still lay sleeping on the bed. Nina stared at her limp, bedraggled hair, at the shadows under her eyes, and could hardly recognize the woman she saw. Even when she was pregnant, she had looked more like herself. Now she was a battered ghost. Fitting, considering she was having a hard time figuring out what to live for.
She trudged into her closet to find some clothes that weren’t grubby loungewear, but stopped when her eyes fell on the shoebox shoved on a shelf in the far corner. She stood up on her tiptoes to pull it down, then sank to the floor of the closet and began sifting through the dozens of love letters Giuseppe had passed her over the months of their affair. Letters full of praise, adoration, love. Emotions she’d never received from anyone before him—not friends, not family. No one.
When she had read through them all and shed more than a few tears, she was surrounded by crumpled pieces of cardstock, but the horrific weight in her chest had lifted slightly. Maybe there was one person in the world who would care enough to help in this dire situation. Maybe there was one last refuge to seek.
She padded out of the closet and checked the clock on her nightstand. It would be only one o’clock in Florence now. Giuseppe would be coming home for lunch before teaching an evening class with the summer term students. She could see him now, sitting on the balcony of his apartment, enjoying a panino, perhaps, or a bowl of leftover pasta reheated with a splash of cream and ribbons of fresh basil, followed by an espresso.
Without thinking twice, she grabbed her cell phone from the vanity and sank into the seat as she dialed the number she had memorized long ago. The call went to an automated Italian message indicating the box was full. Nina drew up her contacts and found the number he had told her never to use unless it was a true emergency.
She believed this qualified.
“Pronto.” The female voice that answered sounded old, tired. A little bit clogged, like a sink.
The housekeeper, Nina guessed. Or perhaps his mother, whom she knew lived with him and his family.
“Excuse me,” Nina said in her awkward Italian. “Is Professor Bianchi available? I’m…” She paused for a moment, searching for a reason she might be calling. “I’m from the university. We need—”
“Lord, you people can’t stop!” the woman interjected. “My poor son has been dead two days, and all you can think about is clearing his office!” The woman’s voice descended into a babble of tears and coarse language.
Nina, however, couldn’t concentrate long enough to decipher any of it. The only word that lingered rang like a bell inside her head.
Morto.
Dead.
Giuseppe was…dead?
“Scusi, scusi, signora,” she finally managed in a voice that sounded as hollow as she felt. “I am so sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know. Please give my condolences to the family.”
She hung up before the woman could reply, then sank to the blush-colored carpet, hugging her knees to her chest, and suddenly rocking back and forth like a child in the middle of her room.
Peppe was dead. Dead. How could this have happened?
How do you think, princess? This time it was Calvin’s sneer that filled her mind.
She took her phone and frantically punched in a search. A death notice appeared immediately—Giuseppe was a respected member of the art intelligentsia in Florence. His death would have been reported immediately, and it was.
Heart failure, said the papers. Suddenly in his home. Services to be announced.
She stared at the words, feeling somehow they too weren’t real. Peppe ran three miles every day. His health was better than most people her age, let alone a man in his early forties. And yet, he was dead…
What did you really think was going to happen, princess?
Again, Penny’s tragic death passed through her mind.
No. It couldn’t have been.
And yet…Grandmother had known about Peppe. She had made that clear at Christmas, hadn’t she? And then there was the way her eyes had drifted over the Italian feast Nina had requested. The veiled disappointment when she glanced at Olivia.
It wouldn’t have taken much for her to learn that Nina was planning to visit Florence. Just like it wouldn’t have taken much for her to do the unthinkable…again.
Fear skittered up Nina’s arms and legs in a way it hadn’t in days. Her bones felt heavy, as if the knowledge of her family’s cold-blooded tendencies, along with her husband’s, were sinking into