Part 3 (2/2)

The call came at nine. It was the same voice, the same man.

Capito, signora. You squealed.

I didn't. Really. But her voice had the frantic ring of untruth. But I had to get more money. We couldn't get enough.

You'll never get enough. Even if you didn't tell the cops, they'll know now. They'll come snooping around. Someone will tell them if you don't.

But no one else knows.

Bulls.h.i.+t. How dumb do you think we are? Listen, you want to say good-bye to your old man?

No, please ' wait ' I have money for you. A million' . But he wasn't listening, and Amadeo was already on the phone.

Isabelleza' darling' everything's all right.

Everything's all right? Was he crazy? But she didn't care if he was. He had never sounded so good to her, and her heart had never turned over, then soared as it did now. He was still there, somewhere; they hadn't hurt him. May be everything would be all right. As long as Amadeo was still there, somewhere, anywhere, it was all right.

You've been a very brave girl, darling. How's Allessandro? Does he know?

Of course not. And he's fine.

Good. Kiss him for me. She thought she heard his voice tremble then and she shut her eyes tightly. She couldn't cry. Not now. She had to be as brave as he thought she was. Had to be. For him. I want you ' always ' to know how much I love you, he was saying. How perfect you are. What a good wife. You've never given me a single unhappy day, darling. Not one. She was openly crying now and fighting back the sobs that clutched at her throat.

Amadeo, darling, I love you. So much. Please ' come home.

I will, darling. I will. I promise you. And I'm right there with you now. Just be brave for a little while longer.

You too, my beloved. You too. With that the connection was silently severed.

The police found him in the morning near a warehouse in a suburb of Rome, strangled and still very beautiful, and very dead.

Chapter FOUR.

Police cars surrounded the limousine as Enzo guided it slowly into the heart of Rome. She had chosen a church near the House of San Gregorio, not far from the Piazza di Spagna. Santo Stefano. They had gone there when they were first courting and wanted to stop somewhere to rest for a moment after their long walks during lunch. It was ancient and simple and pretty and seemed more appropriate to her than the more elaborate cathedrals of Rome.

Bernardo sat beside her in the car as she stared unseeingly forward, looking only at the back of Enzo's head. Was it he? Was it someone else? Who were the betrayers? It didn't matter now. Amadeo was gone. Taking with him the warmth and the laughter, the love and the dreams. Gone. Forever. She was still in shock.

It had been two days since her visit to Alfredo Paccioli, when she had gone clutching her scarf filled with jewels. Two days. She felt leaden, as though she also had died.

Isabella ' bella mia. Bernardo was gently touching her arm. Silently he took her hand. There was so little he could do. He had wept for an hour when the police called him with the news. And again when Alessandro had flown into his arms.

They killed my Daddy' they' they' .

The child had sobbed as Isabella stood by, letting him find what solace he could from a man. He would have no man now, no father, no Amadeo. He had looked at his mother with such terror in his dark, unhappy eyes. Will they ever take you? No, she had answered. No, never. As she held him so tightly in her arms. And they will never take you either, tes+

ro. You are mine.

It had been more than Bernardo could bear as he watched them and now this. Isabella, frozen and icelike in black coat and hat and stockings and a thick black veil. It only enhanced her beauty, only made her seem more, rather than less. He had brought her back all the jewelry without saying a word. Today she was wearing only her wedding ring and the large anniversary solitaire she had gotten only a few months before. Was that all? Was it only five days since they had last seen him? Would he truly never return? Bernardo had felt like a five-year-old child himself as he had looked down on the face of Amadeo di San Gregorio, so still and peaceful in death. He looked more than ever like the statues, the paintings, the young graceful boys of long-ago Rome. And now he was gone.

Bernardo helped her quietly from the car and held her arm tightly as they stepped inside. Police and guards at every entrance, and armies of mourners seated inside.

The funeral was brief and unbearably painful. Isabella sat silently next to him, tears rolling relentlessly down her face beneath the black veil. Employees and friends and relatives were sobbing openly. Even the gargoyle was there, with her gold and ebony cane.

It seemed years before they returned to the house. Contrary to tradition, Isabella had let it be known that she would see no one at home. No one. She wanted to be left alone. Who knew which of them had betrayed him? But Bernardo knew now that it was unlikely to be someone of their acquaintance. Even the police had no clue. They a.s.sumed, probably correctly, that it had been lucky amateurs, greedy for a piece of the San Gregorio wealth. There were no fingerprints, no bits of evidence, no witnesses, there had been no more calls. And there wouldn't be, the police were sure of it. Except from the hundreds, maybe thousands, of cranks who would start their macabre games. The police manned her telephone now, waiting for the onslaught of minor madmen who took pleasure in haunting and taunting and teasing, confessing, and threatening, or breathing obscenities into the phone. They had told Isabella what she could expect. Bernardo cringed at the thought of it; she had been through enough.

Where's Alessandro? Bernardo sipped a cup of coffee after the funeral, thinking how unbearably empty the house suddenly seemed and ashamed to find himself grateful that if it had to be someone, it had been Amadeo and not the child. Isabella wouldn't have been able to make that choice. But to Bernardo it was clear. As it would have been to Amadeo. He would have gladly sacrificed himself to spare his only child.

He's in his room with the nurse. Do you want to see him? Isabella looked at him lifelessly over her cup.

I can wait. I wanted to talk to you about something anyway.

What? She wasn't easy to talk to these days, and she wouldn't let the doctor give her anything to help. Bernardo guessed accurately that she hadn't really slept in almost a week.

I think you need to get away.

Don't be absurd. She set her cup down viciously and stared at him. I'm fine.

You look it. He stared back at her, and for a moment she gave in to the flicker of a smile. It was the first taste of the old tension between them in a week. It felt comfortable and familiar.

All right, I'm tired. But I'll be fine.

Not if you stay here.

You're wrong. This is where I need to be. Near his things, his home ' near ' him. '

Why don't you take a trip to the States?

Why don't you mind your own business? She sat back in her chair with a sigh, I'm not going, Bernardo. Don't push me.

You heard what the police said. Cranks will be calling, bugging you. Already now the press won't leave you alone. Is this how you want to live? What you want for Alessandro? You can't even send him back to school.

Eventually he can go back to school.

Then go away until then. A month. A few months. What is there to stay here for?

Everything. She looked at him very deliberately as she slowly pulled off her hat and took the veil from her eyes. There was something frightening and determined about the way she looked at him now.

What does that mean?

It means I'm coming back to work on Monday. Part time, but every day. Nine to one, nine to two. Whatever it takes.

Are you joking?

Not at all.

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