Andrea drove Anna to Parco Principi Station, smothering her with kisses until she boarded the train, which carried her from Genoa through Pisa then into Florence’s Campo di Marte. She arrived at Rendola just a few minutes past midnight. She let herself into Eliana’s apartment, turned on the foyer light and called for Eliana. She saw the spattered blood on the tile floor and gasped. She hurried upstairs to Eliana’s bedroom. Eliana lay on the bed. A towel was draped over her head.

“My poor baby,” she said, rushing into the room. She knelt by the side of the bed and kissed her then lay close against her. “What did he do to you?”

“Anna. Will you call Manuela’s house and see if Alessio’s there? Vittorio wouldn’t tell me.”

“Of course, dear.”

Anna went downstairs and called Vittorio. It was a moment before he could understand the angry woman on the other end of the phone. Again he refused to divulge Manuela’s whereabouts. Anna lit into him, rattling off a string of Italian curses like strafe from a machine gun. “Don’t bother to show your putrid face at Rendola again!” she screamed. “You are off the payroll. I’ll burn in hell before I pay you another lire.”

She slammed the phone down hard enough to crack the cradle. Then she went back upstairs to the bedroom, where she became gentle again.

“Did he say where?”

“No. The baboon.”

She sat down next to Eliana on the bed and began rubbing her neck, working her hands up to her head and temples. “Alessio will be okay. Manuela will take care of him until Maurizio comes to his senses.”

“What have I done, Anna?”

Anna touched her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t think about it. Not now, baby. Just go to sleep.”

Anna lay next to her all night. The next morning she left Eliana in bed asleep, the room still dim, with its shutters closed against the morning sun. She heard someone outside and her ire rose as she prepared to meet Maurizio, but it was only Luca crossing through the courtyard. Anna made herself coffee then checked on Eliana. She was still asleep. The phone rang around eleven. Anna answered it.

“Pronto.”

“Chi parla?” Who speaks? a male voice asked.

“This is Anna. Who is this?”

“Excuse me, Anna, I didn’t recognize your voice. This is Ross. Is Eliana there?”

“She is here, Ross, but she cannot speak. She is not well.”

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitated. “Ross, things have happened. Bad things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Eliana should speak of these things, not me.”

“Should I come to Rendola?”

“No. You must not. She will call you when she is ready.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing but pray. I’ll have her call you.”

She hung up. She didn’t tell Eliana about the call. She needed her rest.

It was two days before Maurizio returned. Eliana had only left her bed twice during that time, once when Anna had coaxed her out for a dinner of soup and another time for a hot bath. Eliana was in bed when he came and the fighting began, Anna screaming at the top of her lungs and Maurizio uncharacteristically reciprocating, the voices combining into a tangle of Italian that became as incomprehensible as thunder. The storm grew and climbed the stairs to her darkened room. There was a scuffle outside the door; then it was suddenly flung open. Maurizio stepped inside.