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Gaetano sighed, anguished. “If they don’t give us justice, then we look to God. He’ll judge Baron Zito. You have to have faith, and hope. Hope isn’t a feeling, it’s an act.”
“That’s how you live your life. It’s not how I live mine.”
“I’m only trying to guide you, like a father.”
“I’m not your son, I’mhis.”
Lucia frowned under her dark spectacles. “Dante, I agree with Gaetano, and I want to go, too.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“You’re being too hotheaded. We have a future together, and I don’t want to see you ruin it for the past.” Lucia’s beautiful mouth flattened, and Dante wondered if he would ever kiss her again.
“I can’t go forward until I know who I am, who my family is. This is my battle, not yours or Gaetano’s.”
“But I love you.”
“I love you, too. But I have to go alone. If you love me, stay here, both of you.” Dante kicked his horse and rode off.
“Dante, no!” Lucia called back, but her cry was lost in the wind.
Only later did Lucia discoverthat her best knife was missing.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Villa Zito was the largest property Dante had ever seen, but it had been left to ruin. He cantered up a long driveway flanked by overgrown prickly pear and flowering bushes. He approached the grand villa, its amber stones aglow in the late-day sun, but its façade crumbled in patches and shutters hung awry. Its balcony faced the sea, affording a breathtaking view, but exterior curtains meant to break the wind had tattered like flayed skin.
Dante reached the arched entrance, entered the courtyard, and dismounted, looking around. All of the shutters were closed, and bougainvillea and ivy overgrew many, sealing them permanently. The pebbles were unraked, and a fountain of four verdigris fish had gone dry. There were no people around, and the house seemed deserted.
“Baron Zito!” Dante shouted, his voice echoing. “Baron Zito!”
A moment later, a gray-haired servant came scurrying from a side door, blinking in the sun. “Signore, good afternoon. How may I be of service?”
“I’m here to see Baron Zito.”
“And your name?”
“He knows me.”
“May I tell him what this concerns?”
“No. He’ll want to see me, I assure you.”
“Oh dear.” The servant bit his lip. “He doesn’t take visitors. I’m not sure I can—”
“Tell him it’s about a kidnapping.”
“Oh my!” The servant jumped, scurried away, and vanished inside the door.
Dante followed the servant throughthe immense villa, past old room after old room filled with dirty rugs, dusty damask on the walls, empty glass cabinets, and bookshelves without books. The furniture was covered with muslin, and most of it was missing, leaving chairs facing nonexistent tables. Here and there hung family portraits in gilded frames, which left Dante wondering if they werehisblood relations.
He followed the servant upstairs to the most private quarters. It was dim because the curtains were closed, and he spotted a mouse scooting from underneath its thick brocade.
Brocade.
Dante remembered his mother had taught him that word, and rage burned in his chest, at how cruel Baron Zito had been to her. He patted his pocket, reassuring himself Lucia’s knife was there.
“This way.” The servant held open a door, admitting Dante, and the sight took him aback.
