The requiem mass for Armando Pietro Rodolfo Forcelli took place that afternoon at the Basilica of San Zeno Maggiore. The twelfth century Romanesque church wasn’t the largest in Verona but was certainly one of the most beloved. Even Shakespeare admired it: he’d set the marriage scene between Romeo and Juliet in its celebrated crypt.
Dressed in a simple black dress and veil, Dani sat stoically in the section of the transept that had been set aside for family and close friends of her father. She couldn’t see the nave of the church, but Fausta had boasted that a steady stream of limos and luxury cars had been flooding into the city, headed toward the basilica, all day. Following custom, the estate manager had seen to it that posters announcing Mando’s death and funeral mass were plastered all over Verona. The result was a church jammed to overflowing. Filled with a sad disgust, Dani could only imagine the funeral of one of Europe’s most flamboyant playboys was the place to see and be seen.
“Your father was an important man with many friends,” Fausta had commented earlier in the day. “It’s a pity you didn’t stay more in touch with him once you left.”
Dani had ignored the veiled insult. Frankly she was too tired to fight back. The desolation she felt at the loss of her father merged with the stress of the long flight and the stab of betrayal she still felt at Gabe’s duplicity. He hadn’t moved to the same California town she lived in by accident and she wanted to know why. Worst of all, the old nightmare she thought she’d banished years ago had come back with an intensity she’d hoped never to experience again. Somehow she’d come out of it, but deep sleep had eluded her for the rest of the brief night. Early in the morning she’d heard the shower running, but afterward Gabe had gone back to sleep in the alcove. After lunch they’d kept a polite distance, only conferring about the service they were about to attend.
Dressed in a dark-gray suit with a crisp white shirt and navy tie, Gabe looked like a cover model for Gentleman’s Quarterly. Normally she’d be salivating, but today all she really cared about was storing up enough physical, mental, and emotional strength to get through the service and what would follow. Gabe sat next to her now, offering by his simple presence a pillar to lean on. Or maybe I just can’t bear to think of myself as totally alone. Once again her mother came to mind—the only person she knew without a doubt that she could trust. She missed her mother fiercely.
Because of the bloated condition in which the Italian Coast Guard had found her father’s body, everyone agreed that an open casket was out of the question. As she stared at the ornate, flower-bedecked coffin on display, Dani tried to keep her tears in check, but after a few futile swipes she gave up, letting them roll silently down her cheeks. So much time had gone by, so many missed opportunities. And now there would be no more chances to patch things up; she would never see her father again. How had it come to this?
In the beginning, her parents had seemed happy enough, at least according to her mother.
“Your babbo really adored you,” she’d told Dani many times. “He loved being your daddy.” Mando really was a doting papa when he was home; the problem was keeping him there. His powerboat racing provided a convenient excuse for traipsing all over the world, yet for a while he seemed to have curbed his appetite for other women.
Eventually, however, Dani’s mom must have realized the only way to truly keep her husband satisfied was to be there for him—wherever there happened to be. Thus began Paula’s ill-fated plan to travel with Mando while leaving Dani within the safety of La Tana. A year before Dani was born, Fausta had given birth to her own daughter, Agnese, and the two little girls became inseparable. With beautiful, popular parents and a secure home life complete with a built-in playmate, it all seemed so perfect…until it wasn’t.
Dani pushed the memories aside and tried to focus on the monsignor’s homily, which seemed to go on forever. After several minutes the priest concluded his assertion that Mando was on his way to eternal bliss, and sat down. A man rose to speak whom Dani hadn’t seen for the past twelve years. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and still powerful-looking, with a full head of thick white hair that swept straight back from his high, tanned forehead. He had the air about him of a Machiavellian prince, one so powerful that no one—not even the Church—dare cross. He filled the podium and it was clear to all in the vast sanctuary that he was in control. Dani glanced at Gabe and noticed he had straightened in his chair.
“Monsignor, distinguished clergy, members of the Forcelli family, and dear friends, it is with great sadness that I stand before you today to say farewell to my beloved brother Armando…”
Uncle Santo. The man who had been the patriarch of the family for as long as she could remember, even though he was the second son behind her Uncle Aldo. The man who had wrested de facto power from her grandfather Ciro before he had even passed away. The man who demanded fealty from everyone in his domain.
Dani let his polished words recede as she assessed her reaction to him. Anxiety? Yes. Fear? Not exactly. Santo had ruled the family so thoroughly that never once had she ever heard his authority or judgment questioned. As the saying goes, it was always his way or the highway. Yes, he had been a father figure of sorts, and yes, he had been there for her when the monster had tried to hurt her so long ago.
But now, through the prism of distance and time, Dani chafed at the notion of re-entering that stilted orbit. She could feel the knot in her stomach. As assertive as she’d been over the past several years—she ran her own business for heaven’s sake!—Uncle Santo was still the last person she’d ever want to cross. Those kinds of insecurities ran deep.
But what was there to be stressed about, really? He had no power over her now. She would sign whatever papers needed to be signed, ask him about the strange artwork she remembered, and return home.
She glanced again at Gabe and this time he looked back, smiling crookedly and handing her one of his ever-present handkerchiefs. She took it with a silent thank you and breathed deeply. Gabriele de la Torre could be overbearing at times, no question. But she knew, instinctively, that he had her best interests at heart. For some reason, she just wasn’t sure she could say the same about the members of her own family—beginning with Uncle Santo himself.
What a circus, Dani thought later. Mando’s burial was supposed to be a family affair held at the family cemetery at La Tana, but privacy was impossible. Perhaps because of that, Fausta had hired professional mourners to ensure the appearance of overwhelming grief. The three women wore traditional, flowing black dresses as if they’d just come from a matinee performance of Macbeth. When directed to begin, they sent up a plaintive wail that rendered the brief ritual even more surreal than it already was.
Superstition held that the souls of the deceased really didn’t want to leave the earth, so it was necessary to put cherished items in the casket to give them comfort on their way to the hereafter. According to Fausta, Mando was going to his reward with a scale model of his beloved forty-two-foot Ducati Cigarette boat and a bottle of Chivas Regal. Even though she was her father’s heir, no one had thought to ask Dani what she thought about any of it, and she had to admit, after being gone for so long, there was no reason for anyone at La Tana to care about her feelings. One more layer of sadness settled about her shoulders.
Once the pallbearers had lowered the casket into the ground and the priest had blessed it, Fausta had one of her assistants hand out small pouches of dirt to everyone. One by one they filed by Mando’s open grave and dumped the contents in. Santo led the procession, stoic and silent. Nonna Stella followed, crying softly for her youngest son. In spite of her fashionable charcoal-colored suit, Dani’s grandmother looked much smaller and frailer than Dani remembered. Cousin Dante, tall, light-haired and movie-star handsome, offered his arm to his grandmother for support. Behind them walked Aldo, who murmured a prayer and made the sign of the cross as he passed his youngest brother for the last time. Fausta followed, then Gabriele. But when it was Dani’s turn to walk by, she couldn’t bring herself to empty the pouch onto her father’s casket. It was all too final. Too real. Instead she clutched the little bag tightly, as if she were a little girl again, holding tightly to her babbo’s hand.
After the family, a few close friends filed by whom Dani vaguely remembered, and they were followed by strangers whom Dani figured were probably just hoping to be considered part of the inner circle. Each one took the leather pouch, now empty, and put it in their pocket or purse. The pouches were embroidered with her father’s name and the words Vai con Dio—“Walk with God.”
Dani felt a spurt of panic as she took in the theatrics of it all. She glanced at Gabe to see if his reaction was the same as hers: Is this really happening? It’s unfolding like some bizarre wedding reception of the dead, complete with singers and party favors! Gabe’s somber expression gave none of his feelings away; he was a study in proper funeral etiquette. The only sign he gave was the supportive arm he slipped around her waist, and Dani felt tears prickling yet again. She closed her eyes and stubbornly fought them back, buoyed by the feel of Gabe encompassing her. It’s okay. I am not alone, she reminded herself. When she once again took in the scene, Santo was staring at her.
The reception that followed at La Tana continued what Dani was coming to think of as “the farce.” Fausta had opened up the Great Hall and transformed it into a lush garden with miniature cypress and fruit trees, and enormous coils of ivy interwoven with periwinkle, narcissus, and violets. All the mourning bouquets had quickly been transported from the church and now competed for space along with artistic displays of roses and lilies. The scent of flowers was cloyingly sweet, almost too much to bear. The atmosphere reminded Dani of the last extravagant event she had attended here. Memories of that earlier time threatened to derail her and she concentrated on banishing them from her mind. That was then, this is now became her silent refrain.
Had this been the wake of an average Veronese, friends and neighbors might have brought bowls of pasta, crisp garden vegetables, fresh-baked panini or perhaps some torta di cioccolata—classic, Italian style comfort food. But this was the death of a Forcelli, and that called for something else entirely. Fausta hadn’t exaggerated about the menu. The executive chef of the Stella d’Italia Verona had been called in to oversee the preparation of a spectacular buffet, one that touched only briefly on local favorites before branching out into an international feast. Succulent bites of chateaubriand shared the spotlight with pigeon breast en croute and foie gras with truffles; yubari melon balls complemented morel mushrooms and rack of lamb. Fausta had even ordered a larger-than-life ice sculpture of a dove whose base was surrounded by Beluga caviar and Oysters Rockefeller. It was over the top.
As guests made and devoured their selections, waiters passed around flutes of Campari and champagne while discreetly taking orders for more fortifying cocktails. While they ate and drank, those who wanted to climb another level in the social strata made sure to connect with those who already had. And watching over everything were dark-suited centurions with ear buds—Santo’s hired guns, no doubt. They kept discreet eyes on the crowd, lending an even greater sense of consequence to the proceedings.
But peel away the veneer and the scene could have been a sales incentive gathering, or a Vegas retreat for CEOs; it had nothing to do with the loss of a father, or a brother, or a son.
Gabe had stayed near Dani throughout the ordeal, never imposing, just letting her use him however she needed to, as an attentive date, a sounding board, or simply a solid presence. Only once had he left her side, to go and speak to one of the security guards. From her vantage point she could see them shaking hands, and then embracing. Obviously Gabe knew the goon.
“What, are you in need of some cop bonding already?” she asked when he returned. Even she didn’t like the sarcasm in her voice, but her escort ignored it.
“Oh, that was Marco Clemente,” Gabe said, sipping his champagne. “He’s a detective with the state police force, but he’s moonlighting tonight. We were amici way back when.” He leaned closer and whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Believe it or not, we were occasional pen pals. But don’t tell anyone. It’s bad for our tough guy image.” He straightened and smiled at her. “We’ve stayed in touch through the years. He visited me in L.A. once, and I went to his wedding. His wife’s a sweetheart. ” He drained his glass. “You know, he had a thing for Agnese, but she shined him on. Now he’s happily married with a bambino. Too bad for my cousin. Marco’s a good guy.”
The family had eschewed a formal receiving line, which relieved Dani because participating in that would probably have sent her over the edge. Nevertheless, a few individuals who somehow recognized her as a member of the family stopped by to give her air kisses and murmur platitudes.
“We’re sorry about your loss.”
“Poveretto.”
“We will miss him.”
And Dani dutifully responded with similar banalities: “Seite molto gentili, you are very kind.”
Dani took time to visit with her grandmother, who looked worn out and stayed only briefly before returning to her penthouse at the Stella d’Italia Verona. They made plans to visit in the next few days. Dante sought Dani out to give her a hug and shake Gabe’s hand, then apologized for having to rush off because Santo wanted to meet with him over a business matter.
“Right now?” she asked, incredulous.
Dante shrugged. “It’s ludicrous, I agree. But you know Santo. When he says jump…”
“Yes, I know.” Dani watched her cousin stride across the room and counted herself lucky she hadn’t had to interact with their uncle for the past twelve years.
An hour later her luck ran out. Uncle Santo headed straight toward them, leaving no avenue of escape. As he drew near, Dani found herself moving closer to Gabe.
“I am sorry we have not had a chance to speak until now, dear niece,” Santo said, capturing her eyes with his. “I trust you are being well taken care of?”
Dani couldn’t help but shiver at the glitter in his eyes and the way he had said “dear niece.” It sounded almost…intimate. She glanced at Gabe before responding. “I…we…that is, yes, we are, Uncle. Um, you of course know Gabriele de la Torre, Fausta’s nephew?”
Santo shifted his gaze to Gabe and the light in his eyes dimmed. “Yes, we are acquainted.”
“More than acquainted, Signore.” Gabe said, extending his hand. “I am sorry for your loss, but I am glad to see you after so much time. In fact, I would like to make an appointment to see you in the next day or two, if your schedule permits.”
“You would like to see me.” Santo continued to assess Gabe, his tone slightly condescending. Gabe didn’t seem to notice.
“Sissignore, about a financial matter.”
Dani watched the two of them. Something was definitely going on here, and it didn’t seem to be connected to her or the funeral. Had helping her only been an excuse for Gabe to come to Verona on business? She chalked another mark under the “What I don’t know about Gabe” column. The man had a lot of explaining to do.
“Very well, then. I believe I will have some time tomorrow morning. You may contact my secretary at your convenience.” Santo verbally dismissed Gabe and turned again to Dani. “And you, dear, you must come to me as well…separately, of course. We too have financial matters to discuss.” His eyes didn’t leave hers and Dani felt a frisson of unease. Unconsciously she slid her arm around Gabe, but didn’t dare look at him for fear he’d give their charade away.
“Yes,” she said to Santo, her chin lifting slightly. “I suspect we do.”
After a gaze that lasted too long for Dani’s comfort, Santo nodded to the two of them and walked away. He was soon surrounded by a trio of older Middle Eastern men who seemed to be introducing themselves to him.
Dani immediately turned to Gabe. “What do you mean, you have something financial to talk to Uncle Santo about?”
“What do you mean by pretending we’re a couple?” Gabe countered.
Dani immediately made to drop her arm, but Gabe quickly turned her to face him and locked his arms around her waist. He smiled slowly, in a way that, were she any other woman, would have clinched the deal right then and there. As it was, she couldn’t suppress the warmth that had begun to spread all through her at the feel of his body so close to hers. The “rightness” of it shocked her; she stilled to soak in the feeling and barely noticed that he had gone still as well, the teasing look in his eye replaced with something much more intense. Something that made her uneasy but in a totally different, totally wicked way. She blinked to rid herself of the feeling and took a deep breath to will herself back to sensibility.
“I…I’m sorry,” she said, pushing against him slightly. “It must be the emotion, I guess. I shouldn’t use you like that.”
Gabe released his hold, but kept one hand resting lightly on her hip as he bent down to her. “I’m not complaining,” he whispered. “You may use me however you want, whenever you want, bella. I am yours. Completely.”
Dani snorted then. That was the Gabe she knew: lighthearted and teasing. She felt on safer ground. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. Come on, you still haven’t told me. What business do you have with him?”
Gabe looked across the room for a moment before looking back down to Dani. “It’s a long story—one that’s about to reach a conclusion.”
“What do you mean by that?” Dread settled over Dani like a shroud and she barely got the next words out. “Does it have anything to do with why you moved to Little Eden? Is your work ending there, too?”
Gabe smiled. “No. Dani, I—”
“Scusi, Signorina Dunn?”
Gabe and Dani turned to see a slender woman dressed in black with a veiled hat. It was difficult to see her face, but it was obvious she was distraught.
“Sì, signora?” Dani said.
“I…I knew your papa. He was a lovely man.” The woman’s voice broke on the last words, and she reached under her veil to wipe her eyes.
Dani looked at Gabe, puzzled.
“I…am sorry,” the woman continued. “This is difficult.” She reached out to Dani to give her a hug, which Dani awkwardly returned. “He would have been very proud of you.”
The woman looked around as if checking to see who was near. She then took Gabe’s two hands in her own and kissed him on each cheek before turning and walking quickly away. Within moments she was lost in the crowd.
“That was strange,” Dani said. “I’ve never seen that woman before in my life. Do you know her?”
“No, but I think she wants to know me,” Gabe joked. He held up a small piece of paper the woman had surreptitiously pressed into his hand.
“What? Let me see that.” She made to snatch the paper, but Gabe held it out of her reach.
“Uh uh uh,” he said, grinning. “This is my backup plan for when you’ve had your fill of me.” He stuck the paper in the front pocket of his slacks and held up his hands. “Okay, now you can come and get it.”
Dani wasn’t about to go sticking her hands anywhere near his “pocket.” “Tu sei pazzo,” she grumbled. “Completamento pazzo.”
“I’m crazy all right—crazy about you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Now may I interest you in some fish eggs on crackers? The grub here certainly doesn’t compare to your cooking, but it’ll do in a pinch.”
“No, I mean it, certifiable,” she said, amused at how this exasperating man had somehow managed to get her through the day’s events intact and even smiling. “Well? Lead on,” she added, and took the hand he offered.
It was midnight by the time the two of them returned to their suite. Dani was exhausted. The funeral and reception had obviously taken its toll on her. Gabe didn’t comment on the dark smudges under her eyes, and voiced no objection when she said she was turning in. He only hoped she would sleep until morning without the terrors of the night before.
He was still wired, however. Knowing he would finally settle accounts with Santo kept his mental engine running. So many years in the making, and now he’d finally be able to close the chapter. And maybe open a new one with Dani if he were lucky.
He looked to see if the small refrigerator under the wet bar had been stocked with liquid sleeping aids and was gratified to find a couple of Birra Moretti. “You’re not a Heineken, but you’ll do,” he muttered, and flopped down on the couch with one of the lagers.
Out of habit he pulled his shirt out from his slacks and emptied his pockets on the coffee table, dislodging the forgotten scrap of paper in the process. That was one strange lady, he thought, and it struck him that she didn’t seem like she was in the frame of mind to be hitting on anybody. He opened the paper and read it, straightening up as he did so. “Holy shit,” he said.
The paper read:
Mando Forcelli was murdered. Tell no one.
Meet me tomorrow 1 p.m. Giulio’s in Mizzole. Please help.