Last Voyage of the Valentina(100)

“She was killed with a knife to her throat.” He drew a line with his finger across his own neck and watched the color in Alba’s cheeks turn to gray. “She had been in Naples with her lover, the infamous Mafia boss, Lupo Bianco.”

“Lupo Bianco? Who’s he?” Alba interrupted. “I can’t believe she took a lover the night before she was to marry my father.”

“She had been Lupo Bianco’s mistress for some time.”

“So, who was he?”

“Probably the most powerful man in the south. I knew Lupo myself as a boy. We fished together. He enjoyed watching suffering, even then. First fish, later people. He cared little for life. He was wanted by the police for terrible crimes. Slippery as an eel, no one could ever pin anything on him. He profited greatly from the war. Made millions through extortion, racketeering, even murder. He hid it all in secret bank accounts that have never been found. Whoever killed him did the police a favor, though it ignited a terrible feud between Lupo’s successor, Antonio Il Morocco, and the Camorra of Naples. A feud over tuna prices which still rumbles on today.”

“Did my father know?”

“He found out the morning of her death.”

“Poor Daddy!” she sighed. “I never realized.”

“She lay dead in Lupo Bianco’s car, dripping with furs and diamonds. It was a terrible shock for him. But it didn’t surprise me. I understood Valentina better than anyone. She wasn’t a bad person; she was weak, that’s all. She was beautiful and she loved beautiful things. She loved attention; she loved intrigue and adventure. She wanted to leave Incantellaria. She was too intelligent for a small place like this. She was like a bird whose wingspan was never allowed to spread to its full capacity. She was diminished here. She could have shone in Rome or Milan or Paris, even America. She was far too exceptional to be understood by these simple folk. Above all, though, she loved love. She was lonely. She was like an empty honeypot, always relying on others to fill her up. But she was a survivor and as cunning as a fox. Remember, it was wartime.” He shook his head, his thick, curly hair falling over his eyes. “Perhaps I should have tried harder to stop her, but I had my own battles to fight.”

“Didn’t she love my father at all?” she asked in a small voice.

Falco touched her arm tenderly. “I think it was only after he left that she realized she loved him. Then she discovered she was pregnant and you, Alba, were her greatest joy.” Alba lowered her gaze and fixed it on the grass in front of her. “She made sure that she ate healthily, as healthily as one could in the wartime. Thanks to her connections with Lupo Bianco and others she obtained food on the black market and an American supplied her with the medication she needed.”

“Did she continue her affair while she was carrying me?”

He said nothing. She bit the skin around her thumbnail pensively.

“You were born at home, delivered by Mamma and a midwife. From that moment on she saved herself for your father. She had plans, you see. She was going to live in England and raise a family. She was going to be respectable—a lady. Your father had told her about this great house she was going to live in. She was excited. Once you were born, nothing else mattered but you and your father. When he returned they only had eyes for each other and for you. They’d sit under the trees in the garden and watch you sleeping. You were their obsession. He’d draw her and they’d talk. But she told him nothing of her secrets. She didn’t want to spoil it. I tried to convince her to tell him the truth. I was sure that if he really loved her he would only want to take her away from here where she would be safe and looked after.”

“So why was she murdered?”

Falco paused a moment and stared out to sea. His face hardened and his eyes suddenly looked dark and haunted. “I fought with her a lot in the last few days. I told her she had to tell him the truth. She wouldn’t listen. Valentina was as stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be. There was a part of her that was strong and determined. She didn’t look like she could swat a fly, but beneath the angelic veneer was a sometimes hard and selfish woman. Then she had this ridiculous idea of coming clean with her lover. As if by telling him of her plans she would somehow redeem herself in God’s eyes. You see, the statue of Christ remained dry.”

“The famous festa di Santa Benedetta, I know all about it,” she said. “My mother saw it as a bad omen?”

“She was very superstitious. She believed it augured badly for the wedding and for her future. She went to Naples to tell Lupo Bianco that she was leaving Italy.”