The Vicari villa stood atop a hill, surrounded by vineyards. When the sun rose on the horizon, as it did at that very moment, the blue of the sky gave way to a pale gold that spread across the land and turned the vine branches into gleaming metal.
I closed my eyes as the light touched my face and I smiled, feeling my Papa’s presence nearby. “Don’t worry too much about me, okay?” I murmured softly, a tingling warmth filling my chest and wrapping itself around my heart. “Whatever happens… Whatever these people do to me… It’s all right, Papa. I lived. I loved and was loved. Even if it was only for a short time, it was enough for me. When they kill me, I’ll go with the joy of knowing you’re on the other side, waiting for me…”
I didn’t want his soul to worry about me.Lord knows, if Papa was still alive, he would have turned the whole world upside down to get me out of that place. But reality was very different.
I was in Italy, Papa was still dead, and my sentence had been read. Now, all that was left for me was to let life take its course.
I heard something creak behind me. When I turned around, I saw a tanned, bald head reflecting the dawn. The man, who was barely taller than me, was walking quickly in my direction, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the grass. He was dressed in jeans and a terracotta polo shirt. His wrists were adorned with thick gold bracelets; there was a ring of the same metal on his little finger and a cross on his chest to complete the look.
“Buongiorno, Signorina Parker,” he blurted out, stopping in front of me and placing his arms behind his back.
“Good morning, Mr. Condello.” I greeted him with the utmost formality. As if being the head of security and Camillo’s right-hand man wasn’t menacing enough, Luca Condello always wore a grimace that made me wonder how many people he’d already killed, which kept me a few steps away.
Better safe than sorry.
He clicked his tongue, and suddenly his hands were waving in the air between us, his fingers joined in a very Italian gesture. “No need for ‘Mr. Condello,’ Signorina. I’ve already told you that Luca is fine!” he protested, and I didn’t know if he was being friendly or if he wanted to shoot me.
“But… Camillo said—”
“I’ll handle Don Camillo myself,va bene?” he grumbled, cutting off any further protests. “Call me Luca,Signorina.”
“Uh… Sure,Luca.”
“Molto bene.” He said, and seemed genuinely pleased. “Allora, Don Camillo didn’t spend the night at the villa. Nor is he likely to return anytime soon. Since you haven’t left the property since arriving in Italy, I thought I could take this opportunity to show you Castello dell’Fiero. What do you say?”
I blinked, frozen in the middle of that garden, and gave thanks for the sun’s scorching embrace, because fear was freezing my insides. The grim-faced mafioso was inviting me on a guided tour of the village, and I didn’t know if he really meant that or if it was some kind of code to announce that the time for my execution had come.
I scratched my nose, shaking off the thought while convincing myself that he was just being friendly. “Sure… Sounds great.”
“Va bene. In…” He paused, and I realized that buried beneath the various gold bracelets he wore was a poor watch. “In an hour, maybe an hour and a half, I’ll come pick you up. If we go too late, it gets too hot and you can’t walk on the street.”
“Yes, of course.”Just being nice, Daisy. He’s just being nice. You’re going to live a little longer.“Thank you, Luca.”
“You’re welcome, Signorina. See you then!”
Until the time the Italian indicated, I followed Camillo’s instructions to the letter.
As I had done every morning since arriving there, I entered the villa and opened all the shutters on the ground floor and firstfloor, letting the light in. I grabbed an upright vacuum cleaner and quickly vacuumed the floor, then cleaned it with a mop and cedar spray. Since Camillo wasn’t home, I skipped breakfast and went up to the first floor.
I checked his room.
It was extremely spacious, worthy of the title of master suite, with dark blue floral wallpaper and dark, intricately carved furniture. Some pieces, like the nightstands, had flowers and vines engraved on them, others, such as the bed canopy, featured beams that resembled twisted rope. I had only ever seen furniture like that in mansions, never in the home of an ordinary person.
Ordinary person.
Those people were not ordinary.
But despite the furniture, the room had a modern touch that did not go unnoticed by me. There was a huge television, slim and curved enough to whisper to me just how expensive it must have been, positioned facing the bed, on the wall between the bedroom door and another door leading to a private bathroom. On one side of the room, near the door to a walk-in closet, stood a simple bookshelf, dark like the wood of the other furniture, but without its elaborate details and noble air. It was clearly a recent purchase, made of blocks. On its shelves were books about wildlife, but also cameras.
I walked over and picked one up.
As I took the camera out of its case, I realized it was an old Kodak folding camera. I put it back in the same place andwondered if Camillo used them. The truth was that I had noticed pictures of animals in the bedroom of his home in Mississippi, and there, in that villa, there were pictures scattered everywhere—some taken at important moments in the family’s life and others depicting their daily routines.
Beyond those details, the curtains and bedding in the bedroom were also modern, without old-fashioned floral bedspreads or lace curtains. Camillo used dark satin sheets and gray cotton duvet covers. The curtains were made of tulle, simple, without frills.
I gave the furniture a quick dusting as I’d been instructed, and my legs faltered as soon as I reached the walk-in closet. It was a space of pornographic proportions that didn’t match the rest of the house. Too modern, with a gray carpet and white furniture, and a ceiling light so bright it reminded me of a hospital. There were no windows, which led me to believe someone had reinvented that space.
The room was rectangular, and I walked along it, seeing my reflection at the far end, on a mirrored wall. I looked tiny in the midst of it all, even out of place.
