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“It was my mother’s. Anyway, I’m sorry to say goodbye, but I have to go. I don’t want to fall farther behind my friend.” Lucia stood up, but felt dizzy. “Oh, my head hurts.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Lucia looped her bag across her body. “Do you know where the mine is?”
“Yes, but you’ll never find it on your own. There are some working, some not, many abandoned.” Alfredo rose. “Allow me to take you there.”
“Thank you. Is it far?”
“On foot, it will take all day.”
Lucia reached into her bag for her dark glasses. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
The sun ascended the sky, and Franco galloped to the mountain, leaving the men to search the mines for Roberto, where they would never find him. He had sent them on a chase that would keep them busy and free him to go after Roberto, alone. Only Franco knew where Roberto was hiding with Violetta.
He reached the foot of the mountain and rode up the skinny road that zigzagged up the mountain to Mussomeli, at the top. Townspeople rode donkeys or walked up and down, moving slowly in the heat. Their mouths dropped open as he sped past, a frantic stranger galloping on a magnificent white stallion.
Franco raced up the road, wheeled around the curve, and headed up in the opposite direction, higher and higher. Arabo matched his urgency, climbing with powerful front legs, his hooves clattering on the stones.
Franco reached the top of the mountain, then raced through the outskirts of Mussomeli, since his destination wasn’t in town. He spotted a sign and learned its name:Castello Manfredonico. It was the abandoned castle he had seen from Don Bruno’s villa.
Franco had realized that Roberto would hide there the moment he’d spotted the castle. He knew Roberto was sending a message only Franco would understand, from their childhood game.
I’m king of the mountain!
Castello Manfredonico rose dramatically at the mountain’s very peak, its massive amber-and-tan limestone built into the mountainside itself. Its walls soared into the clouds, massively tall and shaped roughly like half of a pentagon, with a crenellated top. Its thick stone façade was unbroken except for pairs of arched windows set high in a sheer wall that disappeared into the mountainside. A walkway with a crenellated wall encircled part of the castle, and the narrow road to its entrance zigzagged upward in long, stepped stretches, a steep grade with a low wall on either side.
Franco galloped Arabo up the road to the castle, and the horse devoured the punishing grade. They reached the landing, pinwheeled around the turn, and tore up in the opposite direction, climbing higher and higher. Franco rode up flight after flight, his heart pounding harder and harder. Arabo slipped near the top, but Franco urged him upward.
The wind gusted hard, buffeting Franco’s ears and lashing his hair around. He galloped higher, harder, and faster, man and horse racing up, up, up, until they reached the castle and there was nothing around but blue sky.
Franco sped through the immense arched entrance to the castle, its thick wooden doors standing open. “Robo!” he shouted, his voice echoing within the medieval walls.
“You remembered!” Roberto called back, his shout coming from within.
Franco slid hisluparafrom his shoulder and galloped through enfiladed stone rooms, each empty, dark, and crumbling. The ceiling was lofty and sharply peaked, the wooden rafters rotted and worm-eaten. Birds and bats fled, flapping in his wake.
Franco rode toward an archway that led to a courtyard flooded with sunshine. It was at the far side of the castle, and he sensed that Roberto would be there with Violetta. “Robo, let her go!”
“Come, get her!” Roberto shouted back, and Franco raced towardhis brother, raising his rifle. He reached the sunny courtyard and halted Arabo, whirling around in horror at the sight:
Roberto had his gun trained on Violetta, who stood trembling atop of a crumbling wall, at the edge of the rocky cliff. Her lovely eyes were red with crying. A bruise marred her cheekbone. Her short red hair ruffled in the wind. Her white nightgown billowed against her body. Franco hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, but she was as beautiful as ever.
“Robo, no, let her go, leave her out of this. She’s done nothing wrong—”
Roberto snorted. “My Bruna did nothing wrong, but you killed her. Don Bruno figured it out. The funeral for Provenzano’s widow was too expensive, and he started asking questions.”
“Robo, let her go, I’ll give you whatever you want. You want to becapo di tutti capi? You win, you’re king of the—”
“No, it’s too late. Now I want to kill the only woman you ever loved.”
Franco’s heart stopped. “Please, kill me! Take me instead!”
Roberto burst into derisive laughter. “You think I’m stupid? It’s a trick!”
“No, Robo, it’s no trick! Shoot me instead!” Franco meant every word. “I’m who you want, not her!”
