Unforgivable Cin An Opera in Three Acts (Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries Book 5)

by Alexie Aaron

  “I understand.”

  “Can you have someone take his truck back?”

  “Already in process. What are you going to do?”

  “Tomorrow, I go to the shrink. In a week, I go to my lover’s memorial. And if all goes well, Harry and I go loft hunting the following Monday.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “This place has never been safe. Harry and I need a place designed to keep us alive. There are too many bad memories here. I’m ready to start again, Tony, and I’ve been given the chance to do so. Hey, they say you only live once, but in my case, I’ve been given another life, and damn it, I’m going to live it!”

  Onore

  Dr. Andrews frowned. I had told her everything. She was quiet for a while. She then started to open and close her mouth trying to form words.

  “Dave seemed like such a good guy,” she said.

  “Good guys can get mixed in with a bad crowd,” I said.

  “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m looking at the big picture. He could have been caught up in something way out of his control. I do want to stick sharp sticks in him though.”

  Dr. Andrews laughed. “Cin, maybe you should let Detective Curtis sort this out from here.”

  “I agree with you, but I can’t help feeling that, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know something.”

  “It may come to you. So Marco D’Amore, huh? Too bad you didn’t have more time with him.”

  “I would have liked to, but I’m trying to deal with what I had.”

  “I find it amazing that you chose Tom Richards to bring you across the fear zone.”

  “Me too. I guess I chose a prisoner to seduce because he couldn’t run away.”

  “Now, Cin, you’re not being kind to yourself. The gentleman seems to care for you, and I can see that you like him. But you don’t love him, do you?”

  “No. I loved Dave and Sidney. Look where that got me.”

  “You’re forgetting Marco.”

  “Yes, him. Have you seen the papers? I’m going to have to wear a raincoat to the memorial because everyone is going to spit on me.”

  “I don’t think so, but you will be whispered about.”

  “My daughter hates me. I’m selling the family home and moving on.”

  “She’ll come around. How’s Harry?”

  “He’s wonderful. He has a girlfriend. She’s Dave’s assistant. I hope I haven’t screwed up their relationship.”

  “Don’t worry about Harry. Time to worry about you. How are those hallucinations?”

  “They went away with Marco, but they came back when I started to doubt Dave. Kyle seems to be my best advisor. Why is it Kyle I see? Wait. I know it’s all in my mind, and he’s just a tool to sort out the truth from the lies.”

  “Good observation.”

  “I’m going to the memorial with Victor. I will be meeting Marco’s heir, his eldest son, Maximiliano. He’s coming to the memorial. I’m going to ask him if he wants the estate. If not, I will tell him my plans for it.”

  “Which are?”

  I told Dr. Andrews all about it. “I’m going through all my promises. I’m working on reading Marco’s memoirs. It’s half in Italian. I have a dictionary but…”

  “A slow slog?”

  “Not really. He had a great life. Tragic at one point, but he managed to enjoy it and learn that ‘to live is to love.’ I’m trying to adopt that.”

  “Cin, it’s still a man’s world out there.”

  “Then it’s time to change it.”

  Dr. Andrews nodded. “Why do you think you pick older men, aside from Father Michael and Sidney, to make love to?”

  “My husband was my age, I’d like to point out.”

  “Noted. Now answer my question, girl.”

  “It’s because somehow I feel safe. Father figure perhaps. I’m looking for approval.”

  Dr. Andrews nodded. “Cin, I would like you to take time to think things through before you topple into bed. Remember when you were young and dating a new boy? There was a courtship first. Think about the time it gave you to reflect on the male you were going to mate with. You could have gotten more than you bargained for by moving so fast with Marco.”

  “You mean this scarlet letter isn’t enough?”

  “There you go joking again.”

  “Isn’t it better to laugh than cry?”

  “Actually, no. It seems to me that you’re victim-blaming. You’re so hard on yourself. In previous meetings, you referred to yourself as a slag and a whore.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “There’s something else we need to discuss. Give me one word that describes you right now.”

  “Bella.”

  “You’re not Bella. You’re Cin. You’ve gone on this promiscuous journey, moving from Tom to Marco and back again, not thinking about the consequences.”

  “I was playing a role with Marco. Tom, that was different.” I defended, “I’ve been reborn…”

  “No, you’ve fallen farther into hell, Cin.”

  I sat there stunned and looked at her.

  “Instead of healing, you’ve become someone else. You have to fight this urge or, soon, we’re going to have a hell of a time finding Cin Fin-Lathen again. This Bella is a very strong personality born, I think, to see you through the tough spots. There was a case study involving opera singers and the effect their characters had on their psyche. It’s actually called Carmenosis. This occurs when the gypsy takes over the woman. Her behavior towards men changes drastically. But in your case, I think Marco helped this delusion along. He didn’t call you Cin. He called you Bella. His lawyer calls you Bella. Soon, Cin, unless you pull out of this, you’re going to be this Bella. Someone none of your friends or family recognize.”

  “Would that be so bad?” I asked.

  “It would pull you into madness. I would like to remind you that it wasn’t Bella who kept you sane after the attack. It was Cin. It’s not Bella who Tom originally made love to. It was Cin. And I feel very strongly that Harry needs Cin back. He wants the ball-busting, irreverent, intimidating bitch that Cin Fin-Lathen can be. We all do. Sidney did a number on you, and I wish I had you on my couch after that. But I have you now, and damn it, girl, we are going to dig down deep and resurrect the mighty Cin, or my name isn’t Veronica Margaret Andrews!”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “It took two crayons to print in kindergarten,” she said. “Now, what are you going to do about Tom?”

  “I have no idea. I think I’m going to play it by ear. He’s getting out soon.”

  “Take it slow. Build a friendship first. I want you to be treasured, Cin. Being Bella is a dangerous role.”

  I looked at her. I didn’t nod or shake my head. I wasn’t sure that being Bella wasn’t the best role for me, and I would have to be her tomorrow anyway. I just hoped it wouldn’t get me killed.

  ~

  Victor arrived early at my home. He came in only long enough for me and Harry to sign the papers. Officially, we had each other’s power of attorney, and now he and my children were my heirs. Victor looked at my outfit and smiled. I had worn the dress Celia designed for me. It was a floor-length black gown with a scoop neck. She had also given me a black and red shawl. I wore the locket with Marco’s hair in it and a strand of jet beads with tiny rubies set between each piece of jet. The necklace was one of the jewels that were left to me in the box.

  “Bella, you look so beautiful. Marco would be proud. Here, I have something sad to show you, but it is proof that Marco got his wish.”

  Victor showed me a picture of Marco lying in a coffin, decked out in a fine suit of clothes and, on his wrist, the watch.

  “Somehow, I wanted him to be alive but just hiding out from me,” I said. “But considering, the family did a nice thing.”

  Harry looked over my shoulder. “It’s a coffin. How much can you do with a coffin? Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  “He is yo
ung, Bella,” Victor said, as if that would excuse Harry’s actions.

  On the way, we talked about Marco’s portfolio and his ideas. We agreed that he was on the nose about how to turn the opera house into a viable establishment that wouldn’t have to rely on grants and the stipulations attached to grants.

  “Bella, I have asked the administrators to let us use one of the conference rooms. There, we will meet with Maximiliano D’Amore. He is, as you know, the heir to Marco’s estate, and he has asked to meet you in private. Bella, you be strong for Marco. Think of his plans. Think of his love. Think what a legacy you can give him here.”

  I nodded. “If he stabs me, bury me with this necklace,” I said, lifting the funeral locket.

  “Bella, be strong.”

  Maximiliano was my age if not a few years older. He had his father’s height, but that was all the two men had in common. Max’s eyes were blue and his hair chestnut brown instead of the D’Amore black. He was wearing a black, Armani mourning suit. His well-groomed nails adorned the strong, long-fingered hands. Max had the bearing of a nobleman. He stood there for a moment, silently considering me. He took out a creased picture he had in his suit pocket and looked from it to me. “My father had this in his hand when he died. He gazed upon your face as life left him,” Max’s rich, baritone, Italian-accented voice told me.

  I had not known this. My eyes filled with tears. I brought the lace handkerchief to the corners of my eyes.

  “My father was a lover of women. My mother understood and had many satisfying affairs of the heart herself,” Max explained. “My father was disappointed in love but never raised a hand to my mother as other men would have done in his position. He loved you. How do I know this? You see, he called me to share that he had met his Bella. That you were a beautiful and kind woman who understood that he needed to be with us in Roma too. Such a loving person you are, Cin Fin-Lathen.”

  “Max, if you want the south Florida estate, I will gladly sign it over to you on the condition you fund a charity in Marco’s name. I have the particulars here.” I handed him my notes.

  “You would give up this fortune to me? I have so much. You have so little.”

  “I don’t deserve it. I was not with him long.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Yes. I still do. I talk to him as if he is looking over my shoulder. I know it’s silly, but I seek out his advice.”

  Max’s eyes teared up. “I do too,” he admitted. “Take heart, he’s still with us. I see you wear his hair. I do too.” Max drew out a pocket watch, and inside, was a lock of Marco’s hair. He looked at me slyly and whispered, “I know he took a lock of your hair with him. I made sure the watch was with him when we entombed him in the family vault. I’m sorry that I hadn’t known you before. You would have been welcomed at the funeral. There were so many tears and, after, so much laughter. He had decreed it. Now, what do I do with you, Cin?”

  He looked at me and then at the card. “I will not be needing anything from this country but maybe a place to stay, so I will keep the penthouse.”

  “It has a beautiful view,” I said.

  “My mother, who incidentally hates the opera, wanted me to do something outrageous tonight, so be prepared, Cin. Now come.” He took my hand. “We sit together.”

  I was floored. “You should not sully yourself, Max. Victor will sit with me. He promised Marco to take care of me.”

  “I asked you to sit with me because you are my father’s love. I can see you are a loving woman of high principles. We are in a sense related, are we not?”

  “Yes, in a convoluted, soap opera way.”

  “Then take my arm, Cin. After all, you were the last one he ever loved.”

  The realization hit me. I saw Kyle leaning against the door. Tears filled me, and I started to sob. Max, thinking I was distraught over his father, stopped and held me to his chest. Such gallantry ran through the D’Amore line, genetics aside. I steadied myself. I promised myself I would speak with Dr. Andrews about this latest development. Perhaps we should discuss that beautiful yet horrible song “Porcelain” that Kyle was so fascinated with.

  Max took my handkerchief and patted the tears away gently. “Cin, I need you to hold your head high. You’re a D’Amore now. Act like it.”

  I did.

  Harry said that when he saw me on Maximiliano D’Amore’s arm, he saw two strong, beautiful people. He knew that soon he would be forgotten by the scandal sheets because Max was assumed to be my new lover. Max told me later, he didn’t care.

  Victor shook hands with Max. He smiled down at me and followed the two of us to Marco’s box. I glanced briefly at the curtained alcove and blushed.

  Max walked out and stood by Marco’s chair. He lifted his hand, and I walked into the box. There was an audible gasp as the crowd below saw me. I thought about the kindness of the man next to me and pushed away the whispered words of derision below. I felt hate coming up from the crowd, but from beside me, Max gave me acceptance and admiration. He took my hand and kissed it before we sat down.

  I forced myself to search the mourners and saw Dave sitting with Antonia. Whatever love I had left for him evaporated. I felt Antonia’s hatred as she coolly looked at me. How could she be so delusional and blame me for the creature she had turned her daughter into with her deceit and lies? I returned her look with a dismissive glance while appraising her harshly in my mind. Without the stage makeup, Antonia was just an insecure, Botoxed, aging singer. Gone was the beauty of the performer, and all that was left was someone I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

  Tony was there, walking around on the fringes. He smiled as he looked up at me. The others I didn’t care about. They were people who may have known Marco, and there were many women down there who, no doubt, had made love with him, but to me, they were just faces in a crowd. I turned to Max and said, “Thank you for sitting with me. Your father would have been proud.”

  He smiled.

  Harry and Sally were ushered into the box. I introduced Harry and Sally to Max. He was cordial and grasped Harry’s hand warmly and kissed Sally’s hand. He was an honorable man. I was proud to be sitting next to him.

  The memorial was beautiful. I got to know more about Marco by hearing his favorite songs. Performers from far and wide came and sang. Pello Viteri brought tears to my eyes with “Deh! Vieni Alla Finestra” from Don Giovanni. He sang it better than he did on opening night. I couldn’t help myself and stood up after, smiling down at him. He got on his knees on the stage, raised his hands to me, and sang “Oh, my gracious evening star” from Tannhauser, while I stood there. The orchestra caught up to him at the end of the song, but it was the first time I’d ever enjoyed being at the opera. I had tears running down my face. Max put a long-stemmed rose in my hand. “You are the patron now. Show your approval.” I tossed it onto the stage.

  The Shiny Sheet would write, “It was as if Bella had given Pello back his dignity along with his voice.”

  The rest of the music went on in a blur. Max left. He would be giving the eulogy. Victor moved down into his seat and took my hand in his. “I couldn’t be more proud of you, Bella.”

  “Thank you, Victor. That means a lot.”

  Applause erupted when Max strode out onto the stage. He looked so handsome and vital. He stood there a moment, looking at the picture of his father. The audience sat down. He moved to the microphone that came up out of the stage.

  “My father was a passionate man. He loved the opera as much as he loved his women.”

  There was a smattering of whispers and a few laughs.

  “Marco D’Amore had more than his share of tragedy in his life, but he never spoke of it. Instead, he filled his time with work, music and love. As a child, I was taught to see the wonders of the world and to appreciate music, and a well-turned ankle.”

  This time, the crowd felt free to laugh along with Max. I did.

  “I was fortunate to talk to my father before he died. He called me and told me he ha
d found his Bella. My father had been searching for her all his life. My mother knew about this and, in her way, approved. Marco found his Bella, and tonight, it was my honor to sit with her while you honored Marco.” Max turned to me and said, “Bella, he loved no one more than he loved you.”

  I put my hand to my lips, kissed it, and sent the kiss upwards.

  “Ah, I see by your silence, you don’t approve. But you aren’t Marco D’Amore. You didn’t have your life ruined by a diva who liked to play games, or her suitors who played along. He thought he would never love again, but he did. It is my sorrow that his life couldn’t have been longer. Bella, I am sorry. But you did find each other in the end.”

  He turned back to the audience. “You were his friends and compatriots. He would have been happy that such a crowd had showed up to honor him. He would have been touched to hear the wonderful songs. Thank you.”

  He waited a discreet moment. “There was a tragedy here not long ago. It involved his Bella and a young, strong-headed musical genius, Kyle Martel. The truth hasn’t been told yet. The people who twisted that boy’s mind, in order to do something so dishonorable, will be brought to justice. One of them killed my father. Her mother blames Bella, but I know she is wrong. I urge all of you to examine your feelings, think about what you may have seen that night, and come forward. Justice needs to be done. Bella needs to know why her Marco has been killed. I need to know who encouraged that young woman to kill my father and then herself. These people will face hell’s fury. I guarantee it.”

  He took a moment to scan the audience. He ended up looking at me. “Sorry, Bella, I didn’t mean to put the spotlight on you, but you have been wronged. And I, as my father’s heir, will make things right, or my name isn’t Maximiliano D’Amore.”

  Someone in the audience stood up and started clapping. I think it was Ryan. He was joined by others. I looked at Max, and he looked back at me with amusement in his eyes. So this was the shocking thing his mother sent him to do. He, the D’Amore heir, demanded that she, the mistress of his father, be respected and protected. Bravo, Max.