“After your husband dumped you, I really thought you’d be more understanding to my plight. I didn’t see you getting sentimental over his new woman. Eliana’s no different, just another adulteress.”

“Il bue dice cornuto all’asino.” The ox calls the donkey cattle.

He stopped at his car. “No, I’m a man.”

“You’re a swine.”

He shook his head in disgust as he unlocked his car.

“How can you do this to Alessio?”

“I’m doing what’s best for my son.”

“Bugiardo! If you cared about what was best for your son, you’d have never brought him into this. You just use him to control Eliana. You don’t love him at all.”

He shook his head, though still smiling.

“I don’t know what is more tragic, brother, that you don’t love your son, or that he doesn’t love you.”

Maurizio flinched.

“Oh yes. If you never came home, Alessio wouldn’t think twice. Your own son doesn’t give a damn about you. Someday you’ll figure it out. I pity you on that day.”

Maurizio didn’t know what to say. He climbed into his car and sped away from Rendola.

Anna ran back inside to check on Eliana. She found Eliana on her feet getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

“Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go. There’s something I must do.”

“Eliana, you can’t go out. You’re not well. This is crazy.”

“It is all crazy, Anna.”

“Then let me drive you.”

“No. I need to do this alone.” She kissed her cheeks. “I will be back soon. I will need you then.”

CHAPTER 35

“All is lost to me now.”

—Ross Story’s diary

Eliana drove slowly up the snaking, tree-lined street to Piazzale Michelangelo. As the hill peaked, the large, oxidized replica of David in the center of the piazza came into view, flanked by myriad tourists. She turned into the square and parked her car on the end of a long row of tourist buses.

The piazza was crowded, was always crowded. It was the one place where the whole view of Florence could be taken in. Visible in the distance were the three towers; Badia, Giotto’s and Bargello which, next to the baptistry, flanked the Duomo. There were other domes, other towers. The Basilica of Santa Croce, Arnolfo’s tower, the belfry of Palazzo Vecchio near the Uffizi, overlooking the Arno, where Eliana had fallen heart and soul for Ross, as if the river had delivered life and love itself, the two intermingled. The river would forever mean something else to her. It would serve to remind her of her incompleteness. The Arno might as well cease to be, or be diverted to a more useful realm as Leonardo and Machiavelli had once schemed.

It had been days since Ross had spoken with Anna, and from that moment on he had waited helplessly for Eliana’s call. When her call did come, she explained nothing to Ross though her voice frightened him. He knew something had gone very wrong.