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As we continue discussing our options, I notice my father glancing nervously at the rearview mirror. Following his gaze, I see the driver's eyes darting between the road and our reflection, his curiosity piqued by our hushed conversation.
"Stop the car!" Papà orders suddenly, his voice sharp and commanding. The driver complies immediately, pulling over to the side of the street. "We'll walk the rest of the way. Our house is right around the corner there,” he lies, pointing at a small street. “And cars find it hard to exit the lane.”
“Oh caro, grazie per avermelo detto,” - Oh dear, thank you for telling me – the driver tells us, looking relieved at the prospect of not having to enter the lane. My father tries paying, but the driver tells us Signor Bressan not only paid but also tipped him handsomely.
My father nods and closes the door behind us. He links his arm through mine, and we begin to walk toward the lane.
“Papà,” I ask nervously. What are you doing? Where are you going?” We don’t live here! In fact, we live miles away.
“That man, that driver,” Papà explains. “Is Bressan’s entrusted. I can tell. But I think he doesn’t speak much English, thank the gods. And he couldn’t hear us. Keep walking,” Papà instructs me, pulling me into the lane. “We don't want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention to ourselves."
"Right," I agree, feeling the unease creep down my spine, I realize just how exposed we are. The secret, this priceless treasure we've stumbled upon, threatens to crush me under its immense pressure.
I wrap my arms around myself, seeking comfort in the warmth of my own embrace. As my father and I enter the lane, we stand in the shadows. I feel the knot of unease tightens in my stomach until, at last, the taxi drives away.
“He was watching us,” Papà mutters. “To see we don’t lie.”
“Why not just have him drop us home?” I asked, frightened.
“I don’t want Rafaele to know where we live,” he mutters.
“Why?” I ask, dread building in my chest. “Papà, why? He won’t come for us if we stick to our end of the bargain.”
"Romola, there are things you don't know about life," he begins, his voice low and urgent. "You are far too young and naïve, and there's more at stake here than just a diamond."
“Papà,” I beg. “Please, stop speaking in riddles.”
“Come with me,” he ignores me and takes my hand in his. He pulls me toward the main street, where he proceeds to hail another taxi, one that will hopefully take us to our destination without prying eyes.
"Where are we going now?" I ask, unwilling to go on another detour.
"To see Serafina," he whispers with a heavy sigh. "She may be able to provide some guidance on what to do with the Heart of Italy. And in any case, we need to collect your little car."
The cab driver pulls up to the entrance of the circus grounds. The colors on Serafina's tent aren’t visible after closing time, but the tent stands tall, like a lighthouse against the night sky. Our footsteps crunch on the gravel as we make our way towards it.
"Romola! Agostino!" Serafina exclaims, her expressive eyes widening in surprise as she pulls back the curtain of her tent. "What brings you back here tonight? Come in, come in. I’ve been worried sick since you left."
"Something has happened, Serafina," my father explains, his voice tense but steady. "We need your help."
"Of course," she says, her kind face softening as she beckons us inside. The warm glow of candlelight bathes the interior of her tent, casting flickering shadows on the walls as the scent of incense fills the air.
"Please, sit," she murmurs before turning her attention to the crystal ball that rests upon a small table at the center of the room. “I have been waiting for your return, for there’s something you must know.”
“What is it, Serafina?” I ask urgently, leaning forward. From the way Papà acts so resolutely, something tells me he already knows.
"During Rafaele's reading," Serafina begins hesitantly, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the glass orb, "I saw something... troubling."
"What,” I demand, “what did you see?” My heart pounds in my chest as I lean forward, desperate for answers.
"Your future, Romola," she says softly, her gaze locked on mine. "It involves your death... at Rafaele's hands. Whether he’s the one who killed you or the circumstances surrounding his mission lead to your end, I cannot tell. However, you were somewhere on a cold stone floor, dead to the world, and this was from Rafaele’s vision. From what I saw, it looked like he was abandoning you somewhere, hiding your body in a place no one can find you.”
I feel unable to breathe at this horrifying revelation. Would Rafaele really try to kill me, abandon me? What could possibly cause such a chain of events?
"Are you certain, Serafina?" I whimper as I struggle to get my breathing under control.
"Nothing is set in stone," she replies with a sigh. "But the vision was clear, and the danger is very real."
"Thank you, Serafina," I say finally, my voice trembling with emotion. "Father, did you know?” I ask, turning to him.
