times the purchase price just to make it livable! And there's a female ghost wandering around inside!" Pomona