LUCA MORETTI
I came down the stairs of the pink house slowly.
Donna Carmela was still in the hall below, the edge of her apron still in her hand.
"Donna Carmela."
"Don."
"You sheltered the son of my enemy for two months."
"I know."
"You're going to have a problem with that."
She nodded.
"But my grandfather was very fond of you. So the problem will be small. Move out of Capri tomorrow and go to Sorrento. I'll pay for the house."
"Grazie, Don."
"Don't thank me. Work."
I stepped out of the pink house onto Via Tragara.
The sun was high now, the tourists were starting to appear in their straw hats, the bougainvillea glowed on the wall.
I lit a cigar.
Valentina, up there, was hugging her brother for the first time in seven years. And I, down here, had just made the first decision of the next six months: Matteo Rossi goes to Posillipo, to the cellar.
Not because I hate Matteo. I loved Matteo like a brother since I was eight.
But love doesn't undo seven years of silence, and in my house, love doesn't replace the accounting.
Valentina would hate me for two days over this, but she'd want me on the third.
Bella mia... You haven't seen the worst of me yet.