Chapter 3

With shaking fingers, I yanked on the knot securing the colorful crimson-and-gold scarf around my waist.

After shaking it out, I wrapped it over my head like a kerchief, to cover my blonde hair. For the first time damning the Norman heritage in my ancestry. Usually, I couldnt help but feel thankful for my blonde hair. It was one of my few distinguishing features and reminded me of the only photo I had of my mother, who also had long, blonde hair.

Or did have…

Not now.

Carefully avoiding swinging arms clutching bottles of wine, greasy plates of street food, and groping hands, I maneuvered through the crowd of masks, capes, pantaloons, feathered hats, and trailing gowns. Vigilant to avoid any attempts to draw me into a carola as the chain of dancers was led along by a similarly attired Colombina character banging on her tamborine to the beat of the onstage pizzaca music. A stage filled with frenzied dancers and a small orchestra of strings and bass.

With the creeping darkness, Carnevale inched closer to its more pagan roots.

For the second time, my ankle rolled when my heel slipped on a smooth cobblestone. In frustration, I sent another curse up to the thigh-high, high-heeled boots my sister convinced me to wear. Between them and the tight corset I wore under my peasant blouse to avoid bra straps so I could have bare shoulders, I was hobbling and could barely breathe.

I longed for my usual black turtleneck, slacks, and ballet flats. The standard for most female cello players since it allowed ease of movement when straddling the instrument.

In order to warn Antonia, I had to escape from Matteo Cavalieri.

As I weaved my way through the increasingly drunk crowd, I seized the opportunity of Peppe Nappas appearance.

With the entire mass of people surging toward the entrance to the piazza, the noise level swelled as the big-headed, straw-stuffed effigy came tottering into view on a makeshift parade float. The bandleader shouted into the microphone for all to hail the arrival of the King of Carnevale.He then prepared to read off Peppe Nappa's last will and testament.

I refused to stop, shouldering my way through, even when someone spilled wine down the side of my skirt.

When I was sure I had lost Matteo, I risked a moment to pause and rise on my toes to search over the tops of everyone's heads. It only brought my already short stature up to normal height, so I saw little.

An American tourist grabbed me around the waist and tried to lift me against his chest, slurring out licentiously, "I'll give you a ride on my shoulders if you'll give me a ride later."

Urgh. Gross.

Not wanting to dwell on why this man's embrace was repulsive while Matteo's had made me want to melt into his arms, I pushed the offender off me with a firm knee to his groin.

Why hadn't I thought of that with Matteo Cavalieri?

I shivered. Because the idea of angering a powerful man with that move terrified me.

He was a Cavalieri, after all.

They all had what I'd call a smoldering, violent reputation.

Unlike the regular mafia families, there was nothing overt or out in the open about their presence. Their legendary family name allowed them to hide behind an air of sophistication and civility.

Being worth billions didn't hurt either.

Pivoting in another direction, I continued to search all the slutty Pierrot clowns until I spotted Antonia.

I dodged under outstretched arms as people shouted, raised their fists, and playfully hissed. This was all in good fun, as Peppe Nappas supposed crimes were read aloud. In reality, these crimes were the hidden crimes and scandals of local officials from the past year.

In a daring display, Antonia had her legs wrapped around a large man dressed as Il Capitano. He had her bent backward to indulge himself in licking her breasts, which threatened to spill out of her tight corset.

Approaching the pair, I tapped Antonia on the shoulder. "We need to talk."

She glared at me before snaking her arms around her companions neck. "What?" she cried out over the din.

I shouted back. "We need to talk! It's urgent!"

With an exaggerated huff, she opened her legs and slid down his length. Then, grabbing the bottle of wine from his grasp, she turned and rubbed her ass against his crotch. "What is it, Ella? God, you can be such a freaking killjoy." She took a sloppy swig of the wine.

From the looks of it, she'd already had way too much fun. She had wasted an hour carefully applying her sad clown makeup, only to have it smudged and smeared all over her face. Her eyes were glassy from what I hoped was only alcohol but was probably something stronger, and she swayed on her too tall high-heeled boots.

Ignoring the hurtful comment, I said, "You have to leave. Matteo is here."

She paused in raising the bottle to her lips again, frowning. "Who?"

"Matteo Cavalieri. Your fiancé."

She shrugged. "Who cares? You said you were going to take care of all that."

Fuck.

My contact.

My head swiveled as I searched the crowd again, then turned my attention back to Antonia. My contact would have to wait. First, I had to get her out of here.

"I said I was working on it. You have to leave before he finds me—you—us." Again.

She turned her back on me and stuck her tongue out suggestively to her partner who, judging by the bulge in his costumed pantaloons, was enjoying the attention. "You're overreacting, Ella. It's not like he knows I'm here."

Oh, he definitely does. Sort of.

I circled around the two of them and tried to get her attention again before she could once more get her legs wrapped around his waist.

I gestured with my head toward her man. "Weren't you two supposed to get married? That would solve the issue."

The man dropped Antonia on her ass. "Huh?"

Antonia shouted, "What the fuck?" up at him. Then kicked him in the shin with her high-heeled boots.

He hopped back, grabbing his shin. "Fuck you, Antonia. Why'd you have to fucking kick me?"

I helped my sister to her feet.

She brushed off her ass and fluffed her hair before scowling at me. "He wishes. Really, Ella. Manfredi is not my boyfriend. He's just the guy I fool around with while my boyfriend is… busy."

This just keeps getting better and better. I assumed Manfredi would marry her and help my sister escape, since they were always together.

Focu ‘ranni! What a mess.

If we both didn't live at home with our father, I would have learned this important bit of information sooner. Unfortunately we did, which meant we were rarely alone and always assumed we were under surveillance.

Something I learned from my mother—before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Fino, my contact. "I don't have time to argue with you, Antonia. Go home now. I'll see you there as soon as I can."

Following Fino's lead, I made my way to the other side of the central fountain. "Where have you been? I've been here for over two hours, waiting."

He raised his finger and pointed to the parade float. "Wait. This is my favorite part."

With great fanfare, the bandleader declared a death sentence on the effigy. It was already listing to the side on the parade float because of the wine sprays soaking its worn clothes and straw.

The crowd cheered as the effigy was set ablaze by a masked official. Everyone danced around the makeshift bonfire to the bands rendition of another tarantelle.

My fist twisted in the ends of the kerchief I was holding tight under my jaw. "Fino, I don't have time for this. We need to talk. Now."

This night was like herding cocaine-crazed squirrels with their tails on fire.

Finally, the tall, spindly man turned to me. Dressed in yet another Il Capitano costume, its brightly colored uniform hung on his thin shoulders the way it would on a coat rack.

Before speaking, he worked his mouth several times, resembling a cow chewing cud. "What is so important that we had to risk an unplanned meeting?"

I yelled over the crowds cheers at Peppe Nappas head burning to a husk. "You have to arrest my father now. Tonight! We're out of time."

His long fingers dug into my upper arm, pulling me close enough for his puckered lips to hiss in my ear. "Lower your voice!"

I bristled. Using the middle of Carnevale as cover for this meeting was his suggestion, not mine. "You promised if I stole those files, you would arrest my father for my mother's disappearance. I've done my part."

After years of my father telling me my mother was a whore who abandoned us, I had grown suspicious.

In secret, I provided information about my fathers mafia activities to Judge Marzio Delluci in the Anti-Mafia Investigations Directorate. The purpose was to convince him to launch an investigation into my mother's disappearance. But when I reached out to the Judge's office, it was Fino Buratti, his associate, who responded, telling me it was too dangerous for me to communicate directly with the Judge.

"It's not that simple. There is a legal process we need to follow."

"You've been telling me that for months. I have no more time. My father is going to force my sister to marry Matteo Cavalieri if we don't stop him."

Fino worked his jaw in slow circles, his raised eyebrows giving his sallow face a ghoulish appearance. "Matteo Cavalieri? Of the Cavalieri family?"

"Yes."

"From Abruzzo. The winemaking family?"

I threw my arms up in the air, not understanding why the identity of the person my father was forcing my sister to marry held any importance. "Yes! Yes! Now, are you going to help me?"

He worked his jaw again. "Can I presume your sister will travel to Abruzzo for the upcoming nuptials?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Not exactly."

He stared at me.

The last thing I wanted was to give him another option to weasel out of his promise, but he was determined. "She wants me to switch places with her to stall for time while she convinces her"—my nose wrinkled as I tried to find the correct word for my sister's lover—"boyfriend, to marry her instead."

I pointed a finger at his chest. "But that is our absolute last-resort plan. I'm expecting you to arrest my father so we don't have to resort to it."

He stared off over my shoulder, his eyes shifting left and right. "The Cavalieris have operated above the law for decades. This could be our chance."

"Chance for what?"

He waved his hand in front of me. "I need to take this information to the Judge."

When he turned to go, I grabbed his sleeve. "What about my sister?"

Stepping far too close to me, his gaze traveled to my chest before meeting my eyes. "You'll need to travel to Abruzzo in her stead. It can't be helped. This is too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"And what about the investigation into my mother's disappearance? You promised to show me the file."

I flinched at the coldness of his spindly fingers when he touched my shoulders.

His touch was nothing like Matteos warm, calloused hands.

"Just be patient. I will say this. If you don't continue to do as we say, then you can forget about any investigation into your mother's whereabouts."

It felt like a lead weight settled in the pit of my stomach. Just because they were the law didn't mean they operated any differently than the mafia.

Everything was a power play.

Everything was about influence.

Everything was about greasing palms and exchanging favors.

No one cared about the people who got crushed by all their schemes, mind games, and manipulations.

Like my mother.

Before I could respond, I spied Matteo over Fino's shoulder, shoving his way through the dancers, a look of cold, hard determination in his eyes.

My eyes widened.

Ducking from under Fino's clammy hands, I gathered up my heavy skirt and pivoted on my heel, disappearing into the crowd.