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“Yes.” Franco stepped back. “This meeting is for family only. Good night.”
Michele stood up and walked away, his shoulders slumping. Everyone at the table watched him go.
Franco turned to the othergabellotti. “We wish our old friend Michele the best. If any of you feel the same way, you’re welcome to leave now. In fact, you must.”
The men looked at each other, and no one rose.
Franco picked up a bottle of wine and raised it high. “Let’s drink a toast! To us, the Fiorvantis!”
“To the Fiorvantis!” thegabellotticheered, raising their bottles.
Franco drank, then set his bottle down. “Now, about the auction...”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The next morning, Franco stood in front of Baron Moravio’s property as if it were already his own. Its plaster façade had been freshly painted a melon hue, and its red tile roof had been repaired. Thegiardinowas behind the house, and he could tell from the fragrance alone that its lemons were soft with juice. The auction was set to begin inside the villa, and Franco waited with Roberto and their men, armed withlupare, knives, and long wooden clubs.
None of the other bidders had arrived yet, but carriages began appearing on the road leading to the villa. Their black lacquer gleamed in the sunshine, and matched carriage horses pulled each one. They would be carrying lawyers or functionaries to bid, since aristocrats didn’t bother to buy their own villas.
The first carriage reached the villa, and Franco stepped forward. The driver halted the horses, climbed down, took a footstool, and brought it to the carriage, opening the door. A young man in a well-tailored suit emerged from the carriage and stepped on the footstool.
Franco intercepted him. “Good afternoon. Are you here for the auction?”
“Yes, on behalf of a client.” The lawyer pressed his steel spectacles up.
“Unfortunately, the auction’s been called off.”
“Oh no.” The lawyer eyed Roberto and his armed men, catching on. “Will it be rescheduled?”
“No. Tell your client that Baron Zito’sgiardinowas burned bybandits. Your client wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate. Get back in your carriage and go home.”
“Goodbye, sir.” The lawyer ducked back inside the carriage, the driver grabbed the footstool, and they took off.
Franco walked back to Roberto, smiling. “That was fun. You take the next one.”
“Lawyers scare too easy. It’s barely sporting.”
Franco chuckled, and they watched the next carriage pull up. The driver got down with the footstool, and the door to the carriage was opened for another young man with spectacles, plainly intimidated by Roberto’s men.
Roberto walked over to him. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re a lawyer.”
“I am. And the auction?”
“Is canceled for the rest of your life.”
“I completely understand. Sorry.” The lawyer popped back into the carriage. The driver grabbed the footstool, hurried back to his seat, and they left.
Franco looked over to see another carriage heading for the villa, and his blood began to race. “That’s Baron Zito’s coach.”
Roberto looked over, surprised. “He can still bid? Does he havethatmuch money?”
“I didn’t think so, but it’s not going to matter.” Franco clenched his teeth as Baron Zito’s carriage pulled up. He didn’t know the driver and took the footstool from him. “You won’t need this, friend. Nobody’s getting out.”
A young man popped his head through the carriage window. “Excuse me, what’s going on?”
“Leave. There’s no auction today.”
“Are you sure? I’m a lawyer and I’ve been sent to bid.”
