Forgive my daughter’s outspokenness, Jacob said.

Gabriella was too impassioned to desist. You Christians will forever hold the Jews responsible for the death of your Messiah. I wish only that you would acknowledge Gesù Cristo was one of us himself.

That is enough, daughter.

Fear clouded Gabriella’s pale eyes. Doctor Pasqua, the neighbors, they were accusing Father of somehow being responsible for the spread of this pestilence, she said. One of them even suggested that he might have poisoned the well.

They are terrified, Jacob said. They are desperate for an explanation for something that is beyond explanation.

They look for a scapegoat, Father.

Maybe it is best if you depart Genova for a while? I suggested.

Jacob shook his head. They may accost us, yes. They may even strike us in frustration. However, I know these neighbors to be decent people. They will not do worse. And it shall pass. It always does.

I could see that Jacob had made up his mind, so I said nothing more.

However, as I record this now, I think again of those doomed residents who were effectively buried alive by order of the council at the mere suggestion of the pestilence spreading from within their homes. No, my learned colleague is wrong in his belief. Dangerously so. They will do worse. And this shall not pass.

Chapter

Eighteen

Alana braces herself as she steps into Byron’s temporary office inside City Hall. It’s as messy as she expected, with boxes piled haphazardly, paper strewn across his desk, and a jacket crumpled on the floor behind his chair.

“Let me understand this, Alana,” Byron says pleasantly, as he leans back in his chair. “NATO is now running an investigation parallel to ours?”

“No. Emilio—the young construction worker I texted you about—contacted me. I had no idea what it was about until I met him.”

His grin only widens. “Of course. Could have been about anything, right? Traffic congestion in Genoa, global warming, the isolating effect of social media on millennials . . .”

She feels her cheeks heating. “He wanted to meet urgently.”

“And you decided you didn’t need to include me?”

“I’m qualified to handle it. And, besides, I don’t work for the WHO anymore. My capacity in this investigation is now official. And separate from yours.”

“Alana, I have been up-front with you from the outset. I’ve included you—when I didn’t have to—in every development. I haven’t hidden a thing.”

Byron’s unrelenting smile tells Alana just how pissed off he is. She squirms inside. It reminds her how her dad, who was an amazingly soft-spoken man for an army surgeon, used to react when he was most disappointed in her. Once, after she had caved in the side of his car on an unlicensed joyride, he didn’t say a word to her for a week, offering her only grim smiles instead. It was worse than the grounding and all her mother’s yelling.

“You’re right.” She clears her throat. “I should’ve called you, Byron. I’m sorry.”