I've seen Rosaria perform dozens of times. She's disciplined, controlled, and professional. She doesn't collapse unless her body is betraying her in ways she can't control.
At the hotel, I pour myself a scotch and wait for Bruno's report. He's been trailing Rocco and Rosaria since yesterday, keeping a careful distance, documenting their movements.
He arrives at eight, carrying a manila folder.
"What do you have?"
"Interesting day." Bruno settles into the chair across from my desk. "After the rehearsal incident, she went straight home with Rocco. But on the way, she made him stop at a department store on Via del Corso." He hands me the envelope and I open it, glancing up at him as I pull out the photos.
"What for?" I ask, noticing the lit neon sign of a pharmacy under which Rosaria passes.
"She told Rocco she needed tampons. Made a big show of embarrassing him so he'd stay in the car."
I sip my scotch, flipping through the pictures. He's done well using his improvised surveillance techniques.
"I followed her inside. She went to the feminine hygiene aisle first, picked up a box of tampons. Then she walked three aisles over to the pharmacy section."
"And?"
"She had a clerk unlock the case with pregnancy tests, bought one, paid cash, and kept her head down the whole time." My eyes rise to meet his as he finishes speaking, and just as he does, I flip to the last photo. My eyes drop and I see her there at the counter paying.
The glass stops halfway to my lips as I say, "You're certain?"
"I saw the transaction. Small blue box, clinical packaging. She put it in her purse with the tampons and walked out."
I set the scotch down and lean back in my chair. So Rosaria's taken a pregnancy test. She's been fainting and has no appetite. The same way she's been avoiding my calls.
"Where is she now?"
"Home. Rocco's posted outside. No other movement since yesterday evening."
I stare at the ceiling, calculating timelines. The nights she's spent in my bed. The careful way she's been holding herself lately. The distant look in her eyes when she thinks I'm not watching.
"Sir?" Bruno leans forward toward me as I drop the photos and envelope on the table in front of him.
"Get everyone ready."
"Sir?" He narrows his eyes and stands, ready to move on my command.
"I want quiet orders and no unnecessary communication. If Emilio catches wind of this, we'll have a war before sunrise."
Bruno straightens in his chair. "What are your instructions?"
I stand and walk to the window. Rome spreads out below, lights beginning to flicker on as darkness settles over the city. Somewhere in those lights, Rosaria sits in her room, probably staring at a plastic stick that's about to change everything.
"I'm taking her."
18
ROSARIA
The evening air bites at my skin as I push through the estate's iron gates. My argument with my uncle Emilio still echoes in my ears, his voice sharp with disappointment and barely contained rage. Yet another "reminder" that my association with Salvatore DeSantis is hurting his bottom dollar and how the opera house demands more from me. I need distance. I need to breathe without his eyes tracking my every movement.
"Rosaria, slow down." Rocco's footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me. "You shouldn't be out here alone."
"I'm not alone. You're here."
"That's not what I mean."
