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“She has to be!” Franco realized he’d been a fool. “We’re marrying, no matter what you say!”
“Shame on you, and Violetta! I order you never to see her again!”
“You can’t!” Franco stood nose-to-nose with the Baron. “I tell you, I’m going to buy Moravio’s parcel! I can support her!”
“You thinkyou’rebuying land? I’ll put a stop to that! I’ll buy it myself! You’re fired, Franco! Vacate the farmhouse immediately! Take your degenerate gambler of a brother, too!” Baron Zito motioned to the servants. “Get him out of here! And don’t let him take Arabo! I’ll sell that beast to the butcher!”
“Baron, no!” Franco shouted, but uniformed servants strong-armed him backward and the Baron and Baronessa pulled Violetta in the opposite direction.
“Violetta!” Franco shouted, while the servants hurried him through the enfiladed salons, down the marble staircase, through the courtyard, and out into the street, slamming the lacquered door in his face.
“Franco!” he heard Violetta scream, then even the echo was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gaetano walked down the street, his leather envelope under his arm. He had applied to law firms all over town, but his reputation kept scuttling his chances. Meanwhile, he had eliminated more families on his list, but had many more to go.
He stopped to wait in line outside a coffee shop, but the line wasn’t moving. He would’ve left if he had somewhere to be, but he didn’t, unlike the men hurrying past in their frock coats. Their frowns were due to preoccupation, not disappointment. Palermo was a hard city in which to be unsuccessful.
“What’s taking so long?” asked the young man in front of Gaetano.
“It’s the news, haven’t you heard?” a man called back from the coffee shop. “There was another kidnapping.”
“What?” Gaetano interjected, shocked. “When?”
“Yesterday. A boy was kidnapped off the street.”
“Where?”
“Via Argenteria Vecchia.”
“No,” Gaetano said, hushed. “That’s around the corner.”
“That’s why they’re gossiping inside, instead of making coffee.”
“What are they saying?”
“They’re talking how horrible it is and how nothing ever changes.”
“Did anybody see anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thank you.” Gaetano left the line, hurried off, and turned onto Via Argenteria Vecchia. It was in the jewelry district, and goldsmiths, silversmiths, and tinsmiths lined the narrow, curving street. A group of well-dressed women in fancy hats gathered in the middle, talking animatedly in front of a silversmith’s. The sign in its window readCHIUSO, closed, which was strange at this time of day.
Gaetano had a hunch and made a beeline for the women. “Excuse me, is this jewelry shop where the kidnapping was?”
“Yes, isn’t it terrible!” one of the women answered. She had on a hat of canary felt, and her face was a mask of concern. “I came here to check on a bracelet and heard the news.”
“Do you know any details?”
“No. I heard only that his mother went inside for a minute, and the boy was snatched from where we’re standing.”
Another well-to-do woman shuddered. “The kidnapper must’ve beenfollowingthem. That’s evil, pure evil!”
A third woman clucked. “I let my son play outside while I’m shopping. I’ll never dothatagain.”
Gaetano’s stomach tensed. “Do you know who the boy or his mother is?”
