Dante kept a full schedule. Taking time off in the afternoon for socializing wasn’t his usual style, but other than the funeral, it had been forever since he’d seen his cousin Daniela. He remembered the occasion well, for all the wrong reasons. He’d graduated from hotel management school in Switzerland, gotten an MBA from Yale, and returned to Verona to enter the family business. Stella d’Italia was hosting a large reception at La Tana for suppliers and major clients, and Santo had insisted he attend. Early in the evening he’d seen Dani, an adorable sprite at fifteen, trying to act like a diva. He recalled grinning at her because she looked like a little girl playing dress up. Unfortunately she’d grown up that night in a way no young girl should. The “incident,” as Santo called it, would have been bad enough, but their grandfather Ciro had died that same night of a massive stroke.
But, the most memorable part of that evening had to do with someone else entirely. As if it were yesterday, Dante remembered seeing Agnese for the first time as a man sees a woman. She’d barely registered when he was younger—just another little girl running around the estate. But that night, even though she was only a year older than Dani, she was light years ahead of her in elegance and, in his humble opinion, beauty. They spoke briefly, but she was painfully shy and left way too soon. At sixteen she was far too young for his twenty-four years, but he recalled thinking, wistfully, someday. Now, twelve years later, he feared the someday of his dreams would never come.
He looked up from his musings at the cafe and saw Dani from halfway across the piazza walking with Gabriele, Agnese’s cousin. Dani had grown into a lovely young woman, and it was obvious Gabriele wanted her. He didn’t remember the guy from his childhood—of course he was a few years older, which is a lifetime when you’re young. How had the two of them ended up together so far from Verona? He stood up to wave them over, quirking his lips when he saw he’d foiled an attempted kiss. Welcome to the club, friend.
“Ciao, Dani,” Dante said, bussing her cheeks. He briefly shook Gabriele’s hand. “Buona sera, Gabriele.”
“Call me Gabe, please.”
“Va bene.” Dante signaled for a waiter and looked at the couple. “Caffè?”
“Sì, per favore,” they both said.
While waiting for their drinks, they made small talk, speaking in English for Dani’s sake. Yes, Dani loved living in the town of Little Eden and running a small inn. Yes, Gabe loved the area as well—it was a big change from his years as an LAPD cop. How had they gotten together? “Coincidence,” Gabe said at the same time Dani blurted, “We’re not together.” Dante left that one alone. After that, Dani had quickly changed the topic and asked about Agnese, of all people.
Taken aback, Dante countered with, “What about her?”
“Well, I saw her earlier today and noticed she had a newspaper clipping of you on her bulletin board, and I thought—”
“She did?”
“Yes, she did. But when I asked her about it she got all flustered. It seemed like maybe you two had been an item at one time…”
“I wish,” Dante muttered.
“Oh, then you’re not?” Dani asked.
“Why not?” Gabe pressed. “Dani says my cousin’s a knockout, and she’s available, so what’s the hang-up?”
Dante could tell Gabe was trying to lighten things up, so he didn’t give in to his impulse, which was to throttle the guy with all the pent-up frustration he’d been carrying around. Instead he said with a calmness he didn’t feel, “Look, let’s just say we’re friends and leave it at that.”
Gabe shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. Seems like a waste, that’s all.”
There was an awkward silence among the three of them. “Daniela, I’m sorry your father’s gone,” Dante finally offered. “I didn’t see him all that often, but he was always kind and respectful to me. He was a good man, and a thoughtful one, despite the way he was often depicted in the press.”
“I’m glad you think so. I don’t think my father was the shallow playboy they made him out to be, either. I mean—” she paused to glance at Gabe, “—I learned recently that he had a close relationship with a woman who…whom he cared for very much. Perhaps you know her—she works at the Stella d’Italia Milano. Carla Rinaldi?”
“Carla Rinaldi? That’s odd. Santo—at the reception, in fact—asked me to get in touch with her. He said he needed to discuss some personnel matters. She’s the human resources director at that hotel. Or I should say, was the director. She quit without giving notice and we can’t seem to locate her. I wonder…mio Dio, I hope she’s all right. If they were really a couple, she must be shattered.”
“Are you still looking for her?”
“No, I assumed it was moot, since she’d left the company. But in light of what you’ve told me, perhaps I should. I hope she has a support system, family nearby or something.”
“Ah, well, maybe she’s taking the time to mend a broken heart.” Dani glanced again at Gabe, whose eyebrows raised slightly as he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
What’s going on here? Dante thought. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m being tested?
Dani felt something shift inside as she took Dante’s hand across the table. She knew instinctively that she could trust this man. “Cousin, I’m glad we were able to meet someplace away from La Tana and the company headquarters.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “You probably know my father left his estate to me, which means I am now in charge of voting his share of stock.”
“That makes sense,” Dante said. “But that shouldn’t be of immediate concern, should it? I mean, Stella d’Italia has actually increased market share during this downturn, we have no impending capital expenditures—”
“Well, not according to Uncle Santo,” she said.
Dante looked at Dani and Gabe, but Gabe sat expressionless.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean our uncle didn’t wait twenty-four hours after the funeral before putting pressure on me to vote my shares in favor of acquiring Alberghi Paradisi. He even offered me the plum job of running the new subsidiary.”
Dante’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“What the hell?” Gabe exclaimed simultaneously.
Dani gave her partner an apologetic look. “You heard me. He said he needs my votes because Nonna Stella won’t budge, and he needs to know soon.”
“What about my father’s vote?” Dante clenched his hands. “Never mind. I already know. He’ll vote with Santo no matter what. And after I told him…”
“Told him what?” Gabe asked.
“Told him the hotel deal wasn’t worth the asking price, that it wasn’t a good business model and wouldn’t do anything except bring the Stella d’Italia brand down. I’ve been through the numbers. Nonna Stella is right.”
“So just to be clear, you don’t think it’s a good idea,” Dani said.
“That’s right. In fact, it’s a terrible idea. It’s a bad investment, pure and simple. But my father…he’s…oh, never mind. Look, you know the business. You should look at the numbers and see for yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I told Uncle Santo—that I needed time to check out the financials. But he seems to be in a bit of a hurry.”
“Yeah, so much so that he’d bribe you with a dream job.” Gabe’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Sorry, Dante, but your boss is a first class prick.”
“He’s been called worse, I can assure you.”
The waiter brought their drinks and Dani paused to think of how her cousin must feel about all of this. “How long have you worked for the company, Dante? Ten years?”
“Try over a dozen.”
“And it looks like you’ve risen pretty high up,” Gabe said. “You must be good at what you do.”
“Oh yes, I made it to chief lackey, all right.” Dante’s bitterness was unmistakable. “But despite both my training and experience, neither my uncle nor even my father trusts my judgment. I’m thinking it might be time for me to make a change, family business or not.”
“Ah, there’s one other thing,” Dani said.
Dante looked at her skeptically. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Well, it’s just that…we think there might be some, shall we say, ‘irregularities’ happening in the company.”
“Jesus. Who is ‘we’?”
“Well, Nonna Stella, for one, and—”
“The hell with it. I think we need to bring Dante into the loop,” Gabe broke in.
Dante looked at the two of them. “This wasn’t just a friendly little ‘Hey, let’s catch up with Cousin Dante over coffee’ session, was it?”
Dani and Gabe slowly shook their heads. “We think there’s some major shit going down in your company, and we needed to make sure you weren’t part of it,” Gabe said.
“Gabe’s right. This goes way beyond an ill-advised acquisition. There could be extensive criminal activity involved. My father—”
Dani’s voice broke and Gabe put his arm around her.
“How do you know this? You’ve been here—what? Three days?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Gabe said, “but we were approached, both of us, with information…credible information. I’ve talked with a good friend of mine—maybe you know him, Marco Clemente? He’s with the state police and he’s been helping me piece the story together, discreetly, of course.”
“What makes you think you can trust me?” Dante asked.
Dani shored up her emotions and regarded him. “From your reactions, you’re either a fantastic actor or you’ve been kept in the dark about all this stuff. Besides, call it woman’s intuition, but I refuse to believe that Agnese could feel the way she does about a criminal.”
Dante was about to refute her assumption about Agnese when Gabe interrupted.
“Let me sum it up, Dante. I read people pretty well. Back in the States I’m a detective, so it’s part of my job. But just in case we got it wrong and you’re dirty, remember this: if I find out you’ve ever done anything to hurt Daniela in any conceivable way, either directly or indirectly, I’ll come after you and I’ll see that you pay.”
Dante and Gabe appeared to take each other’s measure, and Dani liked what she saw. Dante was a decent man who wanted to do the right thing. He was the perfect man for Agnese if she could only see it. Just like Gabe’s the perfect man for me—if only I weren’t so screwed up.
“Tell me what you can,” Dante said at last. “Let me see how I can help.”
An hour later Dante parted company with his cousin and her protector. They’d filled him in on the puzzle pieces they had so far gathered. His Uncle Mando murdered? Carla Rinaldi in hiding? It seemed unbelievable. Even more incredible was the idea that Stella d’Italia was somehow being used as a human trafficking conduit.
Yet something in the back of Dante’s mind kept niggling at him. A thought. A feeling. A sense that something wasn’t quite right had been percolating within him for more than a year. He’d never mentioned it to anybody because he’d never had anything of substance to point to. And was Santo in the middle of it all?
They all agreed it would be a bad idea for Dante to blow the whistle or instigate an obvious investigation, even within the confines of the company. Whoever was involved in this might panic, or worse yet, be so good at covering their tracks that they’d never get to the bottom of it. He could take some surreptitious steps, however. He’d at least drill down into the suspect income sources and see how many could be justified; see if he could establish a timeline of some kind. Maybe he’d find something they could use as evidence. And during his scheduled meeting with Santo to talk about Carla Rinaldi, he could probe a bit to see where his uncle was coming from. Perhaps it was all a big misunderstanding…or perhaps the man had something he was desperately trying to hide.
Dani and Gabe had gone back across the piazza to buy flowers; apparently they were headed over to Marco’s for dinner…the same Marco who had lusted after Agnese and been rebuffed. Grazie a Dio. Dante pulled out his cell phone.
“Papa? I’d like to take you to dinner. Are you free? Good. I’ll pick you up after mass.” The one thing Dante could address openly was his father’s complacency and weakness. It was time to lay his cards on the table once and for all.
Dante waited impatiently by the steps for his father, whom he knew to be a creature of habit and admittedly not much imagination. Aldo Forcelli went to the six p.m. mass every day at Santa Maria Antica, which was an easy commute because he worked at the church as a lay minister. He had taken on several positions over the years, including sexton, lector, and altar server. These days he was performing the duties of Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, in which he served the Lord’s Supper to housebound members of the parish. Dante knew it was the closest to ordained priesthood his father was ever going to get, and, not for the first time, he felt a twinge of guilt that his birth had kept his father from the calling he’d felt all his life.
By now the parishioners would be receiving the benediction; soon they’d exit the church, his father among them. Like clockwork, Aldo appeared.
“Dante,” Aldo greeted him, his arms widening for a hug.
Dante, who towered over his father, kissed him dutifully on both cheeks. “Come, I told Mauricio to hold a table for us.”
The two walked along the Corso Sant’Anastasia for several blocks in silence before turning onto a side street and entering the trattoria. They had had relaxing dinners there many times over the years, but tonight Dante had no stomach for idle talk. Over a plate of pasta and a glass of wine, he got down to business.
“Earlier today I met Dani and her friend in the piazza. She tells me that Santo is already pressuring her to vote her shares in favor of acquiring Alberghi Paradisi. Grandmother must have said no, which means that you have said yes, and he needs Dani’s assent to bring him over the top. Why are you going along with him, Papa? We had this conversation weeks ago. It’s not a good business decision.”
Aldo began to scratch the back of his neck; the action caused Dante to twitch slightly in commiseration. His father had suffered from psoriasis for years and Dante had read that stress can cause the skin condition to flare up. Maybe the hotel deal was the cause of his father’s latest discomfort.
“I know we spoke about it, but you must understand, Santo is the head of Stella d’Italia. He’s been making decisions for the family business for the past twenty-five years, even before our papa passed away. Both Mando and I trust him to know what is right.”
“But Mando is dead, and in his place is a woman who knows a lot more about the hotel business than her father ever did. And excuse me, but you have a son who was trained at Les Roches, of all places. And at Yale. I know this business, and I know a good opportunity from a bad one. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this company for over a decade, and still you people don’t trust me.”
Dante saw his father wince.
“‘You people’?” Aldo asked quietly. “You’re part of this family, too, Dante.”
“Am I? My name isn’t Forcelli, it’s Trevisan. And because of that, I’ll never be a true member of the family, at least not in Santo’s eyes.” Anger began to build. “Did you ever notice that I never refer to Santo as ‘uncle’? It’s because he asked me not to refer to him as such…ever.”
“Perhaps to keep it more professional at work,” Aldo offered.
Dante looked at him. “No, Papa. I was fourteen at the time.”
He watched as his father began to scratch more forcefully. Aldo dipped a corner of his napkin in a glass of water and pressed it to his skin. He breathed deeply, as if to calm himself. “I would have married your mother,” he began, “but she…she had to move overseas. She left you in my care and there was nothing I could do.”
Dante slapped his hand on the table. “Enough. I will not take that any more from you.”
“What do you mean? Take what from me?”
“That farce about my mother giving birth and then leaving me with you. You must truly think I’m an idiot if you think I don’t know who my actual mother is.”
Aldo froze, his eyebrows lifted. He began to scratch even harder and Dante reached over to stop his father’s manic behavior. “It’s all right,” Dante said.
His father wasn’t ready to give up the charade. “Who…” he stopped. Swallowed. “Who do you think your mother is?”
“Every good Catholic boy knows that the faithful Sisters of the Church had maiden names before they married Christ. The venerable abbess of the Convent of Our Holy Sisters of Rectitude wasn’t always Maria Annunciata, was she?”
Aldo looked down at the table, as if ashamed. He shook his head.
“No,” Dante said. “Once she was the young and innocent, and as I understand it, very pretty and very religious Luisa Trevisan. That is, until she made the mistake of spreading her legs for—”
Dante was cut short by a powerful slap across his face. “Don’t you ever talk about Mother Maria that way again,” Aldo hissed. “She is a veritable saint compared to us.”
Dante stared at Aldo as he rubbed his jaw. “I believe that’s the most gutsy thing I’ve ever seen you do, Father. I applaud you. But you’re wrong. The abbess—my mother—is as human as the rest of us. She’s intelligent, shrewd, and loving. And she can be bossy and even short-tempered at times. I’ve worked with her for years. I know her. And I know she made a mistake and slept with a young man before she was married, and that mistake turned out to be me.”
“No, you are wrong,” Aldo said fiercely. “You may have been unintended, but you were never a mistake. Never. You have been the joy of our lives. You have given us a reason to stay within each other’s sphere. Our devotion to you is second only to our devotion to Christ. And Christ granted us the miracle of never having to choose between you and Him. If you believe nothing else, you must believe that.”
“The fact remains,” Dante continued, “that my illegitimacy has stifled my career with Stella d’Italia, and I’m tired of it.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Hell, it’s ruined my personal life, too.”
“What do you mean?” his father asked. “Your parents’ marital status has nothing to do with who you are. And you are good enough for anybody.”
Dante let out a long breath. “Apparently not good enough for Agnese,” he said.
His father looked at him sharply. “What about you and Agnese?”
Dante waved his hand. “She likes me, I believe, but she is unwilling to take our acquaintance any further.” He frowned. It was embarrassing even to be talking about this, as if he were a heartsick teenager handling his first crush. He expected his father to respond in his usual gentle manner, but instead he saw signs of hidden anguish on the older man’s face.
“Agnese is a beautiful young woman and a sensible one, now that she is away from her mother,” his father said. “You must be patient. I…I think she will come around.”
“You sound as if you know something special about her, Papa. Fill me in. Please.”
His father shook his head. “It is not for me to say.”
“But—”
“I said no!”
Dante stared at his father, who looked on the verge of coming unhinged. What was he hiding?
Aldo, still visibly upset, took a drink of his wine. “As for the proposed merger,” he said, “I want you to know I do believe you when you say it shouldn’t happen. I find it…difficult…to confront Santo, but I will talk to him. I promise you that.”
Much was left unsaid, but at least in the matter of the vote, Dante felt something uncoil inside. “Thank you, Papa.”
Aldo raised his glass. “To family,” he said.
“Right,” Dante said, his expression tight. “To family.”
Later, while drinking grappa on his balcony overlooking the Adige River, Dante began to brood about what his father had said concerning Agnese—or rather what he hadn’t said. He’d also drunk just enough of the brandy to give him the courage to do what he’d been contemplating ever since dinner. He took a cab to the Convent of Our Holy Sisters of Rectitude and sat down on the wrought iron bench situated just outside the convent’s gate. Knowing that when she wasn’t teaching, Agnese worked most evenings in her lab, he took a chance and texted her:
I’m sitting on the bench outside the convent and need to see you.
I won’t leave until you come out and talk to me.
Then he waited.
And waited.
It grew dark and still he waited. After a while the adrenaline that had carried him to the bench began to drain away, and he fell into a light sleep. When he awoke, Agnese was sitting calmly next to him. Even though it wasn’t a particularly cold evening, she had brought a blanket and it covered both their laps. She wore a deep-red cap over her hair and she smelled of lemon and lavender.
“You showed up,” he said, his heart beginning to thump joyfully in his chest.
“You said you needed to talk to me, so here I am.”
He heaved a sigh. Why was she the only one he felt comfortable talking with? Because she just was. “Tonight I told my father I knew who my mother was.”
Agnese said nothing.
He waited for her to speak, until it dawned on him what her silence meant. “You know, don’t you?”
She looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “You are the luckiest man in the world. She is everything a mother should be, and more. I love the abbess with all my heart.”
He paused to collect himself, afraid he would lose it and start whimpering. His heart was so close to the surface and ready to burst. Could she hear it pounding? It felt thunderous in his chest. His whole life long he’d feared the revelation of his birth, and the one person he cared about knowing more than any other had just told him it was all right, that he was lucky.
But he had more to confess. “I have tried not to let my…lack of legitimacy…get in the way, but it has. At Stella d’Italia and…and elsewhere.”
“Those who would hold your parentage against you are fools, and they aren’t worth your time, not in the slightest.” She said it without hesitation.
“Do you really believe that?”
Her lips softened in a gentle curve. “I really do. I always have.”
He took a moment to steel himself for the worst. “Agnese, you care for me. I know you do. I can feel it in every pore of my being. Yet you tell me we can’t be together because of who we are. If my pedigree isn’t an issue, what is holding you back? Is it something about the person you are? Because if it is, I can assure you that…”
He paused, stunned, as the beacon that lit her from within slowly flickered away, leaving a cold, empty shell. She began to reel her loveliness in, as if she had showed him her treasures and now it was time to wrap them up and put them away. She would not look at him, but when he turned her face to his, she wore a guarded expression that masked the intense emotion beneath. He decided to meet it head on.
“There is something about you my father refuses to talk about. I think it causes you great pain. What is it?”
“It’s none of your business,” she said, her tone flat and businesslike. She stood up, brushing off her sweater. “Listen. I know you handle the accounting for the convent and that you visit the abbess frequently. It’s inevitable that as long as I am here, our paths will occasionally cross. But I think that from now on it would be best if those meetings were kept to the confines of the convent.”
The problem with finally speaking the truth was that you could go too far and cross the line. Dante couldn’t help the frustration that seeped out. “You talk about the confines of the convent. Is that where you intend to spend the rest of your life? Trapped in there, mixing potions for others to enjoy while you sit and grow old in your little laboratory? My God, Agnese, you were no more meant to be a nun than the man in the moon.”
Agnese laughed bitterly. “A nun? You’re right. I am certainly no nun.” She unlocked the gate as she had the other night after class. “Please don’t seek me out again, Dante. Ever.”
Dante watched her go and belatedly noticed that she’d left the blanket for him. He leaned back on the bench and wrapped the soft covering around himself, letting the tears spill over his eyelids at last.