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H alf an hour later, Julia and Courtney were in the back seat of an Uber driven by an elderly man named Salvi, who spoke no English and listened to opera, humming along.

It had been Julia’s idea to change cars.

She was over being eavesdropped on, stalked, and surveilled by thugs.

She’d left the Ferrari with an astonished mechanic who agreed to store it in his garage for a few days.

She and Courtney managed to calm down on the road, processing what the cops had done to them.

They talked it out, compared notes, and even cried a little together.

Julia knew she wouldn’t get over it completely and neither would Courtney.

She felt guilty that her best friend had been victimized and she was more determined than ever to keep going.

They decided to visit the rest of the schools in the Uber, sticking with the plan to look for Julia’s biological mother.

They wouldn’t be followed in the unknown car and they hoped the worst thing that was going to happen had already happened.

So they visited the schools on the list, one after the next.

They broke only for a quick lunch and another call to the hospital to see if Gianluca’s condition had changed, but it hadn’t.

By the end of the day, they reached Moravia, another hilltop village, and pulled into the parking lot beside the school. The sign read MONTESSORI SCUOLA DI MORAVIA .

Julia struggled to hold her emotions in check. “This is almost the last school. What if she’s not here, after all I put you through, and Gianluca?”

“We have two left. You can always widen the search and start over. Stay positive, okay? Who knows, she could be here.”

“What if this search is a fool’s errand—”

“No, it’s not.” Courtney touched her arm. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Okay.” Julia opened the door, and they got out of the car and walked to the school, which was a restored villa.

Its stone facade looked recently repointed, and its shutters shone an enameled green.

Mounded oleander in shades of pink and white flourished in sculpted beds that flanked an arched entrance of unvarnished wood.

They climbed the steps to the entrance, and Julia found the squawk box, pressing the black button. She introduced herself, then said, “Hello, may I come in? I’m here on a personal matter for one of the teachers.”

“Okay,” said a woman, and when the buzzer sounded, Julia entered the school with Courtney.

The entrance hall was posh, with classy touches like oil portraits in heavy gilt frames, ornate crown molding atop plaster walls, and a magnificent stone fireplace.

There was a door on the left that read UFFICIO , and next to it an older teacher stood thumb-tacking photographs onto an old-fashioned bulletin board, under a construction paper sign that read BENVENUTO, PRIMAVERA!

They headed toward the office, and the teacher dropped some of her photographs, letting loose some flustered Italian.

“I’ll get them.” Julia bent over and picked up the photos.

“Oh! You are American? I love to speak English! My name is Giovanna.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Julia and this is Courtney.” Julia handed her the photographs. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. I hope I don’t damage.” Giovanna dusted off the top photo, a corporate portrait of a middle-aged man. “This is Adamo Bucci. His son Paolo is here, and Signore Bucci came yesterday to present him with the award for student-of-the-month.”

“How nice.”

“Signore Bucci is considering Moravia for his new project. His wife told us.” Giovanna leaned over, lowering her voice. “She told my friend and my friend tells me. How do you call this?”

“Telephone tag?” Julia took a guess, but she wanted to get to the office.

Courtney interjected, “No, Giovanna, you mean dish, gossip . If you want to be cool, say gos .”

“Gos!” Giovanna’s hooded eyes lit up. “I am gos ?”

Courtney shook her head. “No, you have gos .”

“I ’ave gos .” Giovanna leaned over, again. “The gos is we win. We go against Vincenza and Croce.”

“Croce?” Julia’s ears pricked up. She looked again at the photo, but it seemed dark, then she remembered she had her sunglasses on. She slid them off, and Giovanna gasped, startled.

“ Madonna! You look like one of our teachers.”

“What?” Julia asked, stunned. “Really?”

“Yes.” Giovanna scanned Julia’s face. “ Very much!”

“Who? I’m here looking for my birth mother.”

Giovanna’s dark eyes flew open. She grabbed Julia’s hand. “Come!”