“I don’t know.”

His eyes narrowed in distrust.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

He leaned toward her, his face only six inches from hers. “When he returns you will not see him. You will not speak to him. Do you understand?”

She was trembling. “Yes.”

He pulled down on the skin below one eye. “I will be watching.” He stood. “Everyone at Rendola will be watching.” He walked from the room. When he was gone, Eliana looked again at the newspaper articles. She wanted them to change. It couldn’t be him. The Ross Story she knew wasn’t capable of this. She looked at the pictures until they made her ill and she could not look at them anymore. She slowly cleared the table. Then she went into the bathroom and threw up. She kneeled in front of the toilet holding her head. It was too much at one time. How could he not have told her?

CHAPTER 26

“Non mettere il tuo cucchiaio nell’altrui zuppa.” Don’t put your spoon in another man’s soup.

—Italian Proverb

Maurizio was alone in the courtyard when Ross entered. It was late at night and the sound of his scooter had alerted Maurizio to his return. Maurizio was leaning against the wall next to his apartment’s doorwell, the smoke from his cigarette rising, curling in the air above him. Ross waved to him.

“Ciao, Maurizio.”

Maurizio only glared at him as he lifted his cigarette again. From his hateful expression Ross deduced that he knew about Eliana and him. He wondered if Eliana, under the pressure of her own guilt, had confessed to him her feelings. The hypocrisy of it angered him. It would be like confessing a speeding ticket to a formula race car driver.

“Did you enjoy the Vendemmia feast, Mr. Story?”

Ross stopped. “Yes.”

He blew a stream of smoke in Ross’s direction. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you the other night. You just slipped away, didn’t you?” His eyes and voice suddenly took on the full weight of his anger. “Just like my wife.”

Ross stood emotionless. Maurizio’s face turned to a scowl.

“I know who you are, Story. I know why you left the U.S.” He took a drag from his cigarette and his expression turned darker. “You have been spending much time with my wife. Troppo, troppo tempo.” He looked at his cigarette, rolled it casually in his fingers. “You want her perhaps. Yes, you do want her. I have been watching you for some time.” He took another short puff on his cigarette then threw the butt on the ground near the others. “You are no longer welcome here. You will leave now. If you try to make trouble I will make more trouble. You are staying illegal in Italy. You have only a tourist visa that is already expired. You have no permesso di soggiorno to be in Florence. I have powerful friends in the questura. If you ever come around here again, I will see that you are thrown out of Italy, if not back in prison.”