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T he next morning, Julia rode in the passenger seat, edgy on her way to meet the family investigator in Florence.

Piero was driving quietly, but his silence wasn’t as companionable as before.

He’d been freaked out by the scene in the vineyard last night, and Anna Mattia had been cooler at breakfast.

Julia couldn’t blame them, more shaken than ever.

She had on a turtleneck because her neck was covered with scratches.

Her arms and legs were cut from the thornbushes under her blazer and jeans.

She hadn’t slept and looked so pale she had on foundation.

She’d taken the pearl from her wallet and flushed it down the toilet, never wanting to see it again.

The only luck it brought was nightmarish.

Julia looked out the window, trying to collect her thoughts.

She was losing her grip. She’d had nightmares at home about Mike’s murder, but she’d never left her bed, much less her bedroom .

Last night she’d run out of the house to the vineyard, gotten tangled in the vines, thrashed around like a freak, all while she was asleep .

Julia tried to let it go but couldn’t. It was as if she lived through a horror and carried it with her, embodied it somehow, terrified that she was going borderline berserk.

She sensed that Caterina was driving her to it for some reason, maybe even the same way Caterina had driven Rossi to it.

It terrified Julia to think she’d end up like Rossi.

She told herself to get a grip. She couldn’t fall apart, not today.

This was her chance to see if she was related to Rossi in some way and learn about her biological family, maybe even connect with them.

She glanced at her phone and touched the screen to read this morning’s horoscope again, since it had been a comfort.

You are being tested in ways you never imagined. Believe in yourself. Your intuitive Cancerian nature will show you the way. Your rising Virgo will give you strength to persevere.

Julia took it in as they reached the historic district, where Piero pulled over and stopped, turning to her.

“Okay here?”

“Yes, thank you.” Julia looked out the window, newly nervous.

The street was packed with cars, buses, and motorcycles.

People were everywhere. She had Google-mapped the route to the investigator’s office, which was along the Arno River.

It was a short walk through the most congested part of the city. She told herself to persevere.

Piero held up his phone. “You tex’, I come. Ciao , Signora.”

“ Grazie , Piero. Ciao .” Julia slipped on her sunglasses and got out of the car, acclimating herself to the scene. The streets were narrow, crowded, and rowdier than Milan, full of students with backpacks, couples with selfie sticks, and group tours in high-visibility hats.

She headed toward the Arno on a cobblestone walkway, powering through the hustle-bustle, chatter in different languages, and clouds of cigarette and vape smoke.

She passed pizzerias, boutiques, a tattoo parlor, a pharmacy, and a restaurant with a chalkboard that read CUCINA TIPICA TOSCANA .

Cafés lined the street, their outside tables full, and her heart pounded as she threaded her way past tourists around a kiosk selling Pinocchio marionettes, spoon rests, T-shirts, and rosaries.

Ahead the crowd spread out as Florence opened onto the Arno.

She picked up the pace to get some open air and followed her map to the river.

The water was a wide, greenish blue ribbon that mirrored the trees and magnificent stone buildings along its banks, but Julia felt too nervous to sightsee.

Traffic was stop-and-go on the street that lined the river, and sidewalks were packed with tourists taking pictures of the ancient bridges spanning the water, among them the most popular, the Ponte Vecchio.

Julia took a right turn away from the Ponte Vecchio, hurrying along the crowded sidewalk to the investigator’s address. Her steps quickened, and she felt better knowing that soon she’d be inside the investigator’s office.

Julia stopped at the address on her phone.

Google Maps showed the building facing the Arno, but there wasn’t an office at the address, only an outdoor café.

She scrolled to check the email from Lombardi, but she was at the correct address.

She thought Lombardi must’ve made a mistake until an older man started waving to her from one of the tables.

He had tinted glasses, thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a flashy suit.

“Julia, I’m Gustavo Caputo! Join me!”

Julia was surprised he would meet her at a café. She walked over, noting a large carafe of wine on his table, half empty.

“Julia, you’re even lovelier than Lombardi said!” Caputo beamed, throwing open his arms. “If only I were younger! You could be my third ex-wife!”

Arg. Julia managed a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Caputo.”

“Please, call me Gustavo! Aren’t you impressed with my English?

My first wife was British. She insisted I learn the language and also that I leave the house.

” Caputo gestured with a flourish to the chair next to him.

People flowed past them on the sidewalk, but he ignored them.

“Do sit down, Julia! Let’s get to know one another, shall we? ”

“Here?” Julia didn’t want to discuss her family search in public. The tables were close together, full of tourists, talking and smoking. “What about your office?”

“There’s no need! Could one ask for a better view?” Caputo gestured to the Arno. “Please, have a seat. I’m having coffee brought for you.”

Julia sat down, dismayed. She wondered if he even had an office.

“So tell me about yourself!” Caputo retook his seat. “What’s it like to be an heiress?”

Gimme a break. “I’d rather hear about your professional services. Mr. Lombardi said you were an experienced family investigator.”

“What will you do with that much money?” Caputo’s eyes flashed behind his tinted glasses. “If I were young, I’d take a world tour!”

Julia tried to get on track. “Have you handled many family searches for adoptees?”

“No. I do paternity work.” Caputo took a gulp of wine as a waitress came over with an espresso, a plate of biscotti, and a menu trimmed in leather.

“Thank you,” Julia said, then the waitress left.

“Please, order whatever you wish. I’m having an early lunch. I recommend the risotto San Massimiliano Riserva to start. It’s a delight, with cauliflower, raisins, cashews, and capers.”

“I’m not hungry.” Julia kept her voice low. “So can you conduct a family search for me?”

“Sure, why not?”

Hmmm. “Okay, I was left an inheritance by a woman named Emilia Rossi. I don’t know if she’s related to me, but she was the age my grandmother would be.

However, she reportedly had no children, no known family, and never married.

I wonder if you could verify that information.

I assume public records would tell you—”

“Smart, beautiful, and rich!” Caputo poured himself another glass of wine, emptying the carafe. “You’ll be beating them off with a stick! You don’t need an investigator, you need a bodyguard!”

Julia felt annoyed. “To return to the point, the villa is near Croce, in Chianti.”

Caputo gulped his wine. “Rosso is a very common name.”

“It’s Rossi, not Rosso.”

“What’s her first name again?”

“Emilia with an ‘E.’ Don’t you want to write this down?”

“We need a refill.” Caputo hoisted the empty wine carafe to signal the waitress, bumping a young man in a black ballcap, passing by.

“When was the last time you worked for Mr. Lombardi?”

“Ten, eleven years?” Caputo wiggled his carafe, but all of a sudden, it slipped and crashed to the sidewalk, sending glass shards in all directions. People startled at the nearby tables, and tourists jumped aside.

Julia rose. She wasn’t about to entrust her family search to this idiot. “Mr. Caputo, I think we’re done here.”

Julia hurried away from the café, her phone to her ear.

She was calling Piero to pick her up, but he didn’t answer.

He must not have expected her to be finished so soon.

She hurried through the crowds thronging the Ponte Vecchio, trying to get past them for open air on the other side of the bridge nearer the Uffizi Gallery.

Julia texted Piero on the way, her heart beginning to pound.

She called Lombardi, hoping he would have other referrals for family investigators.

She kept walking as she held the phone to her ear, covering her other ear so she could hear.

The call dropped abruptly, so she tried again, hurrying along the Arno.

She passed under a stretch of stucco arches, and the noise level subsided.

She tried Lombardi again, and the call connected, so she ducked next to an arch, near the wall to stay out of the crowd.

“ Pronto …,” Lombardi answered, but the reception was terrible.

“Hi, it’s Julia Pritzker. I met with Caputo but he’s not going to work out. Do you have any other recommendations?”

“Julia… I… can’t hear… you.”

“Can you hear me now?” Julia turned around and spotted a man near one of the arches. He was the passerby in the black ballcap that Caputo bumped at the café. He turned his head away quickly. Oddly, it gave her the impression that he’d been watching her.

“Julia? Julia? I… hear… only static.”

“Can you recommend any other investigators?” Julia knew Lombardi couldn’t hear her, but she didn’t know what was going on with the man in the black ballcap. He had been looking directly at her, almost as if he was following her.

“I’m sorry… can you… call back?”

“No, this is a good time for me.” Julia walked away. She didn’t want the man in the ballcap to know that she’d spotted him. She was wearing sunglasses, so he couldn’t have seen her eyes.

“Julia… I will hang up… and…”

“No, wait, it could get better.” Julia kept walking. The call dropped again. She nodded, pretending the conversation was continuing. The arches ended, and the sidewalk narrowed on her side of the street. Traffic was stopped, and she crossed the street, still faking conversation.

Ahead was a majestic row of vaulted arches and signs to the Uffizi. Sunshine poured around the immense columns, casting long lines of light and dark. Tourists thronged on the grand stone promontory under the arches, taking pictures.

Julia headed that way, keeping her pace casual. She didn’t know if the man in the black ballcap was behind her. She reached the edge of the crowd under the arches and spotted a young girl taking selfies, which gave her an idea.

She ended her fake phone call, stopped, and took selfies, selecting the widest angle to get the crowd behind her. She fake-posed and turned slowly to face the river, so she could look sideways and see if the man in the ballcap was behind her.

He was .

Julia’s mouth went dry. He’d put on sunglasses, but it was him.

He was standing at one of the souvenir kiosks looking at a scarf, but it seemed fishy.

The scarf was pink, a woman’s scarf, and he looked local anyway.

She fixed a description of him in her mind; young white guy, average height and weight, black ballcap, skinny jeans, black sneakers.

Julia’s heart began to hammer. She snapped a slew of photos, hoping they’d included him.

If he was following her, she couldn’t imagine why.

If he wanted to hit on her, he already would have.

Maybe he’d overheard Caputo say she was an heiress and he wanted to rob her.

She wondered if she was being paranoid, like Rossi.

She headed toward the Uffizi, picking up the pace.