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Mauro and his mother are at peace with the story they have agreed is true. But it’s a fable, invented by Claudia’s desperate father, who was afraid his daughter would do harm to herself if she knew the truth, or worse, a lie invented by a controlling father who didn’t think an American was good enough for his daughter.

I text Conor.

JESS: Uncle Louie has a son.

CONOR: Double life?

JESS: Louie didn’t know.

CONOR: Mic drop.

JESS: It’s Mauro.

CONOR: No way.

JESS: Mauro LaFortezza had a photo on his desk. I have the rest of the photos here with me.

CONOR: Seriously?

JESS: Would Googs know anything about this? He knew Uncle Louie back in the day.

If Uncle Louie knew Claudia was pregnant, he would have married her. He was principled about that sort of thing. I can’t imagine my mother knew anything about Mauro, because if she had, she would have used it as blackmail or another reason to banish Uncle Louie to the Island. I observed some intense arguments between Mom and Louie where my mother would throw every lousy thing her brother ever did in his face, and while there were some juicy bits, an illegitimate son conceived in Italy by a stonemason’s daughter during a summer romance was not one of them.

I pull on a jean jacket and head down the stairs. I need to think. I’ve closed the gate behind me when Angelo emerges from his mother’s apartment.

“Giuseppina? How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Thank you. I thought you drove back to Milan.”

“I am not returning to Milan just yet.”

“Whenever you do, have a safe trip.” I walk away from him and across the piazza briskly. I’m almost past the statue of Maria Beatrice when Angelo catches up to me.

“Would you like some company?”

“Not really.”

“You’re angry at me.”

“No, I’m confused. You ghosted me.”

“I don’t text my feelings.”

“You could text information. ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m not fine.’ ‘Don’t text me.’ ”

“Why don’t we try to be friends?” Angelo offers. “I’m worried about you. You could use a confidant. It worked for me when I had a problem. Conor helped me.”

“What problem did you have?”

“You and your ex-husband. You never mentioned how handsome he was.”

“Bobby Bilancia is kind of the gold standard on the Jersey Shore. He turns heads. What can I tell you?”

“What can I do to make this right?” Angelo asks.

Angelo picks meup in an American army jeep the next morning. Evidently, they are prized vehicles in Italy, like a Maserati orFerrari would be in New Jersey. Before jumping inside, I unzip the clear plastic window to address the driver.

“Is this the right thing to do?” I ask him.