Not wanting to alarm the kids, Valerio turned up the volume and crossed out of sight before taking his Smith & Wesson from a cabinet in the entryway.
He approached the door cautiously, stood to one side of it. Another three knocks.
“Who is it?”
A female voice. “Ravenna. I’m looking for Valerio Alfieri. We met at the home of Ines Mancusi.”
—
She wore hospital scrubs and white sneakers, an oversize coat and fluffy red scarf, and gripped a large canvas tote with two mittenedhands. Her glasses glinted, and Valerio caught a distorted reflection of himself in the lenses.
He didn’t understand his own reaction: a strange relief and gladness to see the wild frizz of her hair, those large dark eyes and full cheeks, the thin lips and expressive mouth. This feeling rapidly vanished, however, when he read the emotion in those eyes.
“You lied to me, Capo.” Her voice was low and husky, eyes wide. “I accuse you…. You gave a dying woman hope…then you killed her boy. I don’t care that you’re a powerful man. I don’t care what you do to me, but I must say it. Can you imagine her suffering?”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she gave a little gasping sob.
Valerio was paralyzed, tongue dry and thick in his mouth. He stared as tears slid down her face.
“Babbo!” Davide shouted behind him amid the crashing sounds of a television battle. “Did you change your wi-fi password? I can’t get my phone to connect.”
The sound of his son’s voice seemed to break Valerio’s fugue state. He jolted and turned his head, calling out, “It’s the same as before.”
“I’ll go now,” said Ravenna with a little shudder. She took a step back.
Valerio involuntarily reached out, then caught himself and drew his hand back.
“I accept your accusation,” he said. “I should have known—should have guessed what they would do. I’m responsible.”
She seemed about to speak, then closed her mouth and stared, searching his face.
“You didn’t know?” she said at last.
He shook his head. “No.”
“So, you went to the magistrate like you said, got him released?”
“Yes. I didn’t understand why they wanted him out—until it was too late.”
He wasn’t sure what to say next. He wanted to confess it all, to tell her about going to Luca for help to find Gemma—about his stupidity for not looking closer into what Luca asked; about those horrible moments outside the jail.
Gemma came up behind him and pressed against his back, peering on tiptoe over his shoulder at Ravenna.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Gemma.”
Ravenna pushed the tears away and sniffed.
“Oh, Babbo!” Gemma said, squeezing around Valerio’s middle, tugging him away from the door. “Don’t just stand there like a big dummy. Invite her in! Can we do something for you? Can we get you water? Tea?”
Without waiting for an answer, she darted back into the living room shouting, “Davide! Turn off the TV. Babbo has a guest!”
Valerio stared at Ravenna, heat rising in his cheeks and neck. She looked at his hands and he noticed that he was still holding the gun. He tucked it out of sight.
“For safety,” he mumbled.
“Are those your kids?” Ravenna asked.
Valerio nodded. “Gemma and Davide.” Then, not knowing why, added, “I’m divorced.”
