The Forgotten Locket (23 page)

Alessandro looked at Dante, and then looked closer. He touched his son’s chin and tilted his face upward.

I could see Dante’s body tense at the contact. He kept his eyes closed, but the scar was obvious. Jagged and uneven, it looked even worse against the paleness of his skin and the tightness of his face. A line of sweat broke out along his hairline.

“Who did this to you?” Alessandro demanded softly.

Dante swallowed, but didn’t answer. How could he, without inviting more questions?

“Was it da Vinci?” Alessandro said, cupping Dante’s face with his broad hands. He ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of the scar. “Did this happen at his studio?”

Dante winced at even that small touch. “No,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t him. I got into a fight.”

“You? In a fight.” He shook his head and frowned. “I would have expected that from your brother, but not you.”

“It was unavoidable.” Orlando chimed in, coming to Dante’s defense. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Dante nodded, deftly moving his head away from his father’s touch. “It’s fine, Father. I’ll be fine. Let it go.”

“He wouldn’t tell me the details either,” Orlando said with a wry smile.

Alessandro thinned his lips. “Well, I suppose a man is entitled to his secrets. Tell me this, though—did you leave him worse than he left you?”

Dante hesitated. A muscle moved in his clenched jaw, and a hardness sharpened his features and his tone. “Not yet.”

I thought I had seen every emotion possible cross Dante’s face during the time I’d known him, but this controlled fierceness was something new. Seeing it helped me understand where Dante’s intensity came from, how Orlando’s desire for justice had led him into battle. There was warrior blood in the Casella men.

“That’s good to hear.” Alessandro nodded in approval, his own features drawn in grim determination. He glanced at Orlando. “You will help him, if he needs it, yes?”

“Yes, Father. Always.”

“Good,” he said again. “Now, about this wound.” He held up his index finger and passed it in front of Dante’s eyes; his frown turned to a scowl. “How long ago did this happen? This fight?” he asked Dante. “I would expect scars like this to take at least a month to form, and yet . . .” He pushed back Dante’s eyebrows, pulling the area around the scar taut. “There are things that suggest this wound happened mere days ago.”

“Can you do something for him?” I blurted out.

All three men turned my way, and I shrank back against the wall. I’d been so careful to keep Valerie quiet, I’d forgotten my own rules. But I didn’t regret asking the question. Dante needed his sight back, and if his father could help him, so much the better. More, if Alessandro could help heal Dante’s eyes, maybe he could help heal the wound hidden in Dante’s heart.

“And you are . . . ?” Alessandro looked me up and down.

I swallowed. I hadn’t thought I would ever actually meet Dante’s parents, and now that I was, I found myself unexpectedly shy and self-conscious.

“She’s with me,” Dante said, holding out his hand for me to take.

I stepped up beside him, our fingers automatically folding together. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of something cross Orlando’s face. Disappointment? Regret? I didn’t know, and it was gone before I could identify it.

Alessandro’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of our joined hands. “Oh, I see,” he said knowingly, that same joyous smile spreading wide. “And what is your name?”

“Abby,” I said softly. “Abigail,” I amended, thinking it sounded a little more appropriate to the time and place.

“And I’m Valerie,” she said, popping forward and wrapping her arms around Alessandro in a hug.

Orlando pulled her away as quickly as he could. “I’m sorry, Father. Valerie is . . . impulsive sometimes. She’s not well,” he added in a low voice.

“Some people say I’m crazy,” Valerie chimed in, her voice low to match Orlando’s. “But I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say, do you? I prefer to think of myself as . . . visionary.”

Alessandro frowned, studying Valerie intently. “Interesting,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin. “I’ve heard of cases like this, but I’ve never had the opportunity to see one for myself.” He held out his hand for Valerie. She took it and he led her a few steps forward. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the black tattoos on her wrists. “Where are you from, child?”

“Here and there and everywhere,” Valerie said, curtseying as though they had been dancing. “I have been to there and back again and can tell you the tale of tomorrow.”

“Fascinating,” Alessandro murmured.

“So, do you think you can help Dante?” I interrupted before Valerie could say anything else.

“Abby—” Dante started, but his father looked up, startled out of his study.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” He nodded and headed toward the counter in the back of the shop. “Come,” he said, gesturing for all of us to follow. “Let me see what I can do. Orlando, would you bring me my bag, please?”

Orlando obeyed, crossing the room and picking up the black leather satchel from the floor. He swung the front door closed with a quiet click.

Alessandro slipped behind the counter, tsking at the mess strewn over the surface.

Orlando set the bag off to the side, and the four of us lined up in a row.

A memory sparked: a row of friends in front of a bar, Leo mixing up a sweet drink. There was a part of me that missed those days. The days before I knew about the river or the bank, before I had felt the weight of time sitting heavy on my heart.

Dante pulled me in front of him, wrapping his arms around me and resting his cheek against my head. I breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, feeling at home in his arms. Even with all the twists my life had taken, I didn’t want to go back to those days. I wouldn’t. Not without Dante.

I would find a way around the impossible problem of his broken heart. No matter what.

“What are you doing home?” Orlando asked his father. “I thought you were out traveling.”

“I could ask you the same question.” Alessandro pushed aside the open boxes and the mortar. He examined the bottom of the pestle and sniffed at the rosemary still clinging to the stone. “I thought you were living the soldier’s life.”

Orlando’s jaw tightened. “I was. I mean, I am. I’ve been given leave to undertake a special assignment.”

“One that allows you time to come home and visit your parents?” He replaced the pestle and brushed his hands together. “I’m not complaining, mind you. I just assumed that, given the recent rumors, most soldiers would want to keep a low profile.”

“Why is that?” Orlando asked, his glance flicking to me. We all had reasons to keep a low profile. “What rumors?”

Alessandro looked up in surprise. “You haven’t heard?”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Valerie waved her hand in the air. “I know this part of the story.”

Opening his bag, Alessandro withdrew a vial half filled with a clear liquid. “The Sons of Italy,” he said. “The rumors are everywhere. From what I’ve heard, these so-called Sons of Italy were soldiers—honorable, loyal soldiers—who committed treason yet claimed they were the patriots.”

My whole body tensed, a bolt of unexpected panic traveling through my nerves. I knew this part of the story too. Dante’s chest hardened behind me, a deep breath turning him to stone.

I glanced at Orlando, but he appeared unruffled. Even serene.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said, his voice steady. “What’s the latest news?”

Alessandro continued to empty his bag, lining up a variety of bottles one after the other. “Word in the marketplace is that the authorities captured the last member of the conspiracy last month and have locked him in prison.”

“Oh? And do the rumors include an identity for any of the conspiracy members?”

I wondered how Orlando could be so calm about the topic. The rumors were about him—him and Dante and Zo. The inside of my mouth tasted dry and swollen, and I wasn’t even directly involved. I could feel the vibrations of Dante’s heart beating in his chest.

“No. The authorities have been close-lipped about specific names and identities. But you know how people talk. I’ve heard at least a hundred different names listed as the leader of the conspiracy. I even heard
your
name.” He snorted in obvious disbelief.

Tightness closed up my throat. I couldn’t look at Orlando; I didn’t dare.

“But you think they’ve captured them all?”

Alessandro nodded. “It’s a good thing, too. There’s enough unrest as it is. No need to add to it by arguing about who is and isn’t a true patriot these days.” He clucked his tongue, a sharp sound of disapproval. “I’m glad to know that you weren’t involved—either one of you.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” Orlando said, reverent and intent. “We would never do anything to bring dishonor to you or your name.”

I felt like crying. I knew exactly what Orlando had done to protect the honor of his family, to atone for the wrongs he had committed. I knew what it had cost him. What it had cost all of us.

I leaned back into Dante’s arms. I hoped it wouldn’t cost us even more.

Alessandro must have heard something in Orlando’s tone because he slowly set down the small packet of flowers he’d extracted from his bag and looked up at his son. “I know,” he said seriously. “You and Dante”—he nodded in our direction—“you are the
true
sons of Italy. And I am proud to have you both carry my name.”

My breath hiccupped in my chest, and Dante tightened his arms around me.

“Hush, Abby. It’s all right,” he whispered in my ear.

But I could hear a hint of anguish in his own voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I . . . I think there’s something in my eye.” I dabbed at my eyes with my fingertips. “I’m all right. I’m sorry.”

Alessandro became all business. “No need to apologize, young lady. And speaking of eyes”—a smile tugged at his lips—“I have not forgotten your request. Yes, I think there is something I can do for Dante.”

“No, Father, you don’t have to—” Dante started again.

“I insist.” He closed up his bag and stored it beneath the countertop. He didn’t wait for Dante to reply, but simply began gathering up a handful of supplies—the vial he had pulled from his bag, a container of some ground-up powder, a pot of green paste, a scrap of heavy fabric—and setting them out in a neat row.

I could see where Dante got his stubbornness from.

I turned in Dante’s arms and touched his cheek. “Why not? Don’t you want his help?”

I almost missed the shake of his head. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” he said under his breath. “Or you.”

“How could you?”

“What if it doesn’t work? It’s not a regular wound; I don’t think it’ll heal like a regular wound.”

“What if it does?”

He didn’t reply.

“Please?” I asked quietly. “For me?”

Dante’s expression softened and his mouth turned up in a small smile. “That’s not fair.”

I smiled back. “I never said it was.”

Valerie reached out and brushed Dante’s arm with hesitant fingers. “You should say yes. It’s a better story if you say yes.”

“I’d do what she says,” I said. “She knows her stories.”

“Dante?” Alessandro called. “Are you ready?”

“It’ll be fine,” I said; I had a good feeling about this. “You’ll see.” Then my words registered and I grinned. “I promise.”

Chapter 17

It’s not too tight, is it?” I asked, touching the scarf knotted around Dante’s head.

He reached up and made minute adjustments to the fit and placement. “No, it feels fine.”

“Good. Alessandro said to keep the bandage on for at least twenty-four hours. Then we’ll clean and re-dress the wound. With luck, we should start seeing some improvement right away.”

“I know, Abby. I heard him too.”

I leaned back against the side of the wagon, trying to find my balance as it rocked and swayed over the rocky ground. The horse kept up a steady pace, and I was glad we didn’t have far to travel. The road was crowded with all kinds of people, some riding horses, most walking. The dust kicked up by so many feet turned the air hazy, and the noise of so many voices swirled around us in a small storm of words, some light as laughter, others weighed down by complaints.

Dante, Orlando, and I were wedged in the back of the wagon among the boxes and bags containing Alessandro’s apothecary supplies. I was grateful for the cover; I suspected the courthouse guards were still looking for us and I knew none of us wanted to be found.

I tucked my feet beneath the hem of my cloak, leaning up against Dante’s shoulder for more warmth.

Alessandro laughed, and I looked up. Valerie sat next to him, gesturing widely. Alessandro had found a spare cloak for her to wear, and when she waved her arms, the long sleeves fluttered like wings. I could hear only bits and pieces of their conversation over the creak of the wagon and the clopping of the horse.