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“Onward and offward, Princess?”
Federico’s ship docked in Genoa for a few days. He beamed as he shouted and ran to hug me the moment I stepped aboard. I stayed in his suite. It’s pretty tiny, but he seems to like it. In the evenings, I caught a couple of his sets.
He’s brilliant at what he does; he really is made for DJing. But the crowd on board were definitely not my crowd. I tried to dance, but I couldn’t lose myself in it. Late, after his sets were over and we had spent too long at the bar, we walked on deck in the moonlight.
Federico tried to persuade me to stay on with him and at least take the next leg of the cruise. He said a serious dose of Mediterranean sun would be bound to start curing my mood.
I was excited to see Federico and to see how well he was doing, and the time we spent was beautiful, but I kept talking about how powerful Alessio is, and how I missed big Bruno.
When I found myself telling Federico that losing Carlo may be the worst thing that ever happened to me, I decided that was too much. Whatever else, I was being a miserable guest and pissing on his party. He was better off without me. The ship was sailing the next day, and when he pleaded with me to stay on to Marseilles, I thanked him but told him no.
“I’m feeling excluded and isolated enough on my own. I don’t want to do it surrounded by people.”
Federico looked hurt and said, “It’s not only ‘people.’ You can just stay in the cabin, walk on deck, swim in the pools. I think you could do with someone to talk to.”
I told him that we would have a better time, but it would have to be another time. My state of mind made me bad company. It was a wrench for both of us, but I think deep, deep down, he may have been a little relieved.
About what I needed, he was right, and he was wrong. He did set me thinking, though. I knew what I wanted, but I couldn’t have any of that so, more than anything, I needed my own space.
None of my calls ever connected to Carlo, or to Bruno, or Alessio. Not even their voicemails responded. I just got ‘unobtainable’ messages.
When Federico’s ship sailed, I rented a convertible and drove slowly with the sun on my side, down the beautiful green and red clay and pale sand of the Ligurian coast. I stayed a week in a gorgeous terracotta B&B in the middle of a town that looked like a Renaissance watercolor painting.
The B&B, they called it a pensione, was owned and run by an older gentleman with the manners of an old-world aristocrat. He told me to call him Salvo, and his eyes twinkled whenever I did. Even though there were signs in the breakfast and dining rooms about the strict meal times, every time he saw me, he sat me by a window, then brought out a delicious soup, or a bowl of irresistible pasta, then salad, and always finished with a small but sinful dessert, just for me.
He knew that I wasn’t taking care of myself. It crossed my mind that I could have a perfectly excellent life if I just never left, and I let him take care of me. I’m pretty sure that would have suited Salvo just fine.
Baked in the perfect sun, stroked by the soft breezes from the azure and turquoise sea, I couldn’t appreciate any of it. I was dark, cold and empty inside. I knew what I needed to do, but just putting one foot in front of the other and keeping myself fed was as much as I could manage.
What went wrong? How can I have gotten so close to everything I ever dreamed of, and even my darkest, most secret desires, only to see it all burst into flames and go down in no time at all?
I couldn’t decide whether Jago had sabotaged everything, dripping poison into the don’s mind, to have him spread it out into Bruno and Alessio. Who knows, could he could even have got to Carlo, too?
Or maybe I just sabotaged myself. I do that pretty regularly. Too afraid they would somehow find out the truth about the Crespis, perhaps I just pulled at every loose thread I could find until it all unravelled.
There was definitely something about the raid, though, the kidnapping attempt, or whatever it was on Adrianna Bagniola. The more I turned it over, the clearer I got. I knew what I needed, and what I wanted. I just wasn’t sure how I was going to get it.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Finally, I had rested, and Salvo had fed and tended me enough that I was strong enough to drive on to Rome. I stayed a few days. Saw the Colosseum, threw coins in the fountain and ate wonderful dinners in tiny little trattorias. And I made some calls.
I called Mikey and he got me some contacts. Then I went to the harbor and found a fisherman who was eager to make a deal, and I sailed for the island of Ischia.
The wealthy little seaside town of St. Angelo perches in steps on a steep slope, down to the golden coast. With a stunning view of the clear, glassy sea, I found the perfect cafe by the harbor, serving the perfect coffee.
A tall, elegant lady sits alone on the terrace, perfectly framed against the waves and the sand mount in the bay.
The moment she hears my voice, she rouses and slowly turns.
“Darling! Are you American? All we get here is Germans and the occasional snotty Brit. Nobody speaks my language. You must come and join me.”
Her strong features and quick eyes, the way she commands the staff in the cafe and all the space around her, I think she’s the perfect model of how a woman should be. When I grow up, I want to be her. I want to look as hot as she does at her age, too.
She tells me she comes at the same time every morning for coffee, “but it’s so nice to see a fresh face. And such a lovely young face, too.”
After she congratulates me on the hotel I’ve chosen and she starts straight in to telling me all about the island, but then she says, “I can’t stay too long this morning, I want to book for the opera tonight and it will take some serious schmoozing. I know I should have booked well in advance, but where would be the fun in that?”
She sips her cappuccino and nibbles on a biscotti. “You have some Italian heritage, don’t you, darling? I can see it in your eyes. Do you love opera? Surely, you must. Darling, it’s wonderful. Tonight it’s Tosca. It’s all about love and betrayal and dreams, and how if you love someone, you’ll do anything for them. Anything. It’s huge and drenched in passion, it all ends tragically, and everybody dies. Darling, you’ll love it. It’s what life’s all about. You must come.” I don’t see how I could refuse. Especially when she says. “Let me be the one to take your opera virginity.”
