Page 81 of Promised to the Don of Naples
He had read it and gone on anyway.
I put the letter in the inside pocket of my coat. Next to the other two—Francesca's, and Bianca's.
Three letters against my chest now.
I put the padlock back on the box, set the box inside the bag with the documents, and the plaster back in the hole. Then I hung Saint Sebastian back on the wall.
I went down the stairs with the bag in my hand and the calm of someone who has just discovered, once and for all, that there was no longer a man called my father in the world.
Tonio looked up when he saw me come out of the house.
"Signorina?"
"We're going back to Posillipo."
"Are you all right?"
"I am."
I got in the car. Five hours to Posillipo if traffic cooperated.
And in five hours, I would lay my head in Luca Moretti's lap, and he would read my mother's letter.
And then, together, we would decide what to do about Salvatore Rossi.
CHAPTER 25
"A dead mother's letter weighs more than a thousand letters from living men."
VALENTINA ROSSI
I got to Posillipo at seven forty-five in the evening.
The sky was purple. The lights of the house were already on. Tonio went through the gate without slowing, crossed the drive, and stopped at the main staircase. The double doors opened before I got out of the car.
Luca was already on the steps.
He didn't come down, just waited.
I climbed the stairs slowly—the cloth bag in one hand, my coat over the other arm, my hair undone from the trip, no makeup at all. I stopped one step below him.
"You came back."
"I came back."
He looked at me, and then he held out his hand.
Not for the bag. For my hand.
I put mine in his, and we went into the house together without another word.
We went up to his study.
He shut the door, sat down in the big leather armchair in the corner, and pulled me down to sit with him—in his lap, sideways, my legs draped over his right leg and my head against his good shoulder.
He kissed the top of my head.
"Bella mia. Tell me."
