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“Espresso,” the old man ordered as if he couldn’t care less.
Donato shook his head in apology. “He knows he can’t have you, Bella. He is grumpy for that.”
I shrugged with a wink as Donato moved to grab his espresso
. Once he set it in front of him, along with a paper, he motioned for me to join him in the kitchen.
“It is probably not a good idea for you to ask for Daniello to other people. He is a very private man.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“I am staying in town at Ville Le Pergola. Would you phone me if he returns?”
Donato grabbed a fresh loaf of the bread we’d made and several containers from the fridge. “Take for a lunch.”
I moved to grab my purse, and he waved me away. “Bella, do not insult me.”
“Thank you.”
I picked up the basket as Donato walked me to the door. “Bella, this sadness you keep with you. Is this what brings you to Italy?”
Honest with strangers.
“Yes.”
“And does Daniello know of this sadness?”
“I don’t know.”
Donato waited, his brown eyes searing through my green. A silent understanding passed between us.
“You come to see me again.”
It was a polite order. “Okay.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “Maybe not so early for you.”
He placed the basket in my hand and gripped my face before kissing me on both cheeks.
“Go, enjoy Barga.”
I got in my car and placed the bounty Donato gave me in the seat. I checked into Ville Le Pergola, a postcard boutique hotel with small rooms, frumpy beds, outdated linens, and old box TVs. But the iron balcony offered breathtaking views of the city and the surrounding mountains.
It was truly magnificent.
An excellent place to die.
I laughed at the irony. Only in my wildest dreams could I have imagined a place like this in my childhood bedroom in Dyer.
I spent hours on the balcony and broke out the basket, munching on bread and staring into space. I decided to drive past Daniello’s at sundown. A knock on my door let me know Cedric had come through as promised.
I opened the door to the front desk clerk, who wore a warm smile. “Buonasera.” Good evening.
“Grazie.” I handed him twenty euros and grabbed the massive box from him to avoid conversation. He took the hint and his leave. On the squeaky brass bed, I shredded the brown paper to reveal a Tennessee Vols care package.
“Funny asshole.”
I rolled my eyes at Cedric’s sense of humor while I ripped it apart. Inside, I had everything I needed. A loud, orange T-shirt, matching socks, and twin Glocks buried in an oversized Smokey mascot doll with enough ammo to take out every pedestrian in Barga. He’d managed to stick a nine millimeter in an orange foam football.
