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“Don Matteo!” Dante called, dismounting on the fly. He had raced from Villa Zito to Palermo, his heart pounding. Darkness was falling, and families were heading home afterpasseggiata.
“Dante!” Don Matteo broke into a smile. He stood in front of his office, talking with another man. “What a surprise! You’ve caught me just in time. Please meet my associate, Bartolomeo.”
Dante nodded, curt.
“Where’s Gaetano?”
“I don’t know, I need to speak with you.” Dante masked his intent.
“Certainly, let’s go inside.” Don Matteo bade Bartolomeo goodbye and admitted Dante into an entrance hall, then his fancy office. He turned on a lamp, which illuminated bookshelves full of legal books and an ornate desk behind two chairs. “Please, take a seat.”
But Dante stood, barely controlling his fury. “You’remy father.”
“Pardon me?” Don Matteo asked, his smile fading.
“You heard what I said. You’re my father, and you tried to have me killed.”
“What?” Don Matteo recoiled, but guilt flickered across his lined face.
“I’ve just come from Baron Zito. He told me everything. You do legal work for him. You proposed a tax scheme to him, whereby youundervalued his properties. That was why he never cultivated his Bagheria estate. He couldn’t afford the taxes on the income it would produce.”
Don Matteo put up his hands, newly trembling. “Wait a minute—”
“You told Baron Zito you’d save him money on his taxes if he got someone to kill me. He knew a lowlife you didn’t, hisgabellottoFranco Fiorvanti, now Don Franco. But Franco double-crossed you both and instead of killing me, he had a man take me to the madhouse. A guard kept me there mywholelife. Me! Yourson!”
“No, listen.” Don Matteo shuddered. “I can explain—”
“You wanted tokillme.Me, the son you fathered with yourniece!”
Don Matteo gasped. “Hold on, your mother wasn’t my blood relation. She’s related only by marriage—”
“What difference does that make? She was yourniece!” Dante advanced on Don Matteo, pushing the lawyer against his desk. He could see the resemblance between them now, but Dante had his mother’s eyes, burned into his memory with love.
“Dante, you have to understand, she needed so much, she was lonely—”
“You took advantage of her! You preyed on her, yourniece!”
“But, but, but,” Don Matteo said, jittery, “these things happen, we fell in love—”
“How in love could you have been? You ruined her life! You tried to have her son killed!”
“I had to, I had no choice”—Don Matteo spoke faster, his words running together—“your mother wanted me to leave my wife, she was threatening to tell her everything, I couldn’t let that happen, and your mother was demanding more and—”
“Your solution wasmurder? Your own son, a little boy! Does Donna Angelina know you’re my natural father?”
“No, she could never bear it, think ofher—”
“Youdidn’t think of her!”
“I’m sorry, I know it was wrong, and when you came to the housewith Gaetano that day, and he told me who you were, I was so glad, so grateful. I’m going to make it up to you, you’ll see, give me the chance—”
“You pretended to care, to welcome me back home—”
“Ididwelcome you! I knew I could make it up to you, that’s why. I know I can make it right—”
“Too late!” Dante withdrew his knife and put it to Don Matteo’s throat. “You wanted me dead. There’s only one way to make that right!”
“I’m sorry, I swear it! God help me!” Tears sprang to Don Matteo’s eyes, and Dante pressed the knife against the pulsing vein in his neck.
