Wrapped in a burgundy satin dress, the woman wore a necklace of polished peridots in a rectangular shape surrounded by thin gold frames, with matching earrings. I approached and nodded slowly. I would recognize that color anywhere. Emeralds usually had a cool tone, but peridots did not. Their green was always warm.
In that picture, Mrs. and Mr. Vicari were arm in arm. Camillo's mother had a ring on her finger similar to the set she wore, and I couldn't ignore how beautifully it went with her long Ferrari-red nails.
These people were rich, rich. The way Mrs. Vicari posed in that picture next to her husband, her chin up, her expression stern but relaxed. A predator in her natural environment. WhenI heard about queens, I imagined women like that, who with just one look we knew had the world at their feet.
However, I couldn't stay there any longer. I had seen enough. If they caught me, I would be in serious trouble.
I took a step towards the door and that was it.
A sharp knock made me jump and immediately turn around. On the floor, a few inches from my feet, was a wooden box. It had been on the dresser all along, and I didn't know when or how I had touched it to make it fall.
I immediately crouched down, trying to gather its contents with trembling hands, almost vomiting when I realized what it was.
It was the jewelry from the picture.
I picked it up with trembling fingers, as if one wrong move could shatter it, and made sure it hadn't been damaged. The peridots sparkled like diamonds, filling the space with yellowish-green flashes. I put everything away carefully, finally picking up a smaller wooden box that had also fallen out.
The logical thing would have been to put everything back where it belonged, but the jewels were so beautiful... Besides, a quick peek wouldn't hurt.
I opened the smaller box and held my breath, letting myself be dazzled by its contents. On a faded satin lining, a huge rectangular peridot sat wrapped in delicate gold roses. I lifted the ring, letting the lamplight hit it, and realized the gold band was intricately carved from top to bottom. A garden embracing the stone.
Looking over my shoulder, making sure I wouldn't be caught red-handed, I slid the jewel onto the ring finger of my left hand.It fit perfectly. I smiled like an idiot, dazzled by the jewel. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my entire life.
I sighed, taking the ring off my finger and putting it back in its place.
Leaving the west wing of the house, I made sure all the lights were off. It was understandable why Camillo didn't want anyone there. It was the memory of his parents, and he probably wanted to preserve it. Besides, there was all that jewelry lying around. But... it was a shame that the mark Mr. and Mrs. Vicari had left on the world was condemned to darkness.
Back to my boredom, I went to the kitchen.
The sun was already beginning to set and copper filled the entire room. I walked decisively to a corner of the counter, where a book without a cover, a pile of pages worn by time, contrasted with the marble.
I leafed through it, rolling my eyes and opening one of the drawers nearby. I took out a dictionary that lay alongside used candles and small pieces of rag. It was a brand-new dictionary that my dear kidnapper had kindly provided me with so that I could make his home recipes.
I cursed under my breath. Damn, I missed technology. A phone would translate all that nonsense in seconds.
I translated title by title. Italians loved to criticize American eating habits, but they had a serious problem with pasta and risotto. At that moment, that was the last thing I wanted.
I quickly leafed through the book, giving up on translating recipe titles and going more by instinct. Maybe something would catch my eye and be better than what I had already discovered. In a movement that was too quick, the ancient book slipped out of my hands and I felt like dying when I saw its pages come loose and fall around me.
“My good Lord, now these people are really going to kill me...” I groaned, already crouched down, trying to gather what moments ago had been a cluster of neatly sewn pages, and I wondered why the hell everything insisted on falling to the floor that afternoon.
I was halfway through gathering the sheets when I saw the tip of a page peeking out from under one of the countertop cabinets. I laid on my stomach and pulled it out with my fingernail through the slot. The space was so tight that I didn't even know how it managed to get in there.
“Come on...” I grumbled, sticking out my tongue as my finger struggled to pull the leaf out without tearing it. “BINGO!” I smiled, getting to my knees as I picked it up, victorious. “Huh...? What the...?” Underneath the page of the cookbook, another sheet of paper was dragged out, dirty, with grease stains, hair, and lint stuck to it. I picked it up, my eyes widening as I realized it was also a recipe.
I stood up, ready to decipher my find. The recipe was written in blue ink in an elegant, slanted cursive that looked like flowers forming on the paper. Luckily for me, calligraphy had been a hobby of mine as a teenager, thanks to tutorials on earlysocial media, otherwise I don't think I would have been able to understand those letters.
I pursed my lips and pushed them forward, intrigued. The recipe was all in Italian, except for the title.Golabki. I stared at the word, my tongue twisting just looking at the cluster of consonants. It certainly wasn't in the dictionary Camillo had given me.
I shrugged, not caring. The only thing that mattered was that, hallelujah, the recipe featured cabbage. Cabbage rolls stuffed with minced meat.
I set to work. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could do about the measurements. Europeans measured everything in grams and kilograms, and I had no idea how to convert that to pounds on the fly. So, I did what I always did: I relied on the natural culinary talent I’d inherited from Aunt Lizzie (according to her, at least) and seasoned everything by eye.
The sun had already set by the time I finished.
I brought the wooden spoon to my lips and tasted the tomato sauce. Oh my Gawd, I didn't want to brag, but that was delicious. The flavors were delicate, and you could taste the ripe tomatoes, onions, pork, and cabbage blending harmoniously.
Satisfied, I covered the pot and flew out of the kitchen. There was still no sign of Camillo, or anyone else for that matter, so I was alone in that huge house. Which was much worse than being at the housekeeper's little house at night. So, I decided to go back to my original plan and take a quick shower, to try to eat before the sun disappeared completely from the horizon.
