Murder in Italy

by Dianne Harman

  They all got into the car, Luigi in the driver’s seat.

  “My vineyard is on the way to Deborah’s,” he said. “I thought you might like to take a look at it.”

  “Ooh, yes, please,” Kat said. She’d heard a lot about it from Deborah, and couldn’t wait to see it. It would be the first time she’d seen a vineyard in person, much less an Italian vineyard.

  She settled down in the backseat next to Blaine and they interlinked their fingers and smiled at each other. She was just happy they were off on an adventure together. When Kat’s husband, Lacie’s father, had died, she’d never expected to find love again. But then Blaine popped up out of the blue, with his gorgeous smile that made his eyes crinkle, and his kind heart that never seemed to stop giving. She smiled and looked out the window at the brilliant blue sky as they left the airport.

  Life is good, she thought.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Said to be the best wine in Sardinia,” Vito Rizzo read out loud to himself in a mocking tone, then threw the magazine down on the lounge next to him. “Said by whom? By imbeciles, of course!”

  He was spending a lazy afternoon at Sardinia’s most exclusive resort. In fact, he was in the VIP section, adults-only, where there would be no children to bother him. He hated children, especially when they shrieked and laughed and splashed in the swimming pool. The staff at the resort all knew him by name, knew exactly who he was, and catered to his every whim and desire. He was renowned for his short temper.

  This might have been tempered or exacerbated by his loyal assistant (who, in reality, was a manservant, but it wasn’t politically correct to call him that these days). Anyone would have thought that his assistant, Lorenzo, a lanky beanpole of a man and just 24 years old, would have quit on his first day. But he had no other job prospects and he had a young family to feed, so he wasn’t stupid enough to throw away the opportunity. For some reason Vito Rizzo had taken a shine to him.

  Vito lay back on his lounge, his fat belly protruding far above the rest of his body.

  “You should rub some suntan lotion on your head, sir,” Lorenzo dared to suggest. It had taken him a while to get up the courage to say that, since he didn’t want Vito to take it the wrong way. There was a good chance he would take it as a personal insult against his balding head, and would fire back a nasty insult in return. But it was equally likely that Vito would berate him later if he did end up getting sunburned. “It will burn and hurt a lot,” he added.

  “How many times have I told you, boy? Suntan lotion is for cissies and tourists.” It was true, he’d said that many times. Other times, he’d slapped the lotion on his head and rubbed it in, saying that Italians were ignorant for not using it, and they would all suffer horrific sun-caused deaths as a result. “Now, go get me a martini and another cigar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vito lifted one of his fat legs off the lounge and lightly kicked Lorenzo as he walked past him, then he laughed raucously. “And don’t fall in the pool on your way.”

  Lorenzo teetered dangerously close to the pool, and didn’t really find it at all funny. Still, he laughed along with Vito. Sometimes, the only thing that kept him going was the image of his children sitting at an empty dinner table with rumbling bellies.

  In a few minutes he returned with the requested martini and cigar.

  “It’s about time,” Vito said as he sat up and took a big gulp of the martini. “Now, Lorenzo, you’ve tasted wines from that beast Bruno Lombardi, haven’t you?”

  Lorenzo didn’t quite know how to answer. What he did know was that Vito was about to launch into a long diatribe about his rival, but should he admit to having tasted Lombardi wine? He certainly couldn’t admit to enjoying them, which quite frankly, was the truth.

  “Well, I tasted them before I started working for you, sir,” he said carefully.

  Vito laughed. “Good answer. Now, you tell me, Lorenzo. Do you really think he deserves to badmouth me each time we both enter a contest? I mean, with each and every ranking? Do you think he deserves to be posing in his fancy thousand dollar suits in every magazine and slurring my name and my wine at the same time?”

  “Of course not, sir,” Lorenzo said, beginning to tune out. He’d heard this rant of Vito’s a million times before. He sat down on the adjacent lounge, took a sip from his water bottle, and pretended to look interested.

  “Exactly. Any idiot can understand that type of thing just simply isn’t done.” Vito furiously opened a magazine and pointed to a glossy picture. It showed Bruno Lombardi accepting some award in a very sharp tailored suit. The accompanying article stated, “His wine sells out at the most prestigious restaurants in Italy,” Vito growled, his face, which was already very red from his excessive sunbathing, turning purple.

  “So do yours, sir,” Lorenzo said quickly.

  “No, no, listen to this. And I quote, ‘I thank you for this most prestigious and illustrious award. I must say, though, I will not be unnecessary modest. My wines deserve to win, as they are the best in Sardinia. Indeed, the whole of Italy. No other wine from any other producer will eclipse the glory of my own, for as long as I am alive.’ I mean, he really is disgustingly arrogant, isn’t he?”

  Only as arrogant as you, Lorenzo thought. “Yes. He’s a disgusting man,” he said.

  “Then!” Vito said explosively. “Then the little cockroach gets downright personal. Read what comes next. I cannot let this filth pass my lips,” he said with rage as a blob of his saliva landed on the page he was reading.

  Lorenzo carefully wiped it off with his sleeve. “Um… which part am I supposed to read?” he asked, wincing in readiness for Vito’s annoyance, which would inevitably be aroused by the question.

  Vito stabbed the page. “That part.” Then he heaved his bulk back down into a prone position on the lounge. “Go on.”

  “Some say that wines made by Vito Rizzo, also of Sardinia, are Lombardi’s closest rivals. I asked Lombardi about this, and he laughed. “Well, I’m not worried,” he said.” Lorenzo took a quick look at Vito, who looked like he might explode with fury at any moment. “What an ignorant piece of work,” he said quickly, hoping it might help.

  “But he’s right, isn’t he, Lorenzo? He’s absolutely right! He doesn’t have to be worried about me, because somehow or other he’s got the world and probably even his grandmother in his pocket.”

  “Somehow or other?” Lorenzo repeated. “Do you mean you think he’s paying them off?”

  “No, you idiot. You think I haven’t already explored that avenue? Many of these people who write magazine articles like this one can’t be bribed. They always talk about integrity and things like that. In any case, my wines are good enough to be ranked first, to beat Lombardi’s. Just because he looks like some pretty mama’s boy, still, even at his age, he has the press eating out of his hand. I mean, he even puts a picture of himself on the labels of wine bottles, like he’s some sort of celebrity.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “I will come in first, though. I’m not having some mama’s boy discredit my life’s work by posing for some dumb magazine. No siree.”

  “Quite right, sir.”

  “Stop bleating and light my cigar.”

  Lorenzo did so. He coughed at the strong smoke it gave off. It seemed he could never get used to it. Vito smirked.

  Lorenzo let a long period of silence stretch out between them, lest he be accused of ‘bleating’, then ventured, “Sir, what do you plan to do?”

  “What?” Vito said, as if he’d been pulled out of a deep daydream. “Nothing. Nothing. I plan to do nothing.” He took a puff on his cigar, then pointed out two young beautiful women who were sunning themselves on nearby lounges. “Go get them a drink, Lorenzo. Two fruit cocktails or some such.”

  “Okay, sir.” Lorenzo tried to keep the weariness out of his voice. Vito was always trying to meet young ladies, and 90% of them were not even remotely interested. Perhaps one in ten could rouse some interest when they w
ere told who he was, the unspoken attraction of course being that he was worth a lot of money and was looking for a beautiful young thing to spend it on.

  “Talk me up when you take them their drinks,” Vito barked at him as he headed off to the bar.

  CHAPTER 3

  “They’ve taken the whole Ossani family for fools!” Rinaldo Ossani raged.

  “Calm down, calm down,” Sofia said. “Diego is trying to do his homework just across the hall. I don’t want him disturbed.”

  “Yes, yes, you are right.” Rinaldo sat back down at the kitchen table and drummed his fingers on its surface in agitation.

  “Let me bring you some tea,” Sofia said soothingly. “Eat your bread.”

  She brought two steaming cups of sweet tea, and sat down across from him. Then she slathered her own piece of bread with a chocolate-hazelnut spread. “So… talk to me, brother. What happened?”

  “You know I’ve been a loyal worker in the Lombardi vineyards for all my life. Ever since I left school I’ve been toiling away like a slave for them, getting paid just a pittance in return. Is that not true?”

  “It is,” Sofia said. “You have been a very loyal hard worker for them.”

  “Nobody could deny it,” Rinaldo said. “I am their longest serving employee.”

  “Except for Gino,” Sofia pointed out.

  He was the man who sat in the gatehouse and opened the barrier for Bruno’s visitors to drive in, and was probably pushing his mid-80s.

  “Oh, of course, Gino is more of a fixture than an employee,” Rinaldo said. “He will sit in that gatehouse almost forever, or at least until they find out he hasn’t been breathing for a while and rigor mortis has set in.”

  “Don’t be so morbid,” Sofia said, but she couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

  Rinaldo spread his own bread with the chocolate-hazelnut spread, and sipped his tea. He kept shaking his head over and over.

  “You look so upset,” said Sofia. “I’m really sorry, Rinaldo.”

  He sighed. “It’s not just this. It’s what that man has done to you. That is the real issue here. This latest thing is just… I don’t know… the thing that pulled the pin out of the grenade.”

  Sofia frowned. “Don’t go and do anything stupid now,” she said, patting him on the arm. “Not on my account.”

  Rinaldo avoided her eyes. “Anyway, here’s what happened. I was given incorrect instructions by the vineyard manager. He told me to cut down a certain row of grapes and throw them away, as they were surplus and no longer needed. I did what he said. Then he returns and becomes angry with me, saying I have done the wrong thing. We argue back and forth. I tell him he made a mistake. He denies it. I just think… well, it is a misunderstanding. A bad day at work.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “But no. He goes to Bruno, and comes back in a raging fit. He fires me on the spot.”

  Sofia shook her head sadly. “Very unfair.”

  “Yes, considering I’ve been there ten more years than the person who fired me!” Rinaldo got to his feet in anger, then sighed and sat back down again. “Sorry. If Bruno wanted me fired, he should have been man enough to come do it himself. But instead he sent his shiny new manager to do it. They both make me sick.”

  “Please…” Sofia said, closing her eyes. “Do not speak about Bruno like that. He is a good man.”

  “A good man? Please, Sofia, do you not see that he is fooling you? That you are fooling yourself?”

  “Rinaldo!” Sofia was becoming tearful. “Not now, not now, please.”

  “That’s what you always say. And I have never pushed it before. But now? Him firing me has finally made me wake up. Now I am seeing hi for what he is. Bruno does not love you, Sofia.”

  “Enough, please,” Sofia said, staring into her half-finished cup of tea as if her life depended on it.

  “I’m sorry, Sofia, but please, let’s be realistic. Why do you keep believing his promises?”

  Sofia stayed silent.

  “He will never leave Chiari to be with you. He will never officially recognize Diego as his son. He is playing games with your mind, to keep you quiet.”

  “No,” Sofia choked out. “He loves me. He loves his son. He just needs time.”

  “How much time?” Rinaldo said. “He’s had thirteen years. Do you not think that is enough time for him to gather up his courage? To finally make the decision?”

  “Things got complicated,” Sofia said. “First, he had a stressful business deal that dragged on for a few years. How could he leave then? After that Chiari started receiving treatments for infertility and finally found out she couldn’t have children. It would be cruel to abandon her in that state. Then…”

  “He always has an excuse!” Rinaldo burst out.

  “Not excuses,” Sofia said. “Reasons. Very good reasons. When God allows, the timing will be right.”

  “When God allows? You don’t realize, Sofia, that the only god here is Bruno! He is the one making all the decisions. And he will never decide to be with you.”

  “Oh,” said Sofia, her eyes blazing. “So you are inside Bruno’s heart are you, knowing everything that goes on inside it?”

  “Bruno does not have a heart.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He is a passionate, affectionate man.”

  Rinaldo snorted. “He is a passionate, affectionate liar.”

  “You don’t know,” said Sofia. “Nobody knows our true love.”

  “Exactly, nobody knows. If it was real, if he was proud of you, he would break off with Chiari and marry you. Everyone would know. As for now, it is all a dirty little secret.”

  “How dare you,” Sofia spat. She made sure to keep her voice down, so as not to disturb Diego, but the fury in her voice was clear. “I am no one’s dirty little secret. Our love is pure, sacred.” She wore a searching look for a moment, then it was overtaken with one of victory. “Our love is not of this world. It is higher. This mundane world just has to catch up.”

  “Keep on kidding yourself,” Rinaldo said tightly. “That man is scum. Stringing you along. Lying to you all these years, and now you’ve lost your youth sitting by the phone, begging God and Mother Mary for him to call.”

  Sofia paused, a lump lodged in her throat. “Why are you saying all this, Rinaldo? Do you want to hurt a woman who is already wounded?”

  “No,” Rinaldo said. “I want to wake you up. I want to make you see that this man is no good for you. That you should move on with your life.”

  “He gave me a house, Rinaldo. This beautiful, beautiful mansion of a home. It’s the finest home in the village.”

  “That wasn’t too hard to do,” Rinaldo snorted. “This village is a dump.”

  “Okay, it is a little poor. But they treat me like a queen here.”

  “Because they think you will give them money.”

  Sofia snapped. “And how is it that I have that money, Rinaldo? Bruno sends it to me, of course. Would he do that if he did not care?”

  “Yes. He wants to keep you quiet, so you won’t get angry and go tell your story to Chiari and ruin his life. Or worse, the newspapers. You could ruin his whole reputation.”

  “And why would I want to do that? The man has been nothing but good to me.”

  “Madonna Mia!” Rinaldo exclaimed. “How can you be so stupid? He’s playing you like a half-rate streetwalker, while Chiari lives it up like a princess.”

  Sofia raised her hand as if to slap him, then she froze in mid-air and hissed through her teeth. “You are so, so lucky that my son is studying in the next room. If he were not here, I would be slapping you off the walls.”

  Rinaldo sighed, and smiled a little. “No, you wouldn’t. You know you wouldn’t.”

  Sofia tried to stay mad, and indignantly spread another piece of bread. “I would.”

  “You’re Mother Earth,” Rinaldo said. “With the kindest, gentlest heart of anyone I know.” He took her hand in his. She snatched it away. He took it again, and she sighe
d, but allowed him to hold it. “You’re my lovely little sister. The sweetest, kindest, gentlest person there ever was. That’s why I can’t stand him doing this to you. I have kept quiet all these years…”

  “No, you haven’t. You have always poked your nose in my business.”

  “All right,” he said. “I have made some choice comments over the years, but it is nothing compared to what I have been feeling inside. I have been seething internally, burning whenever I thought about it, and I’ve tried not to make it my business. But, if truth be told, he is taking the most terrible advantage of you. And of our family. Do you not see the contempt he has for all of us?”

  “No,” Sofia said. “He is just a very powerful man. That is how it is. We cannot control him. Mama had Papa wrapped around her little finger because he was poor, and she was from a powerful family. Okay, they were poor, too, but in the community, they were somebody She was somebody, just because of her parents. Being the daughter of an important community figure gives you a lot of power. So Papa had to fall into line and do what she said.”

  “He was a good man,” Rinaldo said. “Not a weak one. He adored the ground Mama walked on.”

  “True enough,” Sofia said. “But Bruno worships the ground I walk on, too, Rinaldo. But because he has responsibilities and power and influence, he cannot show it. If he was a poor farmer, he would be here and there would be a ring on my finger. But he is stuck. He has been trapped by his position in life, by his success. It is a heartbreaking thing, but we cannot fight reality. Soon he will manage to get himself free.”

  “Rubbish!” said Rinaldo. “You are talking like this is some grand love story. Like you are Juliet and he is Romeo. Do you not see how you are fooling yourself?”

  “No.” Sofia stood up, increasingly agitated. “Wait there.”

  She left the room and soon came back with Diego. He looked young for a 13-year-old boy. His voice had not yet broken, and he had the innocent confidence of a boy of ten, with wide big brown eyes and long black eyelashes.