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“What’s the matter?” Franco threw off the covers. Elvira was already awake, shifting upward in bed, and Sebastiano stood over them, silhouetted by light from the hallway.
“It’s best if you see for yourself.”
Elvira started to rise. “Should I come?”
“No. Stay here.” Franco slipped into his robe. He headed for the door with Sebastiano. “Is Signora Esposito awake?”
“No, and I didn’t wake her. This isn’t for her eyes.”
They flew down the staircase, across the entrance hall, and out the front door, which stood open. Standing outside was a young man leading a donkey, and lying across its back was a corpse. It was facedown, its arms flopped over one side of the animal and its legs over the other. The dead man had been beaten about the head, and blood matted his hair, stiff and black in the moonlight.
The stench told Franco the body wasn’t fresh, and if the bloodied corpse disturbed the boy, it didn’t show. He looked about thirteen, and his build was skinny, undoubtedly due to hunger, which made his darkeyes look sunken. His manner was matter of fact, and he wore the rags of a peasant.
Franco asked him, “Boy, what’s the meaning of this?”
“I was paid to bring this body to you, Don Franco.”
“Who paid you?”
“A man. I don’t know his name. I come from Mussomeli. He works for Don Bruno.”
“Don Bruno?” Franco’s anger flared, and the boy recoiled in fear.
“Please, don’t hurt me. I did it for the money.”
“Relax. Who is he?” Franco gestured to the dead man.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I swear.”
Franco crossed to the corpse, grabbed a handful of its matted hair, and lifted up the head, recognizing its battered face. The realization sickened him. The dead man was Arturo Provenzano, the grandson of Gabriele Provenzano, the old man Franco had hired to falsely confess to Bruna’s murder. Franco had met Arturo when he made the deal with Gabriele.
Franco’s mind raced. Arturo’s murder could only mean that Don Bruno knew Franco had killed Bruna. Roberto would know, too, that his beloved twin had killed his beloved wife. Franco felt his heart being ripped in half.
The boy held out a folded piece of paper in a trembling hand. “Don Franco, I have a note for you from Don Bruno. I don’t know what it says. I can’t read.”
Franco opened the note, and his mouth went dry. The note was in Don Bruno’s messy scrawl. It read:
I HAVE VIOLETTA
Franco masked his horror. Don Bruno and Roberto knew he had killed Bruna, so they were taking revenge on Violetta. Roberto was joining forces with Don Bruno against him.
Franco flashed back to his dinner speech to Roberto’s men. The warhe had fabricated had just become a reality. Violetta’s life was in danger. His family and his business were in danger. Everything he had built in the Conca d’Oro was in danger.
His thoughts flew in every direction, like birds in panicked flight. He told himself to remain calm, and suddenly a plan came to him, all of a piece.
“Sebastiano, bury the body and water the donkey.” Franco turned to the boy. “Help him and keep your mouth shut.”
“I will, Don Franco. Please don’t hurt me—”
“Calm down. You’ll be well paid.”
“Don Franco, thank you!”
But Franco was already hurrying inside the villa.
An hour later, Franco hadeverybody in place, summoned to the villa for an emergency. All of hiscapiwere present with every available man, as were all of Roberto’s men. The Fiorvantis packed the courtyard behind the villa, spilling over the floral border into the rows between the lemon trees. Flaming torches flickered on their grim expressions and their guns.
Franco estimated that two hundred armed men stood before him, which had to outnumber the Marescas. Roberto would have only the Maresca clan to rely on, having been unable to summon his own men from the Conca d’Oro without tipping Franco off. Franco would also have the element of surprise, since Roberto would never expect his own men to ride against him.
