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
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
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