Page 43 of The Unraveling of Julia

“Piacere, Signora Vesta.” Gianluca shook her hand, and Anna Mattia said something to him in stern Italian, which caused him to nod.

Julia watched the exchange. “Anna Mattia, what did you say?”

Anna Mattia wagged a finger. “I say, Drive good!”

Gianluca brightened. “Julia, isthisthe villa? It’smagnificent!” He faced the villa, beaming, and spread his arms. “It’s art, it’s beauty, it’s history, all of apiece!”

“Come on, it needs work.”

“It needslove! Villas like this areimpossibleto come by!” Gianluca kept his arms open, as if to hug the villa. “You should move into this masterpiece! Whowouldn’twant this villa! You can’tbuytheseanymore. Please, don’t sell.”

“I might,” Julia had to admit.

“You’re killing me!” Gianluca’s hands flew to his chest. He staggered backward as if he’d been wounded, threw himself down on the driveway, and lay there as if dead.

Julia flashed horribly on Mike, stabbed to death. On this of all days. Her chest went tight.

“Julia?” Gianluca popped his head up, his grin faded. “Are you okay?” He scrambled to his feet. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Julia managed a smile. “Let’s get going.”

The red Ducati thrummed along the back roads of Chianti in the sunshine, and Julia tried not to think about Mike, the villa, or last night. She felt jittery, but Gianluca kept his promise and drove slowly. There were microphones in their helmets so they could talk to each other, and the traffic was light. They passed three-wheeled farm vehicles he told her were called Aps, and a quaint mule cart that would have been at home in any era.

Gianluca pointed out the sights as they drove through vast fields of sunflowers, olive groves, and vineyards, stone farmhouses with grazing horses, flocks of sheep and goats, and cows basking in the sun. The fresh air carried the scent of fennel and lavender, like aromatherapy on wheels.

They reached a two-lane road that had more traffic, and Julia acclimated herself to the bike and was able to move with the turns. She got used to the other traffic, even picking up snippets of conversations from open windows of the cars. They passed one small white Fiat, and its mustachioed driver blew cigar smoke out the window.

She spotted a sign for Forlì and they entered the city. It was modern, unlike a medieval town like Croce, and modest homes and apartments with amber and melon-colored facades lined its circuitousstreets. Shops of all types were everywhere, and traffic was brisk.

Julia saw signs for Caterina Sforza’s castle, Rocca di Ravaldino, and Gianluca pointed to a massive medieval fortress ahead, which looked like a smaller version of Castello Sforzesco in Milan. It had similar brick walls, embossed arches, and round turrets, rising incongruously among the satellite dishes, as if the past were crashing the present.

They got closer, reaching wooded grounds spanning ten city blocks, occupied by Caterina Sforza’s castle. Its red brick facade soared into the sky some ten stories, anchored by round, wide turrets with red tile roofs. Battlements extended around a huge wall covered by overgrown ivy, greenery, and flowers. There were several arched entrances, and each had a drawbridge over a dry moat. There wasn’t a soul in sight, neither tourists nor residents.

Gianluca slowed down, heading for the small parking lot, which was empty.

Suddenly Julia experienced the strangest sensation.

That she was coming home.

26

Julia and Gianluca walked across the drawbridge to Caterina Sforza’s castle, bought tickets at a retrofitted office, then entered a walled courtyard several stories high, constructed of narrow bricks that had faded to a soft orange over centuries. The castle was quiet and still, and there wasn’t another tourist in sight.

Julia looked around, getting the uncanny feeling she was safe here. Her breathing was normal, and so was her heart rate. It was a relief, even if it was hard to understand. Maybe because the walls were so thick and she was decidedly Inside. After all, the castle was a fortress. Caterina’s fortress.

Julia kept her thoughts to herself as they entered a dim, cavernous corridor, where it was cooler. The walls were of stone and rough plaster, crumbling in spots, and the floor was brick, set in diagonal patterns. There were no windows, but the darkness was companionable rather than frightening.

Gianluca smiled as they walked along. “I can play tour guide, if you like. I studied for our field trip.”

“You did?” Julia asked, surprised. Her research into Caterina Sforza last night had been interrupted by a blue ghost, a vision, or whatever.

“I’m a librarian, so it’s my job to be a know-it-all.” Gianluca grinned crookedly. “I don’t want you to think I’m mansplaining, as my sister says. She’s a feminist, so’s my mother. That’s why I’m so enlightened.”

Julia smiled. “Go for it.”

“So, to begin.” Gianluca gestured to the rooms as they walked along. “This castle is Rocca di Ravaldino and it was Caterina’s home for most of her life. As you know, she was the daughter of the Duke of Milan, came to Forlì from there, and was married at fourteen to Girolamo Riario. The Riarios were a noble family, but not as noble or important as the Sforzas. He was a power-hungry guy and takes his place in history as an organizer of the Pazzi conspiracy against the Medicis, which failed. Another noble family, the Orsis, later murdered him.”

What?Julia stopped walking, struck by the similarity to her own life. “Caterina’s husband was murdered?”

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