Page 27 of Secrets of the Brother
He continued. “In the meantime, I think it is safe to assume it was the third man. Judging by the information we have collected so far, we know he is an enforcer for the Agnellos, and he is someone local. That means he has influence and insider knowledge.”
I looked at my father. “The coroner’s report.”
“Exactly. He’s covering his tracks. He wants you charged for Renata’s murder. He knows you’re vulnerable to an accusation. He must assume that we would be so busy defending you, we’d stop looking for him.”
“In the meantime, he’ll continue covering his tracks, which may include the rest of Renata’s family. I need to get Bianca out of the country. Now. Today.”
Aunt Gabriella patted the top of my hand with her long, elegant fingers heavily weighed down with thick gold rings. “You don’t think she’ll go willingly? I mean, I know you were probably hoping she’d stay, but she’s started to build a life for herself in New York.”
I averted my gaze. “What I want is immaterial. I think Bianca would leave, it’s her parents I’m worried about. The guards who mingled among the crowd picked up some disturbing talk. It seems they may try and keep Bianca here.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “They didn’t learn why.”
My father grimaced. “You can be sure whatever the reason, money is involved.”
My eyes narrowed. “And possibly the Agnellos.”
Cesare rubbed his hands together. “So kidnapping it is! What’s the plan?”
Footsteps from the direction of the doorway broke into our conversation.
Vito held up his palms. “Sorry to interrupt, Don Cavalieri.”
He nodded toward me. “Enzo, one of the guards from last night just came to the villa gate. He thought you’d want to know Bianca Moretti is in town. She’s asking a lot of… as he put it…awkward questions.”
I shot out of my chair and stormed toward the door. “Goddammit!”
My father called out to me, “Do you need some help?”
I shouted over my shoulder, “No, I can handle Bianca on my own.”
Moments later I was on my motorcycle roaring toward the piazza.
CHAPTER8
BIANCA
Iwatched the old woman with the bright kerchief knotted tightly under her chin pick up a sharp knife and place it on top of the wheel of Pecorino Romano cheese.
She looked up at me expectantly.
I pinched my fingers. “Un po' di più.”
She moved the knife.
I clapped my hands. “Perfetta.”
She cut a thick wedge and gingerly wrapped the cheese in wax paper.
I shifted the fresh tonnarelli pasta I just purchased one stall over to make room for my cheese purchase in my basket. I knew better than to bring a purse to market day.
Tourist season may be over, but that didn’t mean there still weren’t pickpockets and thieves working the crowd.
All I had with me was a simple woven basket and a handful of euro for my food supply shopping.
One surprising thing about living alone in New York was I had learned to cook over these last few months. Growing up in a house filled with servants and a mother who thought talking down to the help was a sign of good breeding, I had rarely been allowed inside the kitchen.
