That was how the lawyer expressed it, proceeding then in likewise manner—in similar language—to assure me that there was nothing to worry about with regard to my returning to Rome: that, in fact, there had been several developments of late that made any hesitation on my part unwarranted. Indeed, he insisted, my return to Italy and attendance at the memorial would be welcome: the powers that be had been sobered by Paolo’s sudden death—especially his former allies, who felt remorse over their aggressive posturing, fearing it had caused strain on his heart and a premature expiration. Meanwhile, on the other side, among those who had despised Senator Orsini, there was little profit in going after me, his widow, since there had been slim evidence to suggest my involvement in the alleged murders, and it was clearer yet I had no connection whatsoever with the broader criminal issues haunting Uzio Station. Furthermore, there were people in the government, not to mention the prime minister himself, who wanted to see a proper burial for Paolo Orsini of Rome, whose parental heritage, or so it was believed, went back to the sucklings at the city’s gates on one side of the family, while on the other side could be found ancestors to the Huns, who had reinvigorated the Roman blood. His family had served in the days of the Renaissance alongside the Colonna family, in defense of the Vatican, and had stood ground in the catacombs against the Nazis (or alongside them—Ferragamo’s choice of words was such that it was hard for me to tell), but regardless, the attorney concluded, it would be neither wise nor prudent for even the most vociferous of enemies to continue the harassment and persecution of Paolo Orsini’s widow, especially as she had been generous to the extreme, forsaking the majority of her fortune in order to make amends with Isabella’s heirs.  At no point did Ferragamo make any insinuation that either I or Johnny might be suspected in Orsini’s demise. No doubt there was such talk—or would be soon, in the tabloids or elsewhere—but he did not repeat it.

“And my brother?”

“If he comes, if he submits  . . . it will go easier for him. On the corruption charges.”

“How much easier?”

“I can’t make any guarantees.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to persuade him.”

“Then he’ll be extradited. And punished more severely. You should make this clear to him. Consider, too, the consequences for yourself.”

“What?”

Johnny wasn’t pleased. I’d waited until evening to tell him. We were in the living room overlooking the sea. The sky still held a trace of red, but it was darkening fast. The sun was already gone, collapsed under the horizon.

Johnny didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.