AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Baron Zito stepped between them. “Franco’s right, Niall. There will be no more whippings for Arabo.” He took the lunge line from Niall and handed it to Franco. “Arabo belongs to you from now on.”
“What?” Franco asked, astonished.
“What?” Niall recoiled, appalled.
“Franco, please accept him as my gift, for your loyalty.” Baron Zito met Franco’s eye in a meaningful way, and Franco realized that Arabo was his reward for murdering the boy, whom he hadn’t killed. But he had killed Claudio, and the dirty business tainted the offer of even this splendid stallion.
“Baron Zito, no, I can’t accept such a generous gift. What about your son, Davide? I thought he was taking lessons on Arabo.”
Baron Zito scoffed. “That boy will never follow through. He’s gallivanting around Paris. Arabo’s better off with you. Take him.”
“Thank you,” Franco said after a moment, tugging the lunge line, and Arabo walked over, lowering his head.
Baron Zito smiled. “See? He obeys you already, son.”
Son. Franco loved when Baron Zito called him that.
“Take the saddle, too. It was custom-made for him. Now, I’m off.”Baron Zito motioned to a groom, who brought Franco’s mare forward. “Goodbye, Franco!”
“Goodbye!” Franco stroked Arabo’s wet neck, which felt warm and strong under his palm, and he admired the stallion’s darkly intelligent eyes and elegant, dished face, a hallmark of his noble breed. Arabo’s white coat glistened like marble, showing a muscular topline, and the prospect of owning him overshadowed Franco’s misgivings about why he was given him.
He mounted Arabo and gathered his reins, feeling instantly powerful. He surveyed Villa Zito from the higher vantage point, straightened in the saddle, and somehow knew he could attain the life he dreamed of.
The groom handed him the mare’s reins so he could lead her, and Franco nudged Arabo into a trot around the front of the villa, so man and horse began a conversation that would last a lifetime.
Suddenly Franco spotted a kitchen maid running toward him in a black uniform and puffy white cap. It was Nenella, his Violetta’s best friend, and his heart soared, knowing it had to be a message. He and Violetta sneaked trysts in the kitchen pantry, but Franco hadn’t expected to see her today, since it wasn’t one of his scheduled visits. He yearned for her with an intensity that surprised even him.
“Franco!” Nenella hurried toward him, out of breath. “We saw you arrive from the kitchen.”
“Can you get me into the pantry?”
“No, Livia’s watching. Go down the road, Violetta’s waiting for you. Don’t keep her long! I’m covering for her!”
“Thank you!” Franco cantered off. Midway down the road, he heard her calling his name and halted Arabo.
“Franco!” Violetta emerged from behind a bush, and the sight of her filled his heart. Her puffy white cap couldn’t hide her beautiful face, nor her black uniform the lovely body.
“Violetta! Get on the mare! I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you, too!” Violetta hiked up her skirt, clambered onto the mare, and took the reins. “Let’s go!”
They took off together, riding side-by-side, and Franco found himself laughing, a lightness lifting his soul. He’d been with many women, but never experienced this feeling. Violetta’s white cap flew off, and her remarkable red hair tumbled out, flying behind her like flames.
“To the right!” Franco called out, and they cantered to a grassy patch under umbrella pines. They reached the spot breathless, Violetta dismounted hurriedly, and Franco jumped off, scooping her into his free arm and covering her face with kisses, then her warm neck, which smelled adorably of flour.
“I love you,” he told her, meaning it, for the first time in his life.
CHAPTER NINE
Gaetano set out for the police station, first thing in the morning. He couldn’t wait to begin investigating the kidnapping. He hurried up Via Toledo and tilted the brim of his hat down against the sun. He shuddered to think that the kidnapping had occurred on this street, only a few blocks back.
He joined the men walking to work and the women to market, tugging children along the street, the busiest in Palermo. Everyone threaded his way around brightly painted donkey carts, bulky black carriages with matched horses, and carters pushing barrows of broccoli, artichokes, and fennel, from which Gaetano caught a whiff of anise.
He passed every kind of shop and business: hat shops, shoe stores, a book-and-map seller, an apothecary, a butcher shop with live roosters hanging upside down, a water seller with flavored waters in decanters, and a stationery store with a scribe in front, writing letters for those who couldn’t, since the majority of Sicilians could neither read nor write.
A bakery released the aroma of baking bread, and a toy store attracted delighted children with dancing puppets of kings, knights, witches, and wizards. Gaetano heard snippets of passing conversations, mostly in the Sicilian dialect of his fellowPalermitani, with their characteristic accent, but also in the Italian, French, and English of the traders, merchants, and soldiers who swarmed the island like flies.Everyone came to Palermo to make his fortune, but foreigners came to take one home.
Gaetano reached the Questura, the police station, with its amber façade and arched windows facing the Piazza della Vittoria, full of lush palms, pepper trees, and large agave. A group ofcarabinieristood chatting outside its entrance, and Gaetano knew a few of them, since he represented civil and criminal clients. He tried to have a friendly relationship with thecarabinieri, but they loathed lawyers.
