Murder in an Italian Piazza

Book 3: Bria Bartolucci Mystery

by Michael Falco

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; International Crime & Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

The sea, sunshine, and sleuthing have given Bria Bartolucci a new lease on life since her husband’s passing, and her southern Italian B and B is running as smoothly as her love life. But, just like the Amalfi Coast, some relationships can be rocky—and some can be downright deadly . . .  

After solving a couple of murders, Bria is now known in the village as the “Italian Miss Marple,” which could cause problems in her budding romance with the local police chief. But for now, all of Positano is abuzz with the homecoming of a star now that Carlotta Incantaro, a famous opera diva, is coming out of retirement to make one last public appearance.  

Not all the locals are happy about Carlotta’s return and Bria soon begins to hear stories about the singer’s petty past. She destroyed one woman’s music career and tried to sabotage her rival’s chances in a beauty pageant. With Carlotta staying at her bed-and-breakfast, Bria learns firsthand just how high-maintenance and demanding the woman can be. Even though Carlotta’s loyal pianist tries his best to smooth things over by blaming her nerves on her daughter’s upcoming wedding to a former soccer player, Bria senses something is terribly wrong. 

And once again, Bria’s right. Carlotta’s swan song is just the beginning of the drama—after the performance, a dead body is found in the piazza. Bria is quickly drawn into a tragedy worthy of any opera, uncovering a family’s darkest secrets and deadly passions . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

Springtime in Positano meant that beauty could be found everywhere throughout the village. This year, it also meant that amore was in the air.

After years of witty banter and friendly camaraderie, Enrico and Mimi turned their friendship into a romance. Both in their sixties, both widowed, both local business owners, Enrico Taglieri, the man behind Flowers by Enrico, and Mimi Lanacello, the woman who owned the village’s only bookstore, A Word from Positano, had started dating. The sight of the new couple casually holding hands or Mimi wearing a brightly colored flower in her short, gray hair that everyone knew had been put there by Enrico’s hand made it impossible for even the most cynical not to smile.

On the younger end of the spectrum there was Rosalie and Michele. It had taken them a while to find their footing, but the village’s most colorful boat owner and most recent mechanic had finally found their way into each other’s arms. The jury was out, however, if they had made their way into the village’s heart.

Since Rosalie Vivaldi was a beloved fixture in the community, its members were overly protective. Although Michele Vistig liano had ties to one of Positano’s longtime residents through his zio Paolo, his murky past prevented him from earning the village’s complete trust. While everyone was rooting for the couple, they were not entirely convinced Michele was worthy of being Rosalie’s partner.

There was no question, however, as to how the village felt about Positano’s latest “it” couple—Bria and Luca. The unanimous decision was that theirs was a perfect match. The B and B owner and the chief of police had flirted, bickered, and solved crimes together all the while trying to deny the attraction that was so obvious to everyone else. When they finally gave in to their feelings, their friends and family were so excited that some wanted to turn the event into a national holiday. Neither Bria nor Luca wanted their love to be officially commemorated, they simply wanted to enjoy each other’s company as they embarked on their journey as a couple. A journey that often included other passengers.

“Do we really have to go?” Luca stood near the front door of Bella Bella, his head tilted to one side, his forehead furrowed, his shoulders slumped forward. He more closely resembled a bratty toddler than the forty-one-year-old man he was.

“Uffa!” Bria threw her hands up in the air. “I’ve told you three times already, yes, we really have to go!”

Luca pouted and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. “Dio mio! I think I may be running a slight fever.”

“I don’t care if you have malaria and spread it to everyone in the restaurant! You’re not getting out of this double date!” Bria grabbed her clutch from the dining room table and stomped toward the front door. “Andiamo!”

“Malaria isn’t contagious, by the way.”

With the dexterity of the champion fencer that she was, Bria spun around, slapped Luca in the shoulder with her clutch, kissed him on the lips, turned, and walked out the door.

“Now, andiamo!”

By the time Bria and Luca entered La Cambusa, a trendy restaurant steps from Spiaggia Grande Beach, to meet Rosalie and Michele, their playful lover’s spat was completely forgotten. They were smiling and holding hands as they greeted the maître d’ who led them out to the balcony. But when they saw how miserable Rosalie and Michele looked, their smiles faded.

Sitting in a chair next to Rosalie, Bria feared the worst and instantly thought Michele had done something to break her best friend’s heart. Bria was half-right. Rosalie’s heart was broken, but not because of anything Michele had done. It was thanks to another man.

“Zio Nazario died,” Rosalie announced.

“Oh no!” Luca sat in the chair next to Bria, who didn’t say anything, but placed her hand over his. “When?”

“Last week,” Rosalie replied.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Luca cried.

“I just found out now.” Rosalie held up her cell phone. “We both got a group text a few minutes ago.”

Luca pulled out his phone from the inside pocket of his black linen blazer and quickly read the message. “He died peacefully in his sleep, two months shy of his one hundredth birthday.” He quickly made the sign of the cross and then brought his index finger to his lips so he could kiss it. “Dio lo benedica.”

Bria reached out to clasp Rosalie’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I know you loved him very much.”

“He was our favorite.” Rosalie turned to Michele. “Nazario was my father’s older brother. He didn’t have any children and treated me and Luca like his own.”

“It wasn’t easy for Nazario back then, being gay, even though no one in the family cared,” Luca explained. “Papa was so sad when he moved to Rome.”

“When we found out he was living with Pierre, we were thrilled,” Rosalie added.

“Except Papa,” Luca corrected. “He didn’t care that his brother loved another man, he was furious that he didn’t settle down with an Italian.”

“That sounds like your papa.” Bria laughed.

“They stayed together for decades until Pierre died, but whether he was single or in a relationship Nazario always made time for us,” Luca explained. “He took us on trips, wrote us countless letters and postcards from all the places he visited.”

“Sounds like he was rich,” Michele commented.

“Why would you say that?” Bria asked.

“A single man without children who travels a lot most likely has a lot of money,” Michele surmised. “Like my zio Paolo—well, without the travel.”

Bria nodded her head in agreement despite feeling there was something about the tone of Michele’s voice that she didn’t like. It was crass. Michele sounded as if he was more interested in the man’s wealth than the man. Possibly because Rosalie had already read him the rest of the text message.

“We need to attend the will reading tomorrow,” Rosalie announced.

“Tomorrow?” Bria repeated. “Before the funeral?”

“They already had the funeral,” Luca said. “According to this text, the lawyer tried to reach us but couldn’t find our contact info until just now.”

Michele raised his bottle of Peroni. “Here’s hoping he is rich.”

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” Luca said.

“Where are they having the reading?” Bria asked.

“At the lawyer’s office in Ozzano dell’Emilia,” Luca replied.

“Where’s that?” Michele asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

“It’s in Bologna, but unless you’re a history buff, there’s no real reason to know of the place,” Luca replied. “It was once called Claterna, the Pompeii of the North. It’s a historical site, but the government funding ran out and the site was never fully excavated.”

“We better make this a quick dinner, you two will have to get up early tomorrow,” Bria said, picking up her menu. “It’s about a seven-hour trip to Ozzano.”

“It might be worth it,” Michele said. “He could have left you his entire fortune.”

“He could have a fortune, or he could be penniless,” Luca said. “We won’t know until we get there.”

“Maybe you should go alone, Luca,” Rosalie said. “I have two big tours this weekend and Mariana can’t handle them on her own.”

“Maybe your boyfriend could step up and help you out,” Luca suggested.

“I would,” Michele replied. “But Paolo needs me in the garage.”

“Plus Michele gets seasick,” Rosalie added.

“You’re dating a woman who lives on a houseboat, and you get seasick?” Bria asked.

Michele smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. “What are the odds, right?”

“Non preoccuparti, I’ll find someone from one of the other crews,” Rosalie said. “Maybe Imperia can spare an extra yachts man.”

“Let’s raise a glass to Zio Nazario,” Bria said. “Go pay your respects, find out what he left you in his will, and then hurry home.”

Luca grinned. “You can’t bear to be away from me for one night, can you?”

Bria grinned back. “I’m not thinking of myself, Positano can’t survive without its chief of police.”

“It’s just overnight,” Luca said. “What can possibly happen in such a short time?”

Bria looked at Luca as if he had forgotten the fatal events that had befallen Positano ever since she’d arrived in the village.

“You must have a very short memory,” Bria replied.

The next morning when she answered the knock at her front door, she realized bad luck had already arrived. It was never a good sign when the mayor of Positano popped up unexpectedly before eight a.m.

“Dante,” Bria said. “What brings you here … so early?”

Brushing past Bria, Dante walked into the house. He then spun on his heel to face Bria, his arms outstretched, his foot upturned, and bowed slightly, looking more like a jester in a castle than a mayor in a B and B. “Can’t I pay Positano’s most celebrated business owner a friendly visit?”

“You can.” Bria gave the door a little swing so it shut with a bang. “But you never do unless you want something.”

A high-pitched chuckle filled the air and Bria thought Marco had run into the room. When her son didn’t appear, she realized the sound was coming from Dante.

“Bria, Bria, Bria, this is why we would make such a wonderful couple,” Dante stated. “You understand me.”

“On the contrary, Dante, I don’t,” Bria said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a busy day ahead of me. What are you doing here?”

“I have come here to share some exciting and confidential news since you and I have such a particular relationship.”

“We do?”

Smiling obliviously and ignoring Bria’s question, Dante continued. “I wanted you to be the first to know that Positano is going to have a very special visitor.”

“Who’s coming to visit?”

They both turned around when Marco burst into the room from his bedroom, his schoolbag hanging off his shoulder, his black hair flopping on his forehead, and Bravo inches from his feet.

Marco gave Bria a quick hug and then stared up at Dante’s face. “And don’t you know you shouldn’t have chocolate gelato for breakfast?”

Bria couldn’t prevent herself from gasping. She had been dying to ask the same question ever since she’d opened the front door, but as a thirty-three-year-old woman she understood it would be impolite to make such a comment. A nine-year-old boy wasn’t bound by the rules of social decorum.

Self-consciously, Dante touched his upper lip. “Certo che no, my chef prepared my usual Tuesday morning breakfast consisting of a soft-boiled egg, grilled prosciutto, and a grapefruit cut into thirteen squares.”

“Then why do you have a chocolate moustache?”

Self-consciousness was replaced by pretense as Dante gestured dramatically at the dark line underneath his nose. “Mio caro ragazzo, my moustache is the height of fashion.”

“Figo!” Marco cried. “Then I must be very fashionable because I always get gelato on my mouth when I eat.”

“I visited Dr. Frangipani at his new clinic and noticed he was sporting one,” Dante said. “He is such a trendsetter that I decided to try it for myself. Doesn’t it suit me?”

Marco looked up at his mother and asked, “Sì, Bria, what do you think?”

Bria gasped again. Her son was growing up much too fast.

“Marco, basta, Giovanni is waiting outside to take you to school.” Bria knelt down and kissed Marco on both cheeks, unable to hide her smile. “And my name is Mamma.”

“I know that … Bria!” Marco grabbed his lunch bag from the dining room table and ran toward the front door with Bravo right behind him. “Ciao, Dante.”

“Ciao, Marco,” Dante replied.

The moment they left, Bria felt the need to wrap up the impromptu meeting. She didn’t mind being alone with the mayor of Positano and she didn’t dislike Dante, but his comments had made her become aware that he was acting more like a spurned romantic suitor who had lost Bria’s hand to his rival. Or as Rosalie liked to call Dante, the man whose heart Bria destroyed.

“I didn’t know pencil-thin moustaches were back in style,” Bria commented.

“Another reason you need to let me take you from this village,” Dante cooed. “I could show you the most fascinating, mesmerizing things.”

Fifetta had taught Bria that one of a woman’s most powerful defenses when caught in an awkward or uncomfortable situation was the ability to change the subject. It was motherly advice at its most practical.

“Tell me, Dante, who is coming to visit?”

“I’ve piqued your curiosity, haven’t I?” Dante replied. “Would you like to try and guess? We can make a game out of it.”

“I don’t have time to play games, I have a business to run.”

“I do love the huskiness of your voice when you get stern.”

“Dante, tell me!”

It was Dante’s turn to let out a little gasp. He clutched his throat, took a deep breath, and finally revealed the name of Positano’s special visitor. “Carlotta Incantaro.”

Bria recognized the name, but it took her a second to remember why. “The opera singer?”

“Not just any opera singer! The world-famous soprano.”

“I haven’t heard of her in years.”

“Because she hasn’t sung in years,” Dante said. “She’s coming out of retirement to sing one more time right here in the Piazza dei Mulini, the night before La Festa della Mamma.”

“That’s this weekend!” Bria cried. “Why hasn’t Annamaria been spreading the news all throughout the village?”

“Carlotta wants it to be a surprise,” Dante explained. “Of course I begged and pleaded, but she refused to do any publicity for the concert. She wants it to be simple, a diva singing at sunset for unsuspecting tourists.”

The tightening Bria felt previously returned, this time not in her chest, but in the pit of her stomach. It was a telltale sign that she suspected danger or at least that someone wasn’t telling the truth. An opera diva coming out of retirement to sing unannounced and just for the fun of it didn’t make sense.

“Why now?” Bria asked. “And why here?”

The pencil-thin moustache lengthened eerily as Dante smiled. “Always suspicious.”

“Always deflecting,” Bria replied. “Answer my questions.”

Sighing heavily, Dante threw up his hands. “I cannot keep secrets from you, Bria, I truly cannot. Carlotta is sharing her incredible singing talent once again to celebrate her daughter’s wedding.”

“Her daughter’s getting married here?”

“No, in Lake Como in June.”

“Then why is Carlotta singing in Positano in May?”

“Carlotta hasn’t sung in public for almost a decade and wants to perform a small concert first to overcome her fears.”

Bria had no desire to prolong the conversation, but Dante, as usual, was talking in circles. “Why would a famous singer be nervous to sing in front of friends and family at a wedding?”

“Because her daughter, Ombra, is marrying Armando Puccia, the only son of Pietro Puccia.”

Once again, Bria recognized the name, but this time was unable to place it. “Why do I know that name?”

“I’m sure Marco talks about him all the time,” Dante replied. “Pietro Puccia is one of the most famous soccer players who ever lived.”

“That must be it, Marco must have watched him play on TV.”

“Only if it was a replay of a very old game, Pietro retired decades ago and is now a billionaire businessman, thanks to his tech company, which means this will be the wedding of the year. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

“I’ve been busy working and I don’t really pay attention to those things,” Bria said. “I understand why Carlotta would be nervous to get back on stage, but why sing here?”

“Because this is where her career started.”

Bria thought she knew all the landmarks in Positano, but obviously one had slipped by.

“We don’t have an opera house.”

Dante’s high-pitched laughter once again filled the room. “When she was a young student, Carlotta would sing in the Piazza dei Mulini for the money people would throw in her hat.” Dante pressed a hand to his heart, and it looked as if he was trying to shed a tear, but he only managed to look constipated. “Now she wants to pay back the village.”

“What a beautiful story, wait until Luca hears.”

Dante stiffened and his moustache shrank. “Luca is an opera fan?”

“I don’t know, but he loves soccer so he’ll be excited to meet this Puccia.”

“It brings me no joy to disappoint our chief of police,” Dante lied. “But Armando’s father won’t be attending. He’s too busy with their businesses and social engagements. The concert in the piazza will be a very small affair.”

“I’m sure it will still be a thrilling event no matter the size,” Bria said. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Dante reached out to grab Bria’s hand and she fought the urge to pull it away from his grasp. Luckily, Giovanni entered and Dante’s hand shot up to his mouth.

“Scusi, Sister B wanted me to remind you that Marco will be staying after school for practice,” Vanni announced. “Ciao, Dante, I think you have some dirt under your nose.”

Dante’s cheeks turned red and he opened his mouth to speak, but started to cough instead. It took him a few moments to compose himself. “Bria, I trust you’ll keep our secret private and not share it with the hired help.”

“I think he means me,” Vanni whispered.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Bria replied.

“Buona giornata,” Dante said.

The second the front door closed after Dante left, Vanni turned to Bria with a perplexed expression. “What was that about?”

“Mi dispiace, I must keep my promise.” Bria grabbed her bag that was hanging off a chair at the table. “But once I tell Anna maria, the entire village will know.”

It was rare that anyone could outgossip a gossip. Which is why Bria felt empowered on her walk over to Caffè Positano. It was silly, but it brought a beaming smile to Bria’s lips.

She rounded a corner of Viale Pasitea, the main road in Positano that started at the top of the mountain and moved in a long, curved path down to the beach, and felt her pace quicken as she got closer to her destination. When she arrived at Caffè Positano, however, Bria thought she might need to salvage a friendship instead of sharing some gossip.

Sitting at a table in the corner of the café, Annamaria and Mimi were not only arguing, they were also practically screaming at each other. In an attempt to defuse the situation, Bria did what countless other peacekeepers—and fools—had done throughout history. She willingly walked into the lion’s den.

“Salve signore.” Bria sat in a chair in between them. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“It’s humid,” Mimi growled.

“And overcast,” Annamaria gruffly added.

Bria eyed the clear blue sky through the window and realized she had her work cut out for her. “I’ve heard the most incredible news that I’m dying to share! We’re about to have a very special visitor.”

“Is another bitch coming to town?”

Bria was shocked by the vitriol in Mimi’s voice. She had only heard that sound once before from Mimi when the bookstore owner was enraged that Luigi Brugnaro, the mayor of Venice, had banned some children’s books that told stories about nontraditional families, including one about yellow and blue circles that are so close they become green. Now it appeared that Mimi and Brugnaro had something in common—they were both responding irrationally.

“Are you talking about Carlotta?” Bria asked.

“Do you know any other cagna dropping in for a visit?!”

“Mimi, per favore, you have to calm down,” Annamaria said.

“Calm down? After what she did to me? And to my family? Never!”

“You know Carlotta?” Bria asked.

“She’s my cousin!”

“Your cousin?” Bria cried. “I’ve never heard you speak of anyone so harshly, especially family.”

“Carlotta isn’t family.”

“You just said she was your cousin.”

“Sharing the same blood does not make someone family,” Mimi confirmed.

“Science would disagree,” Annamaria interjected. “But that was a long time ago, Mimi.”

Mimi pounded her fist onto the table and pointed her finger at Annamaria. “Blasfemo! How can you say that when you know what she did?”

“Naturalmente, what you told me Carlotta did was terrible,” Annamaria agreed. “But Mimi, you have to let it go.”

“Never!”

Bria felt like she was sitting in between her mother and sister during one of their legendary arguments. She didn’t know who was right or who was wrong, but she wanted to get to the heart of the matter. Even though she was disappointed that the women already knew Carlotta was coming to Positano and presumably why, Bria was energized because now she needed to find out what terrible, unforgiveable act the diva committed against Mimi’s family that would cause her friend to fly into a fury. Mimi was so eager to tell the story one more time, Bria didn’t even have to ask.

“Ludovica was a much better singer than Carlotta and that vixen knew it! Carlotta deliberately caused my sister to miss her audition for the Royal College of Music and destroyed her music career,” Mimi explained. “Carlotta went on to stardom and my sister had to settle for a life that was beneath her. She died of a broken heart knowing she had been denied the chance to use the gift God had given her.”

Bria desperately tried to think of something to say that could soften Mimi’s rage or at least not further ignite her wrath. She glanced over at Annamaria, and when she saw the fear in her eyes, Bria knew Annamaria was thinking the same thing: there was no way to corral Mimi’s hatred.

“I swear to you both right here and now that I will make Carlotta pay for what she did,” Mimi hissed.

Bria understood how Mimi felt. If someone had hurt her sister, Lorenza, as severely as Carlotta had hurt Ludovica, Bria would want revenge, too. She knew that such a feeling was a basic human response. The problem was Bria also knew that when a woman held a grudge for decades, the result could be terrifying.

Hours later as she walked to pick up Marco at school, Bria still couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Despite the warm breeze that swirled around her, Bria shivered. She understood Mimi’s desire for vengeance, which meant she also understood the lengths Mimi might go to settle the score. What she didn’t understand was why Imperia was standing next to Sister Benedicta at the gates of St. Cecilia’s Grammar School.

As she was about to greet her mother-in-law, Bria was overcome with a greater sense of panic. The only reason Imperia would be at Marco’s school was if something bad had happened to Marco. Bria couldn’t hide the fear in her voice as she spoke. “Is Marco all right?”

“He’s fine,” Sister Benedicta assured. “He should be out in a few minutes; Sister Caterina is giving them a special lesson.”

“Grazie, bene.” Bria sighed deeply. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Because I’m here.”

Imperia ran a bloodred, well-manicured nail through her black hair, tucking some strands behind her ear to expose a glittering amethyst-and-diamond earring. If Bria wasn’t still trying to shake off the fear that refused to detach from her body, she would have laughed out loud at Imperia’s ostentatious display. It perfectly illustrated how odd she looked standing next to a nun.

Imperia smiled. “Isn’t that right, Bria?”

Instinctively, Bria began to formulate a lie in her mind—nothing elaborate, just a white lie that would not validate Imperia’s comment. Then she paused. She and her mother-in-law did not have the warmest of relationships—between them lay friction, discourse, and mild animosity—but recently Imperia’s icy demeanor had begun to thaw, allowing the women to enter a new phase, one where their family bond could be fully realized. In order for that to happen, there also needed to be truth.

“Yes, it is.”

While both Bria and Imperia smiled at the honest reply, Sister B’s olive complexion turned white. Bria could tell the nun feared she would be in the crosshairs of an uncomfortable exchange of words. She needed to put the sister at ease.

“It’s nice to see you, Imperia,” Bria said. “But I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Naturally, maternal instincts kicked in when you saw me standing outside Marco’s school,” Imperia replied.

“Exactly,” Bria replied. “But if there isn’t anything wrong, why are you here?”

“I came to talk some sense into Dante, and I never miss an opportunity to spend time with my grandson.”

“It’s heartwarming to see that Marco is surrounded by such a large, extended family,” Sister B said. “Not all of the children are so lucky.”

“I have a plan for how Bartolucci Enterprises can help with that,” Imperia said.

“Really?” Sister B clasped her hands together. “Perhaps I could arrange for you to speak with Mother Superior.”

“She and I have already spoken,” Imperia replied. “This is something that you’ll be able to help us with.”

Sister B appeared stunned by the comment. “Me?”

“False modesty is unbecoming especially in a sister, Sister,” Imperia teased. “You know you’ve become a pillar of this community as much as Bria has.”

It was Bria’s turn to appear stunned. She opened her mouth to protest, but Imperia cut her off.

“What did I just say about false modesty?” Imperia chided. “It’s a woman’s greatest weakness. For centuries men have demanded that women know their place, and I agree, especially when that place is at the top of the pyramid.”

Bria saw the surprise in Sister B’s eyes and knew that it matched her own. Bria did feel she had earned the village’s trust and felt she had become an il locali, but a pillar? Before she could utter a protest she knew Imperia would undoubtedly try to refute, she was saved, quite literally, by a bell.

Among the group of children, who were all wearing the same navy blue and gold school uniforms running out into the courtyard, there was one little boy who had pieces of Bria’s and Imperia’s hearts woven into his. Nothing Marco could ever do or say would sever the inextricable ties that bound him to these two women. Bria and Imperia knew it and Marco, while not comprehending the full meaning of unconditional love at his age, understood that these two women—along with Fifetta, of course—were the center of his world. He might have fun with Tomaso and his other friends, he learned soccer tricks from Giovanni and Luca, he even laughed uncontrollably with Rosalie, but these three woman, especially Bria, made him feel safe.

“Mamma! Nonna Imperia!” Marco’s beaming expression sud denly turned sour. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Like mother, like son,” Imperia remarked.

“Nothing’s wrong, mio piccolino,” Bria said. “Nonna was vis iting a friend and wanted to see you.”

“I thought you said Nonna didn’t have any friends,” Marco replied.

“Marco!” Bria cried.

Imperia’s roaring laughter drowned out Bria’s admonition, but didn’t stop Sister Benedicta from summoning divine intervention by making the sign of the cross. Once again Bria was speechless, but luckily Imperia wasn’t waiting for her to respond. She was too busy admiring her grandson.

“I see you’ve inherited your grandfather’s sense of timing.” Imperia bent down and hugged Marco fiercely. “Don’t ever lose it.”

“What friend did you come here to see?” Marco asked.

“Dante.”

Bria had already seen the look in Imperia’s eyes earlier in the day. Her eyes bore the same anger she had seen in Mimi’s. Bria didn’t need to hear anything more to know why her mother-in-law wanted to speak to the mayor.

On the walk back to Bella Bella, Imperia ranted and raved about how terrible a decision it was to allow Carlotta to return to the village. Usually, Bria tried to spare Marco from hearing such negativity, but she could tell by the tone of Imperia’s nonstop monologue that it would be worse if she asked her to stop or tried to veer the topic of conversat. . .