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Gaetano swept her into his arms, and Maria collapsed, giving way to sobs that wracked her body.
The two of them cried together, mourning their baby.
Bound together by their love, and their grief.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Franco had just gotten back to the Conca d’Oro when he saw thecarabinieriapproaching in a straggly line, their stiff uniforms and plumed caps incongruous in the countryside, their horses’ hoofbeats making puffs of dirt behind them.
Franco counted twenty-five officers, so his men outnumbered them. He and Roberto were sitting in front of Mario’s house with the men, who were playing cards and cleaning their guns. They were better shots than thecarabinieriand stronger, too, hardened by hours in the saddle.
“Here they come, men,” Franco said to them.
Roberto looked over, flinty-eyed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” Franco rose, threw his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under his boot. “Let’s have some fun.”
“You, fun?”
“I’ve changed, Robo.” Franco winked, grimly. “Keep up.”
“Where’s Franco Fiorvanti?” Marshal Rossellidemanded, his manner authoritative despite his faintly ridiculous appearance. His fancy uniform was soaked from perspiration, and his gold-braidedcap slipped sideways. His silvering hair was damp, his face was sweaty, and his oiled mustache flecked with dirt from the road. He and his officers dismounted, forming a tired and plainly nervous group.
“Right here. I am he.”
“I’m Marshal Rosselli, and Baron Zito has filed a complaint against you for the criminal arson of his palazzo in town, his villa out here, and hisgiardino. I’ve come to arrest you.”
“I had nothing to do with such crimes. What makes you think I did?”
“We’ll discuss the particulars back in Palermo.” Marshal Rosselli gestured to an officer holding handcuffs.
Franco raised a palm. “Why make the trip when we can talk here? I didn’t set those fires and I can prove it. I was here all night with my twin, Roberto, and our friends.” He gestured to Roberto. “Isn’t that right, Robo?”
“Yes. We played cards, then went to bed,” Roberto answered, folding his arms.
The men chimed in, “We were here, all together.” “Franco was with us.”
Franco returned his attention to Marshal Rosselli. “See? What lies did the Baron tell you?”
“He says he fired you as hisgabellotto, so you destroyed his palazzo, villa, andgiardinoto get even.”
“Did he say anything about an illicit romance?”
“No. What romance?”
Franco chuckled. “Between me and his wife, of course.”
“What?” Marshal Rosselli’s eyebrows flew upward, and thecarabinieristarted looking at each other.
“I’ve been sleeping with his wife, Baronessa Zito. We’ve been sneaking around for almost a year. I’ve had her many times, in all of his residences. She dresses in disguises so we won’t be detected, like the uniform of a kitchen maid. That’s my favorite.”
Roberto and his men snickered, and so did the officers.
Marshal Rosselli narrowed his eyes. “Let me get this straight. You worked for the Baron—”
“I did until he fired me, when he found out about his wife and me. We three were having lunch at the palazzo, and the Baronessa touched my thigh under the table. She can’t keep her hands off of me.”
“She can’t?” Marshal Rosselli asked, shocked.
