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“Tellthemthat.” The officer gestured at the women. “They’re making a fuss, and the other vendors don’t want you at the piazza.”
“Too bad for them.” Alfredo straightened. “They threw a rock at my door, with a warning. You should do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Ask them who did it. Tell them not to do it again. You’re thecarabinieri.”
“Don’t be a baby. A man should expect a little rough-and-tumble in business. You see the disruption you cause.”
“I don’t like it any better than you do.” Alfredo didn’t think it was fair. “Anyway, I have to sell my cheese.”
“What if you sold it here instead of the piazza?” The officer gestured to the side. “I can make the customers line up on the street.”
“Fine, I’ll compromise.”
“Can I get a pack of your cheese?” The officer held out his hand. “Those women gave me a headache.”
“Okay, but my cheese won’t help.” Alfredo gave him a packet, and the officer eyed the cheese, turning it this way and that.
“I’ve never had charmed cheese before.”
Alfredo felt like nobody was listening to him. Meanwhile, the women were hurrying up the street and the other officer was running after them.
“Alfredo!” Signora Tozzi waved. “My husband is better! Your cheese cured him! You have to make more!”
“Magic Alfredo, Magic Alfredo!” cried her ladyfriends, and they surged toward him, thrusting coins at him and grabbing his cheese. He sold out even quicker than before, leaving the women without cheese sad and desperate. They began calling out ailments that sickened their children or husbands.
Alfredo tried to explain, yet again. “Ladies, I’m not a wizard or a doctor—”
“When will you come back?” the women called to him, heedless. “My daughter’s fever is rising! What will I do?”
Alfredo turned away, upset, and picked up Beatrice’s lead. Thecarabinierihad to hold the women back so he could leave, and some of them burst into fretful tears, which tore at his heart.
The last look he got of the piazza was of Donato Nuts, Mario Cow-Cheese, and Giuseppe Dry Beans scowling at him, their arms folded over their long aprons.
He wondered which of them had sent the note.
And what they would do now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Franco dozed under a shade tree with Violetta, her cheek against his chest and his arm encircling her. Their nakedness felt natural and wonderful to him. They had sneaked a tryst on his routine trip to Villa Zito, making love where they had before, laughing until desire overwhelmed them, hungry for each other. Only afterward did they put down a blanket and return to each other’s arms.
“I missed you.” Franco stroked her hair, silky to his touch. He had shed his clothes, and she had tossed aside her black uniform and white cap. The breeze off the sea cooled their skin, and they had found a perfect spot overlooking the Tyrrhenian, which glimmered a beautiful turquoise hue. Waves splashed against the dark, rocky cliffside.
Violetta gazed out to sea. “Franco, do you ever want to leave?”
“Sicily? No. Why?” Franco propped himself up and looked at her. Dappled sunshine fell on her richly red hair, and a breeze blew a strand from her face, revealing large, round eyes that were an unusual reddish-brown. Her skin was smooth, her nose strong, and her lips full and pretty, but they were curving down in dissatisfaction.
“Look, out there.” Violetta made a sweeping motion across the sea. “There’s Greece, Africa, and Arabia, and there’s Europe and the mainland. Don’t you want to see any of them, ever?”
“No, I want to buy land and stay here. I want to move up the ranks, not across the sea.”
“I’ve heard that speech.” Violetta smiled. “Many times.”
Franco smiled back. “Then why do you ask?”
“I’m hoping I can persuade you to change your mind.”
