The Italian Lesson [Installment 7]

I watched Danilo retreat through the archway. When I was sure he was gone, I sat heavily on the nearest bench. So, now I knew—Danilo didn’t just hold a grudge against me, he suspected me of something. Worse, he seemed poised to do something about it. But what? Why? And how could I find out?

Right now, though, the bigger question for me was whether I was I going to let him derail my plans.

I suddenly felt chilled. The wind picked up and more clouds had gathered promising a snow squall. The slowly rolling meadows fell away towards the distant hills, now obscured by the gloom; an occasional stand of cypress trees rising darkly in the fading afternoon light. Not another person was in sight, and it felt as though all of the inhabitants of Calabresi and the surrounding towns had retreated within their fortifications, determined to stay there until the weather regained its equilibrium.

I was relieved to be alone—I needed to think. But first, I needed to make a call.

I reached into my pocket for the phone I used for one purpose, flipped it open, and dialed the only number I knew by heart. I waited for the call to go to voice mail, and said, “Maria, it’s me. We need to talk. Now.”