At six in the morning, the air surrounding La Tana was still cool enough to bite, but Gabe knew that wouldn’t last long. He relied on memory to take him along the narrow paths behind the estate, up the terraced hillside planted with grapevines and olive trees that overlooked the city.
Running the hills of Marin back in California kept him in good shape; it took several minutes for his lungs to bellow. Today he needed the workout—needed to purge himself of his toxic thoughts.
Despite the darker influences of his childhood, Gabe had always been, at heart, one who played by the rules. It was one of the reasons he’d gone into law enforcement. But hearing Dani in the throes of an anguished dream that his gut told him was based on fact, Gabe had reverted to a primitive state. It was all he could do not to wake Dani and demand to know what had happened so that he could avenge her. But doing that would have scared the hell out of her, which was the last thing she needed. So he’d spent the remainder of the night brooding over who could have violated her. How recently had she been harmed? Could someone from Little Eden be responsible? I’ll find out who did this to you, he vowed silently. And when I do…
An hour into his run, damp with sweat and figuring he was too tired to tear anybody’s head off, Gabe re-entered the servants’ gate leading back to the grounds of the estate. As a boy he had entered La Tana many times this way, to see his mother, to see his aunt and his cousin. He had always felt privileged, like he was entering the castle of a king. But today, in the cold morning light, the building looked shabby and tired. He noticed some fissures in the limestone that the groundskeeper had packed with plaster. It’s crumbling, he thought as he ran his hand along the scars.
Fausta, a cell phone to her ear, held the door open for him while talking to someone on the other end of the line. The cadence of her rapid Italian brought back a flood of memories.
“No, I want all the flowers delivered to the cathedral…yes I know it will be crowded. Deal with it.” She snapped the phone shut and turned to Gabe. “Where have you been?”
“Keeping the ladies salivating,” he joked, patting his sweaty T-shirt. “You know I’m irresistible, Aunt.”
The pretty lady he remembered would have played along, chastising him while holding back at least a ghost of a smile. The Fausta of his memory was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a still striking but grim-faced chatelaine.
“Apparently Signorina Dunn thinks so,” she said, her eyes signaling her disapproval.
Gabe wasn’t as tired as he thought; he felt his adrenaline surge. “What is your problem, Fausta? Any colder and you’d freeze me on the spot. You did the same thing to Daniela last night. She didn’t deserve it and I don’t either. What gives?”
He watched, fascinated, as his aunt’s visage transformed subtly yet unmistakably into the face and character of the woman he remembered. You don’t even need a Halloween costume, he thought. You’re that good.
“I’m sure it’s the strain of the circumstances,” she said smoothly. “Armando Forcelli was much beloved. He will be sorely missed. Come sit down, have some breakfast.”
Gabe refrained from snorting as he sat down at the large prep table in the kitchen. Dani’s father had been by all accounts a spoiled, immature playboy who probably ran one drunken speedboat race too many. The only people who might have considered him beloved were those who sucked at his financial tit; apparently he was known among the Eurotrash set as one hell of a tipper.
Fausta ordered one of the kitchen helpers to bring Gabe a cappuccino and some cornetti, which he inhaled. She sat watching him for a few moments before asking, “Why are you here, Gabriele? Did Santo ask you to come?”
Gabe didn’t bother to obfuscate. It didn’t matter how much his aunt knew at this point; he intended to clear it all up anyway. Still, he couldn’t help feeling defensive about what he’d done.
“No,” he said. “The last time I spoke with Santo was maybe four months ago. When I moved to Marin he called and asked me to keep an eye on Dani, and let him know if anything out of the ordinary happened to her. Our conversations, if you could call them that, lasted maybe ten minutes, at the most. Given what he’s done for our family, I could hardly refuse him, now could I?”
“Looks like you took your job seriously.”
Gabe paused to rein in his anger; he probably deserved all the scorn she was heaping on him, but Dani didn’t. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Dani and I are…friends. Good friends. She needed some support to get through this and her mother wasn’t able to join her. So I volunteered. Besides, it was time.”
Fausta raised her eyebrows. “Time for what?”
“Time to balance the ledger. Time to pay back the debt.”
Once again Fausta’s face changed, this time to one of tight-lipped righteousness. She stood up and gestured to the kitchen help. “Iolanda, Natalia, leave us, please.”
Once they were alone she sat back down and took both of Gabe’s hands in hers. Her gaze was direct, piercing. “To what debt are you referring?”
“Come on, Aunt Fausta. You know which one. The one for Mama. I’ve made some good real estate investments over the years. I can transfer two hundred grand today. That should cover it…and then we’ll be even.”
Fausta’s tone was clipped. “That debt has been wiped clean.”
Gabe rose out of frustration and began to pace. “What the hell are you talking about? My old man died before he could do anything about it, and there’s no way you could have paid for Mama’s care all those years. Ciro came through for us, and when he died, Santo continued the support. I owe them.”
“No,” Fausta said. “Santo and his father struck a bargain and it was fulfilled.”
“Fulfilled how? What’d you do, take on a second job?”
“You could say that. But regardless, the debt was paid. You owe the Forcelli family nothing. Nothing.”
“I’ll believe that when I talk to Santo directly,” Gabe said. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d soften your attitude toward Dani. Jesus, she just lost her father.”
“A father she hadn’t seen in years, and who’d rarely bothered to visit her,” Fausta pointed out.
“Don’t talk to me about the way fathers ought to treat their children. Mine was no saint, and I don’t recall seeing Uncle Rico around Agnese much either. Of course it didn’t help that both of them got themselves killed.”
Fausta shrugged. “Men are often a disappointment.”
“Is that why you put Agnese in the convent?”
Fausta pinned Gabe’s eyes. “How did you know that?”
“The Forcelli household’s a favorite topic of conversation around Verona, even among the local police.”
“You are in contact with Marco, then?”
“Ah, so you know he had a thing for Agnese a while back. Which means you also know she told him to get lost. Come to think of it, maybe you ran him off.”
“Bah! Agnese was much too good for the likes of him. His family—”
“—was no different than ours: servants and tradesmen. When did you become such a snob?”
Fausta sniffed. “My family line was meant for better things, that is all. And besides, I had nothing to do with her decision. Agnese moved there herself straight from graduate school. She…finds it comforting there.”
“Is she going to take the veil?”
“No. She works in the convent garden, sells herbal products for the Sisters. She is happy enough for now.”
Gabe took a stab at humor. “What—no arranged marriage in the offing?”
“You never know.” At that moment her cell phone rang and Fausta took the call. “Yes?”
Gabe headed for the door. It was time to grab a hot shower and check on Dani. Hopefully she’d been able to sleep a few more hours and would forget all about the nightmare once she woke up. This afternoon’s service and burial was going to be tough enough without that hanging over her head. Maybe he could distract her; maybe she’d lean on him just a little. He could hope.
“I’m sure Dani would like to see Agnese,” he said on the way out. “Maybe we’ll see her at the church.” He thought he heard Fausta say “I doubt it,” but when he turned, she was thoroughly engrossed in her telephone conversation, completely oblivious to him.
Dante Trevisan stood transfixed at the window in Mother Maria Annunciata’s office, gazing down at the convent garden below. Agnese Lombardi walked deliberately around the beds of primroses and daffodils, expertly pinching back dead blossoms and thinning the plants. She moved with fluid grace, her ebony hair pulled gently back with a plain blue ribbon, her figure only hinted at through her workman-like cargo pants and denim shirt. She has no vanity whatsoever, he thought. She has no idea that she is perfect.
“She is a beautiful woman, is she not?”
Dante turned to see Mother Maria standing in the doorway, smiling at him. He smiled back. The abbess of the Convent of Our Holy Sisters of Rectitude was nearly as tall as he, with a gentle face and shrewd eyes. He wondered what color her hair was. They had known each other all of Dante’s life, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing her without her habit.
“I brought you the quarterly reports,” he said. “Your herbal soaps and creams are taking off. Online sales have increased twenty-five percent.”
“We have Little Agnese to thank for that. Her skill in the garden is infused with the Holy Spirit, and her knowledge of such cosmetic processes is otherworldly.” She grinned. “Of course it helps that she has a master’s degree in holistic health.”
Dante nodded and turned back to the window. “She is otherworldly,” he murmured.
The nun walked up and put her hand on Dante’s arm. “She will never take the veil,” she said. “She is troubled by something. And she is lonely…as you are.”
“You left out that she could have her pick of any eligible bachelor in Verona—or the world, for that matter. I have nothing to offer her.”
The Mother’s hand tightened on Dante’s arm. “Never say that,” she admonished. “You have more character in your little finger than—”
A knock at the office door interrupted them. “Enter,” she called.
A young nun opened the door wide to let Aldo Forcelli into the office. A man of medium height with thinning hair and a husky build that belied his placid demeanor, Aldo looked relieved to see Dante speaking with the nun.
“Hello, Papa,” Dante said.
Aldo glanced at Mother Maria before turning back to his son. “I’m glad you’re still here. Your uncle would like to speak to you at the reception this evening. He mentioned something about a human resource matter.”
Dante couldn’t hide his annoyance. “Doesn’t Santo ever take a day off? Not even for his brother’s funeral?”
“One might ask the same of you,” the abbess said, squeezing his arm gently before letting him go. “Why don’t you take a stroll in the garden before you leave? The flowers are…lovely right now. I have business with your father that I must discuss.”
“As you wish. Let me know if you have any questions about the report.”
Dante nodded to his father before leaving. “I will see you at the cathedral.”
Dante paused to bolster his courage before approaching Agnese in the garden. She had turned on a hose to water the plants and didn’t hear him come up behind her. He reached out to tap her shoulder and she jolted, shouted “Hey!” and sprayed the hose high, almost drenching the two of them.
“I’m sorry!” Dante called out. “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.” He couldn’t quite hide his grin; neither could she.
“You’re lucky I didn’t drench your Armani suit,” she admonished, turning off the nozzle. “You wouldn’t want to attend mass looking like a drowned rat.”
“It would be a problem,” he agreed. “Are you not attending?”
“Me? No. I’m more interested in the living,” she said. “Your Uncle Mando is in a better place now. He won’t notice I’m not there.”
“I’ll…we’ll—miss you.” Dante could feel his awkwardness returning. He didn’t understand it: women generally desired him, and he’d had many of them. He was experienced and confident in the ways of the flesh. But this small female, whom he’d known all his life, had somehow worked her way far past his libido and into his heart until he was consumed by the flame of wanting her. Only her.
Yet she had parried every one of his attempts to get closer. She seemed content to keep her distance and he didn’t understand why. “Well, are you sure I can’t tempt you into coming to the memorial at La Tana afterward?” he asked. “It’s your childhood home, after all.”
He watched, perplexed, as her sparkling eyes faded into dullness.
“Not any longer,” she said, and turned away from him, busying herself with the hose. “You’d better go now. You don’t want to be late.”
Dante paused, not knowing what to say or do. He finally turned and walked back the way he came.