of our marriage. I wish I could spare you, but one cannot be discussed without the other.”
“Alessandro, what has happened to you?” I blurted out, suddenly certain that something very bad had taken place in his past.
“It started with this,” he said, and finally revealed the mysterious object in his lap.
It was a copy of an old Italian newspaper. Alessandro handed it to me and I scanned the front page. The first thing I noticed was the date. It stated the paper was printed on the 28th September almost twenty three years ago. The second thing that caught my attention was the picture on the cover. I exhaled in surprise because I recognized it. It was the same picture that hung above the fireplace in that room filled with mysterious objects. And Alessandro was right. The news wasn't pretty. It was the most horrific headline I had ever seen.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The Present
“Alessandro...” I gave him a startled look.
“Read it,” he instructed, stroking his jaw with a faraway gaze.
Hands shaking, I turned the pages until I found the article about the massacred family Lombardi from the small village of Sanluccio. Lombardi? The name didn't ring a bell, but I was certain those were the same people in that picture. They resembled a normal average family. The father was a local teacher and the mother a housewife. Every single member of the family was bludgeoned to death. The only survivor was a seven-year-old boy. A flashback of the moment Alessandro told me he'd moved to the US when he was eight appeared before my eyes and I shuddered.
I peered at him through a blur of tears. “You were that little boy, Alessandro, weren't you?”
He nodded and expelled a breath. “I was just a kid when it happened. They barged into our house in the middle of the night and killed everyone in their sleep. I heard the commotion and hid in the small chest in my closet. Police found me there the next day. By then, everyone had been murdered and I was caught in severe shock. It took me about a month to start speaking again.”
Nausea churned in my stomach and I swallowed. “You were traumatized,” I said softly, covering my mouth with a trembling hand.
“I was lost,” he muttered, his unblinking gaze in some horrible, distant past. “It took me a while to accept they were all gone. Those bastards didn't even consider sparing my little sister. She was only two years old.”
Heavy pressure settled on my chest. I consequently remembered May. The thought of losing her to such senseless violence filled me with apprehension. I empathized with Alessandro's pain. Despite everything, my heart went out to him. “I'm so sorry this has happened to you, Alessandro,” I said sincerely, brushing away a lone tear that hovered on my chin. “Nobody deserves to die like that, least of all a child.”
Alessandro smiled sadly and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She used to call me Sando, and she followed me everywhere I went. Even at that young age, I was very protective of her. Mama always said she was our little angel.”
“What was her name?” I asked, fighting not to break down sobbing.
He grit his teeth in a painful-looking grin. “Marcella,” he whispered in a constricted voice. “Marcella Lombardi.”
“Marcella...” I breathed, remembering the letters that stretched across the front wall of the house. “You named this villa after your little sister.”
“Gianni thought it would bring me some peace,” Alessandro revealed, more tears glistening in his eyes.
“He was a local you talked about when we arrived to Sanluccio.” I made the connection. “The deceased owner of that restaurant?”
“Si,” Alessandro confirmed. “It was his idea to build this house. He thought it would help me move on. The guilt was eating me alive for years after it happened. I had listened to Marcella’s frightened cries and did nothing to help. I let them kill her.”
“Alessandro, you were just a little boy,” I reassured him. “There was nothing you could do. If you interfered, they would have killed you too.”
His expression sank. “There were times when I wished I had shared their fate. Death would have been a better option than living with the memories of their slaughter.”
“Did they find the attackers?” I inquired, treading with caution. “Was your father...”
“Was my father what?” Alessandro raised his eyebrows. “Involved in the business?”
“Yes,” I said meekly. My cheeks heated and I averted my gaze to my lap.
“No, tesoro,” he asserted in a light voice. “Both of