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“Franco,” Bruna groaned, as her gaze stilled. Her head dropped over, and her arms fell to her sides. She sagged against the knife.
Franco eased her to the ground, turning away as he pulled out the knife to avoid getting blood on himself. He took her purse, hurried from the alley, and slipped the purse and the bloody knife to the old man, who had only been pretending to look in the shop window. The old man started running.
Franco gave him a head start before sounding the alarm. “Stop that man! He killed a woman for her purse! Murderer!”
Heads started turning on the street. Passersby ran to the old man and caught him. A crowd started to gather, calling for help.
Franco turned around and walked quickly away.
He picked up hiserbanettibefore he left the city.
Franco awoke to his bedcoversbeing yanked from his body. A distraught Roberto was standing over him, silhouetted in the dim light. “Robo?”
“Franco, what did you do?” Roberto shouted, his voice trembling with emotion.
“What are you talking about? What’s the matter?”
“You know what I’m talking about! Youknow!”
“No, I don’t!” Franco started to sit up, but Roberto pushed him back down, pressing on his shoulders.
“Yes, you do!” Teardrops fell from Roberto’s face onto Franco’s. “You did it!”
“Did what? What—” Franco started to say, but Roberto gripped his throat, choking him into silence.
“I know you did it! Don’t lie to me!”
“No, no!” Franco croaked hoarsely. He hadn’t seenthiscoming. He tried to pry Roberto’s fingers from his throat.
“You did it!”
Franco struggled to breathe. He clawed at Roberto’s hands, but his twin’s grip tightened. He bucked, but his brother pressed down harder.
“You did it!”
Franco kneed Roberto with all his might, and the blow shifted Roberto upward. Roberto released his grip, falling to the side. Hoarse sobs wracked Roberto’s frame, and he doubled over.
Franco gasped for air, taking gulps to steady himself. Signora Esposito came scurrying in with a candelabra, and Sebastiano right behind her, raising hislupara.
“What’s going on?” Sebastiano brandished his weapon, his aim uncertain. He looked around, wild-eyed. “Did somebody break in?”
“Lower your gun,” Franco answered, trying to recover.
“I was on guard. I didn’t see anybody but Roberto—”
“No one else is here. Go.” Franco motioned him away, and Sebastiano turned to leave.
“Wait, Sebastiano,” Roberto called out, wiping his eyes. “Sebastiano, where was my brother today?”
Sebastiano blinked. “Here.”
“All day?”
“All day.”
“Do you swear on your mother’s grave?”
“Yes.” Sebastiano nodded, and Franco thought it was convincing. Franco had sworn Sebastiano and Signora Esposito to secrecy, though he hadn’t told them where he had been today or why. He’d sent Elvira and the children to her mother’s yesterday.
