Page 22

SALVATORE

T he opera house buzzes with afternoon activity. Performers drift through corridors. I walk past them without acknowledgment, my focus narrowed to the administrative wing where Luca Romano keeps his office.

I scheduled this meeting under the guise of reviewing upcoming performances—to keep appearances and not draw any attention from Costa.

I'm nothing more than a generous patron interested in the artistic direction of the theater.

And to anyone outside the political bubble of the house, it will seem that way.

To Mr. Romano, however, I will seem like an enemy.

He rises from his desk when I enter, his handshake damp with nervous sweat. " Signor DeSantis, thank you for coming. Please, sit." He gestures to the same chair I occupied only ten days ago when I sought a different type of reassurance from him—one I feel was taken too far.

Donata Serra occupies the chair beside his desk, her weathered hands folded in her lap.

She watches me with sharp eyes. She's survived decades in this business by reading people and responding correctly and her presence here signifies the fact that Romano is being pressed by more sides than just mine.

"Coffee?" Luca offers, already reaching for the pot on his credenza, moving too stiffly due to anxiety and tension.

"No." I settle into the leather chair across from them. "Close the door." My order pricks him and he hesitates, then complies. The sound of the latch clicking precedes his footfall as he returns to his chair and sits.

"Now." I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "We can drop the performance. I want to know about Rosaria Costa."

The color drains from Luca's face. "I'm not sure I understand?—"

"Her schedule was meant to be freed up a little so she would have time for private performances with me.

I never told you to cut her from her leading roles.

" Having heard that Alba Sorrenti replaced Rosa was a shock to me, especially when the papers gave scathing reviews.

More politics, I'm sure, but it's just bad style.

The opera house has to keep its doors open and with a less-than-stellar singer, they will run completely on donor money and not ticket sales.

Donata and Luca exchange glances. In that brief moment of silent communication, I see confirmation of what I already suspected.

"Surely, you understand you're not the only 'donor', Mr. DeSantis." Luca folds his hands calmly, though I see them shake. He is squirming inside his suit. A man who handles situations like this all the time and still acts like a worm after a storm… despicable.

Costa has put the brakes on Rosaria's performances as punishment, so there's nothing I can do about that. To openly defy Emilio's orders backed by his money would mean certain death for Romano. My only play is to continue to push for other avenues to open.

"And Ms. Sorrenti? I asked that she be removed.

Her role should never be to replace the Rose of Rome.

You understand what the city will think of the change.

.. Why I padded that envelope for you...

" The call I made asking him to lower Ms. Sorrenti's opportunities wasn't a suggestion, and now it has become more crucial than ever that he listen to me.

"There was a situation," Luca begins carefully. "It allowed me to…" his eyes flick nervously at Donata's and she finishes for him.

"Alba Sorrenti was making threats. We have evidence of attempted blackmail. She's been terminated." She sits straighter, clearly behind this decision to remove her fully. As Rosaria's vocal coach, handpicked by Emilio himself, I know she's on the side of wisdom. She wants Rosaria on that stage.

"What kind of threats?" My focus is on her despite Romano still squirming, now muttering to himself.

"Photographs." Donata's voice cuts through Luca's stammering. "Compromising images of her with you. Alba demanded that Rosaria withdraw from auditions and publicly endorse her replacement."

"Where are these photographs now?" Rage simmers below the surface but I keep myself composed. No one blackmails me or someone in my sphere of influence and lives to tell about it.

"Destroyed," Luca says quickly. "We handled it internally. There will be no scandal, no unwanted publicity."

I study their faces, reading the tension in their postures. "What else?" There is something more going on and both of them know about it. Another glance passes between them, furtive and telling. I slap my open palm on the desk making both of them jump, and shout, "What else!"

Donata speaks first, blubbering as she says, "Rosaria collapsed during rehearsal yesterday."

The words pollute the air between us. I keep my expression neutral, but my hands tighten into fists.

"Collapsed how?" My eyes narrow on her.

"She was singing. Halfway through the aria, she nearly fainted. Had to be helped to a chair." Donata's professional facade cracks slightly. "She looked terrible. Pale, shaking. When I asked about her eating habits, she couldn't remember her last proper meal."

"The board is concerned," Luca adds. "There are whispers about illness. Some are suggesting she needs extended leave." His hand flutters to his lips where he bites his nails in a very unhealthy habit.

"Extended leave?" I repeat the words slowly. "For fainting once."

"It's not the first time she's seemed... fragile... recently. There have been other incidents. Missed cues, shortened rehearsals... The other performers have noticed." Donata shrinks inwardly, but I see concern on her face, not fear.

I stand, smoothing my jacket. "Neither of you thought to contact me?" Rising slowly, I tower over them as both of them cower.

"We didn't realize you had a vested interest in?—"

"You didn't realize..." I walk to the window overlooking the courtyard below. Afternoon shadows stretch across the cobblestones. "I made it clear that Rosaria Costa's welfare is important to me. I paid for that understanding."

"Of course, Signor DeSantis. We simply thought?—"

"You thought wrong." Luca's hand clamps over his mouth at my interruption.

I turn back to face them. Both look ready to bolt from their chairs.

"From now on, any changes to her schedule, any incidents, any concerns about her health—I hear about them immediately. Not the next day. Not when convenient. Immediately."

"Understood." Donata's head drops, and I'm satisfied they understand my meaning.

"Good." I move toward the door, then pause. "And if Alba Sorrenti surfaces anywhere near this opera house again, you call me before you call security."

I leave them sitting in their leather chairs, probably wondering how deeply they've waded into waters they never meant to enter.

The drive back to my hotel gives me time to think. Collapsed during rehearsal. Can't remember eating. The board thinks she's ill.

I've seen Rosaria perform dozens of times. She's disciplined, controlled, and professional. She doesn't collapse unless her body is betraying her in ways she can't control.

At the hotel, I pour myself a scotch and wait for Bruno's report. He's been trailing Rocco and Rosaria since yesterday, keeping a careful distance, documenting their movements.

He arrives at eight, carrying a manila folder.

"What do you have?"

"Interesting day." Bruno settles into the chair across from my desk. "After the rehearsal incident, she went straight home with Rocco. But on the way, she made him stop at a department store on Via del Corso." He hands me the envelope and I open it, glancing up at him as I pull out the photos.

"What for?" I ask, noticing the lit neon sign of a pharmacy under which Rosaria passes.

"She told Rocco she needed tampons. Made a big show of embarrassing him so he'd stay in the car."

I sip my scotch, flipping through the pictures. He's done well using his improvised surveillance techniques.

"I followed her inside. She went to the feminine hygiene aisle first, picked up a box of tampons. Then she walked three aisles over to the pharmacy section."

"And?"

"She had a clerk unlock the case with pregnancy tests, bought one, paid cash, and kept her head down the whole time." My eyes rise to meet his as he finishes speaking, and just as he does, I flip to the last photo. My eyes drop and I see her there at the counter paying.

The glass stops halfway to my lips as I say, "You're certain?"

"I saw the transaction. Small blue box, clinical packaging. She put it in her purse with the tampons and walked out."

I set the scotch down and lean back in my chair. So Rosaria's taken a pregnancy test. She's been fainting and has no appetite. The same way she's been avoiding my calls.

"Where is she now?"

"Home. Rocco's posted outside. No other movement since yesterday evening."

I stare at the ceiling, calculating timelines. The nights she's spent in my bed. The careful way she's been holding herself lately. The distant look in her eyes when she thinks I'm not watching.

"Sir?" Bruno leans forward toward me as I drop the photos and envelope on the table in front of him.

"Get everyone ready."

"Sir?" He narrows his eyes and stands, ready to move on my command.

"I want quiet orders and no unnecessary communication. If Emilio catches wind of this, we'll have a war before sunrise."

Bruno straightens in his chair. "What are your instructions?"

I stand and walk to the window. Rome spreads out below, lights beginning to flicker on as darkness settles over the city. Somewhere in those lights, Rosaria sits in her room, probably staring at a plastic stick that's about to change everything.

"I'm taking her."