Page 112 of Single Malt Drama

“To see a woman about a secret.” I turned onto a dirt road leading to the ancient building on top of the hill. With its thick stone walls and tall narrow windows, the place resembled a medieval fortress—for all I knew, that’s exactly what it was.

“A woman or a nun?” He gripped the dashboard as I navigated the steep terrain.

“Same difference.” I had to tell him the truth before we walked in there, but I wasn’t sure how he’d take it. The last thing I needed was another concussion. “Your father sent a woman here years ago. My dad seems to think she knows something that can help us.”

Giancarlo narrowed his eyes. “You mean give you leverage?”

I parked the SUV and pulled the keys from the ignition before turning to him. “Us leverage. Me, Nico, you, your brothers. I have no idea what we’re going to learn in there. This entire thing might turn out to be a dead end, but I’m curious enough to find out.”

He scrubbed his hands over his military short hair. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Giancarlo strode to the heavy wood door and pulled the chain.

Bells rang somewhere inside the convent. The entire thing reminded me of an old movie. I half expected to see Al Pacino, with a machine gun on his back, ride up on a freaking donkey.

A nun in a full habit, and heavy wooden beads, opened the door. She couldn’t have been more than four and a half feet tall, and from the looks of it, she might have been around when the place was built.

We stood there staring.

The nun arched an eyebrow and motioned to her mouth, then to us.

“Right. Vow of silence.” I grumbled. “We’d like to speak to the Mother Superior.”

She motioned to herself.

“You’re the Mother Superior?” Giancarlo asked.

She nodded.

He threw his head back and laughed. “What was that you were saying about a dead end, Marchionni?”

I debated between throat-punching him and laughing. Interestingly enough, I had the same reaction to my brothers on a daily basis. “Kiss my… I mean…go bless yourself, Lazio.”

Wide-eyed, the nun pressed her hand to her mouth, stepped back, and motioned for us to come inside.

Giancarlo and I exchanged glances as we followed her.

I whispered, “Must have said the magic word.”

“Yeah, Lazio.” He pressed his lips into a thin line.

The Mother Superior held up her hand, signaling for us to stop, before hurrying down a corridor.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Same here.”

We turned at the sound of fast footsteps.

A woman with long dark hair, shot through with streaks of silver, ran into the courtyard, but stopped short when she saw us. Her dark eyes swept over us several times before settling on Giancarlo.

I stared unable to look away. She was beautiful and familiar—hauntingly familiar. My stomach clenched.

My God. It can’t be.

She fell to her knees, clasped hands held up to the sky, she repeated one word over and over. “Grazie, grazie, grazie.”

Giancarlo took a tentative step forward. “Mamma?”

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