Donatello crossed himself and said a prayer. He leaned in close to me this time and whispered, “Mio Dio, that is Rosaria Caffi!”
“Rosaria Caffi?”
“She is the most notable opera singer in all ofItalia! She is married to…” He groaned, begging God for help again, but this time it seemed more for himself.
Maybe he thought all of Italy was going to blame him for such a loss? I covered my face again, wondering how this all went so wrong. I was supposed to be running from one enemy, and I had possibly just caused an entire country to come after me too. I wasn’t going to allow this man to take the fall—the blame for it. I didn’t act that way. And the life of this talented woman could be over at any second. Maybe I didn’t feel any fear coming from her, but I feltforher. I felt so bad and frightened for her, even if she didn’t seem to be feeling any fear at what lay beneath her. Nothing but a thousand-foot drop into a hungry void.
I didn’t want to startle her, but I didn’t want her to feel alone either. I made sure to make noise as I walked toward the ledge. My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but the closer I came to the car, the better I could see. Her headlights were still on, shedding light on the void around us, but only so far. The darkness was so impenetrable, it seemed almost impossible for light to break through it far enough to see past its reach. I could see her in its glow though. She was stunning. A classic Italian beauty, but it was not a soft beauty.
She was the opposite of me, even if only a shade darker as far as coloring.
Her lines were harsh and almost…cruel. That didn’t mean she was. I was sure soft looking people could be cruel, too, almost deceptive in that their features hid the treachery in a pillow’s embrace. But that was my first impression of her physical appearance. It was hard to tell her age. Her face showed no signs of weathering, and her hair was pulled back. Black silk with no silver.
Even in this situation, she was not disheveled.
“Signora,” I whispered, coming as close to the back of the car and the edge of the cliff as both allowed.
The car was red, fast, and a convertible—an expensive Ferrari. A rosary made of what reminded me of canary diamonds was swinging from the mirror. On her dashboard was a ruby rose decoration. I could smell spicy perfume in the air. It fit her and what I knew of her. She had a brand no one could deny was Rosaria Caffi as soon as they looked at her. I would have pegged her for an opera singer without Donatello telling me so.
Speaking of Donatello, he crept with me, mimicking my steps, making them loud enough for her to hear. But I felt something in him then. Distrust of me. It was as if he was monitoring my behavior for a reason. Like maybe I might kick her car right over the edge of the cliffside.
Hmm, that was odd, but not the point at that second.
Focus, Ari!
“Signora,” I whispered again.
I was staring at her reflection through the rearview mirror. Her eyes lowered and she met mine through the glass. I almost took a step back, but Donatello was at my back, like he was ready to grab me before I made a move on the car. He was so close that I could feel his breath wash over my shoulder. But the woman, the most notable opera singer in Italy… Her eyes were a vivid jade, but so cutting, I wondered how many people had been reduced by them, caught up in their unforgiving harshness.
Not the time nor place to judge, Ari.
I cleared my throat and began with what I thought she would like to hear. “Help is on the way. Donatello, the bus driver, was able to use his radio to phone the accident in.”
She laughed at me.
Laughed.
Not in a crazed way, like the stress was getting to her, but in a mocking way.
“Poetic justice as its best. One look at you, and the unattached ones will all fall in love. Perhaps even some of the attached ones.” She sighed, and it sounded heavy. “Because they will be here before the…help.”She was whispering, but the intonation of her voice, the power in it, sent goosebumps scattering on my arms as if a cold wind had passed.
She had lucked out in that regard. Instead of the whipping wind I imagined this high up, we had only been touched by a few gentle breezes. It wouldn’t be those that caused the fall; it would be the tree giving at the stress of the weight.
Taking a step to the side, I glanced at Donatello. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He kept staring at the back of Rosaria’s head. Guess I was on my own with this one. I would just have to sidestep the things she said that I didn’t understand. After all, if I wouldn’t have had that nightmare, she wouldn’t be depending on an old rickety tree to keep her afloat.
I took a few seconds to think about what I’d want in this situation. Maybe a chance to tell someone that I loved them? That person was gone for me. My Nonna. But even so, I would still echo the love, tell whoever was standing by to bury me with her in our tomb in New Orleans. I had nothing to leave behind. I had decided not to buy a house with the money I made from the publishing deal and instead used it to take care of my grandmother, make sure she had all she needed during the time she had left. So, my mom wouldn’t be entitled to anything. My dad was gone.
“Um, Rosaria, is there…anyone I can call for you? Your husband?” Donatello had mentioned that she had one of those. “Would you like me to say anything to anyone?” I didn’t want to outright say,just in case you fall and never speak to the ones you love again, because that was just…panic inducing.
Her eyes bore into mine as if I had personally affronted her. Maybe she knew I’d had the dream and caused the bus to swerve? I didn’t think that was it for some reason. The reason she disliked me went much deeper than that. I felt it. It chilled me to my bones.
“Stay away from my husband, you daughter of a whore. Do not eventhinkof calling him. If you do…” She made a slicing motion around her throat.
The tree cracked, the car, pointing directly down to the ground like a bullet or sled, started to become lost in it. Her hands tightened around the wheel before she released them, lifting her arms up.
It was the oddest thing. She did it like she was about to take a ride on a roller coaster or something. And her hands…had the accident caused her to bleed? It seemed as if she had dyed them red, but I knew it was blood. The lines of her hands were stark compared to the bloody color.
Out of nowhere, still staring at me, she started screaming, “This ismymoment! The great finale! And another one, another spinning fucking top, is stealing it fromme.” She made a frustrated noise that sounded like a wounded animal attempting to eat its own cuffed leg off. “Thatfamily will pay, not receive another weak consolation prize. Leave, girl! Or all that you love I will haunt for eternity! I swear it!”
