Page 69 of The Sicilian Inheritance

When we reached Agata’s office back at the church she tumbled face-first on her couch. “I may not wake up for a while. Sometimes I sleep for two days,” she mumbled into her sheets. “Get me a pen and paper. I will write the name and phone number of my friend who will help you at the consulate.” I grabbed them and she scribbled down some numbers and a name.

Agata was nearly out, but she managed one more thing.

“You should not stay in Sicily. It’s never safe for a woman here, but when people want something from you, they will do whatever it takes to get it. They’ll make it look like an accident.”

I realized too late that she never gave me a key to the apartment across the street. It didn’t matter; there was no way I could sleep without reading the missing diary pages. I didn’t need to delve into the text very long before I found what I needed. There were long paragraphs of Serafina recounting the exact exchange she had with Marco when he gave her the land, including one where he said he would put her name on the deed. She also wrote down the name of the bank he made the transaction with.

There was another section where she wrote about asking him whether the land was hers to sell. According to her recollection his answer was a clear and absolute yes. She could do what she wanted with the land, but he asked her one thing in return. He begged her not to leave Sicily for America.

I thought about that request. Serafina didn’t leave. She was killed before she could get on a boat and join her husband. Was Marco desperate enough to keep her that he would make sure she stayed at any cost? Dead or alive?

There was also no longer a question in my mind about whether the two of them were lovers. Plenty of those passages remained. I would keep them to myself. I would protect her.

Who knew if the diary pages would mean anything to the officials, but at least I had the information in my possession. I was no longer at Giusy’s mercy for every little scrap. After I went to the consulate I would find out if the bank Serafina mentioned still existed and if so whether they had any records of the deed being filed.

I kept reading. A quiver of sadness crept through me at one of the last mentions of C., Serafina’s best friend and confidante. She finally wrote the woman’s entire name. Cettina. It was familiar. I remember how musical it sounded when I read it from the church registry.

Serafina was having an affair with her best friend’s husband. The realization was heart-wrenching. She didn’t just betray her husband. She betrayed the woman who was closer to her than a sister. And if she could do that, then what other parts of the gossip and rumors that clung to her name and legacy were true?

The final page was the most chilling:

I never allow myself to be alone anymore. I have no doubt that Carmine will murder me the first chance that he gets. I sense danger everywhere. In my nightmares Gio returned and struck me, even Marco pushed my head beneath scalding bathwater. These men who once loved me wanted nothing more than my destruction.

The words nestled in my gut. Her fear became a part of me as I reread a passage where Serafina said she was planning a trip to Palermo, how nervous she was to finally visit this beautiful, strange, and otherworldly place. I thought about how travel was such a privilege for her and how much easier it was for me.

There were a couple of stray blankets and a throw pillow where I could lay down on the floor and sleep for an hour. I plugged my phone into a charger I found on one of the tables and noticed a text from my sister from more than twelve hours ago.

Are you OK? I’m worried about you.

There was too much to write in a text and I didn’t want to wake Agata by calling. I thought about how to explain it all to Carla as I forced myself into a brief dreamless sleep.

—

I left well before Luca returned and sent him a text saying I was fine on my own. I reached the consulate before it opened, finding a pleasant bench near a church down the street.

The sun was already warm on my skin, but a shiver ran through me as I got the feeling I was being watched. I looked behind me and saw a man holding his phone aloft like he was trying to get service, but I could tell he was taking my picture. His hair was long and greasy. He had a hint of a beard and sat next to a dusty brown backpack that took up more of the bench than he did. When we made eye contact, he stood and walked quickly away, disappearing into a narrow alley behind the church.

“Hey,” I shouted, and ran to the street, but he had disappeared.

Was he the one who left the note in Luca’s car? I considered running into the alley to try to find him, but the consulate was about to open.

As Agata had promised, her friend met me at nine on the dot in front of the shabby office building that housed the consulate. “Hey. I’m Harper,” she said. She was American, her Southern accent thick and friendly. She had a long red braid that nearly grazed her tailbone and the wide-set eyes of a Disney princess. She wore a conservative navy skirt suit with an American flag pin on the lapel. I tried to imagine her hanging out with funky little Agata and I liked their juxtaposition.

“Your passport was stolen?” Harper asked as we walked into the building.

“Yeah. From my hotel room.”

“And you have a police report?”

“I do.”

“Do you have a copy of the passport?”

“I have a photocopy that Giusy made when I checked in.”

“This will be easy, then. I can get you a temporary document that you can use as identification when you go back to America.”

“Would it work as an ID if I wanted to open a bank account here?”

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