Eliana followed his gaze. Maurizio stood in the corner of the room, in the shadows. For a moment they stared at each other. He didn’t look terrible anymore. He looked small and impotent, whereas she was filled with strength—the innate ferocity of a mother guarding her young. He could no longer threaten her. He would have to kill her to take Alessio away from her again.

Manuela noticed their exchange and left the room.

Maurizio cleared his throat. “He has cried for you ever since I took him. He had an attack almost immediately. A small one. He has had several. Last night the inhaler didn’t help. We brought him here.” He paused; then his voice became frail and laced with emotion. “We thought he was going to die.”

Eliana saw that he was trembling. Other than the afternoon of the Vendemmia feast, in which he had only marginally been involved, he had been present only once during an attack, and then he had panicked while Eliana ministered to Alessio. She remembered it clearly because she was surprised at how distressed it had left him. Even then, that seizure was mild compared to most others—nothing compared to this attack. Eliana turned away from him, nuzzling back up against her son.

“He’s not really my son, is he, Eliana?”

Maurizio’s question enraged her. She turned back, her eyes fierce. “Of course he’s your son. How dare you say that in front of—”

Maurizio held up a hand to stop her, then said calmly, “That’s not what I meant.” He swallowed. “He doesn’t call me father.” Then he said softer, “He hates me.”

Eliana suddenly understood why Maurizio had called for her. Maurizio was more than frightened at the prospect of losing his son; he had come to the realization that he already had. She suddenly felt pity for him.

“Being a father takes time. He never sees you. Even when you’re home, you’re not really there. You’re not a part of his life.”

Maurizio looked down for a long time, nervously rolling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. The room was quiet except for the strained wheeze of Alessio’s breathing.

“I almost killed my own son.” Maurizio was silent again. The time stretched into what seemed minutes. Then he spoke without looking at her. “You may go, Eliana. You may take Alessio back to America with you.”

She looked at him in disbelief. He did not look at her. “Mi dispiace per tutto.” I am sorry about everything. “I am so sorry I hit you.” His eyes were wet. She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, something miraculous had happened. Eliana saw the man she had fallen in love with. She looked at him softly.

“I’m sorry for what I have done,” she said. “It wasn’t to hurt you. I was only lonely.”

“I know.”