Chapter 21
FRANCESCA
I stand in front of an Upper West Side brownstone where the Russo sisters live. It’s four stories and a rich chocolate color with a wrought iron door. Green winter ivy grows up the front. It’s like a dream house in Manhattan. Several steps lead up to the landing, and I worry about Darden getting up there.
I tighten the scarf around his neck. “You didn’t have to come with me.”
“I’m the one who’s been working on this since yesterday. I’m invested.” He grimaces, giving me a careful glance. “Plus, we don’t know what they’ll say. You need backup.”
“You’re the bad cop, and I’m the good cop?”
He huffs out a laugh. “We’ll see.”
Last night, he found the information he was looking for: their address, plus a little more. The Russos’ grandmother’s name was Francesca. She went by Frances and came from Sicily to marry into the Russo family.
We move carefully up the steps. I ring the bell, and a housekeeper opens the door. “May I help you?” she asks as she takes in my thick hoodie, joggers, and coat.
At least Darden thought ahead and put on a suit.
She sees an elderly man with a cane, and her bland expression softens.
I can’t find my voice, so Darden speaks—and puts some sweet in his tone. “Hello. How are you? Are the Russos in today?”
“Are you expected?”
He smiles. “Sorry, no. I knew their father, Lorenzo.” A gust of wind whips his hat off, and I dash to get it. Darden fakes a dramatic shiver as I set it back on his head.
She lets us in the foyer area that opens to a formal living and dining room. The ceilings are at least fifteen feet tall; heavy gold chandeliers glitter in the air. The walls are covered in a gold damask wallpaper, the wooden furnishings ornate.
Darden removes his coat and hands it to her. I do the same.
“Who was it?” Gianna appears in the hall, sees me, and blinks. It’s early, and she’s in a lounging two-piece sweater-and-pant set. There’s a cup of coffee in her hand. “Francesca? What ... why are you here?”
I brush past the housekeeper. “We need to talk.”
“You could have texted?” she says.
“I could have, but it seemed imperative that we do it in person.”
She glances at Darden. “Who’s he?”
“Family,” I say.
She gives me a surprised look as I introduce them. She says she recognizes his name from around Manhattan.
Darden wobbles on his cane, and I’m not sure if it’s for effect or real. I steady him, then look at Gianna. “May we sit and chat? If your sister is here, we’d like to talk to her as well.”
Gianna’s back straightens, and her eyes gleam—whether with excitement or fear, I don’t know. “Sure. Lori, escort them to the study.”
Half an hour later, Valentina and Gianna appear in the study, a large room with two desks near the windows and more damask wallpaper,this time in green. A velvet lounger and chairs are arranged around a muted Oriental rug. It’s all very plush but uncomfortable.
Valentina is dressed in a black suit. Gianna wears red. I take in the widow’s peak on Valentina, and my breath quickens.
“So how are you, Francesca?” Valentina says formally.
“Great.” I take off my locket and hold it out. “My mother left this for me, and you know who she is.”
Gianna looks at her sister, and Valentina gives her an imperceptible nod. Gianna clears her throat. “Francesca, we believe your father left it for you, our uncle. His name was Dante, after the poet.”