The Unravelling of Julia E-Book

Lisa Scottoline

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 502

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR LISA SCOTTOLINE RETURNS 'A compelling thriller with dashes of romance and excellent twists!' New York Times and #1 International Bestselling author, Karin Slaughter When Julia's husband is brutally murdered in a random attack, her life unravels in ways she never could have foreseen. Haunted by his death and spiraling into despair, Julia seeks refuge in a secluded Italian villa she has mysteriously inherited from a stranger. But her sanctuary becomes a prison as she uncovers disturbing connections to her own past – and faces chilling threats that may not be imaginary. Caught between a heritage she doesn't understand and a darkness she can't escape, Julia must confront secrets that could cost her what little she has left. The Unraveling of Julia is a gripping, atmospheric tale of grief, memory, and a descent into psychological terror that will keep readers turning pages deep into the night.

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Praise for The Unravelling of Julia

‘A compelling thriller with dashes of romance and excellent twists!’ New York Times and #1 International Bestselling author, Karin Slaughter

‘Scottoline deftly weaves a touch of astrology through this fast-paced thriller, and the result is a stunning novel that will leave you breathless’ Fiona Davis, New York Times bestselling author

‘Pulse-pounding, propulsive, and utterly unputdownable… another can’t-miss masterpiece… [It] reaffirms Scottoline’s status as the undeniable queen of the psychological thriller’ Kristy Woodson Harvey, New York Times bestselling author

‘All the hallmarks of the very best Lisa Scottoline novels and yet is also something spectacularly new. This might just be my favorite Lisa Scottoline book yet, and that’s saying a lot!’ Marie Benedict, New York Times bestselling author

‘This is a thriller as twisted as an Italian road with high-speed car chases, visions, terrors day and night… Enthralling, intriguing and ridiculously entertaining’ Liz Nugent, internationally bestselling author

‘A delicious escape that blends suspense, atmosphere, and heart – this is Scottoline at her finest’ Danielle Trussoni, New York Times bestselling author

For my beloved daughter Francesca

Ilookquietandconsistent, butfewknowhowmanywomenthereareinme.

—AnaïsNin

Astrologypenetrateddeepintotheintellectual and political life of the Renaissance. It was, asithadalwaysbeen,aspaciousphilosophical structure,somewherebetweenascienceanda religion, offering a unifying perspective on questionsofcosmologyandphysics,medicine andbiology,andaboveallonhumandestiny.

—Peter Whitfield, A History of Astrology (2001)

LittleGreen,haveahappyending.

—JoniMitchell,Little Green

1

Julia knew something terrible was about to happen. Her knowing wasn’t conscious, but something she sensed and couldn’t acknowledge, even to herself. It felt like dread, but she’d never dreaded anything like this. Reflexively she tucked her arm under her husband’s as they walked down the street. It was dark and almost midnight, since they’d gone to dinner late.

Julia glanced over her shoulder, nervous even in the exclusive Rittenhouse Square neighborhood. No one was behind them. Twenty-First Street was lined with tall Victorian row houses converted to apartments, and TVs inside flickered like lightning strikes. Only a few people were out, hurrying home as they talked into earbuds, conversing with the night.

‘You okay, babe?’ Mike asked, leaning toward her. His hands were in the pockets of his overcoat, and he had on a suit since he’d been in court that day. His red hair caught a gust of cold wind, and freckles dotted his face like constellations.

‘I’m fine, let’s go.’ Julia couldn’t explain a feeling she didn’t understand. Their street was only steps away. Home was just around the corner.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know, I feel… scared,’ Julia answered, and as soon as the words escaped her lips, she knew the terrible thing was going to happen right now.

Suddenly a man came around the corner, blocking their path. A blue hoodie shadowed his face. He had on a black down jacket and jeans. In his hand was a large hunting knife, its blade lethally jagged.

Julia froze, terrified. The man grabbed her shoulder bag, but the motion yanked her toward him.

Mike lunged between them to protect her. The man thrust the knife into him. Mike groaned in agony as his head fell forward. The knife protruded from his chest, stuck gruesomely in his white shirt.

‘No!’ Julia screamed. Mike wobbled on his feet.

The man yanked the knife from Mike’s chest, and blood spurted from the wound. The man turned and ran.

Mike collapsed. Julia grabbed him and fell with him to the sidewalk. His blood sprayed them both, hideously warm.

Frantic, Julia covered his wound with her hands. Blood pulsed into her palms, then stopped abruptly. Mike looked up at her without seeing her, his gaze gone vacant. His blue eyes fixed like ice. His jaw eased open. He lay lifeless on her lap, leaking blood.

‘Mike!’ Julia shrieked, a primal wail echoing in the night, reverberating off the concrete.

Mike stared at the stars.

Seeing between them, forever.

2

Julia sighed, the only sound in the apartment. Mike’s funeral had come and gone, and her in-laws were back in Massachusetts. She wondered how often she’d see them now. There were no grandchildren to bind them, since Mike hadn’t wanted to try to get pregnant yet.

Babe, next year, I release the Kraken.

Today was the first day she’d made it to her desk. Every morning since his murder had been a unique sort of hell. She’d wake up, realize he wasn’t there, and remember why. He wasn’t at the office. He wasn’t playing basketball. He wasn’t in the kitchen making them both coffee, a kindness she was grateful for, every day.

Julia would remember things he said or did, having teary flashbacks. They’d met freshman year at Notre Dame, where he was a sports fanatic who took art history on a lark. He was clever and fun, and they clicked instantly. They married at the Basilica and moved to Philly, where she got an MFA in painting at Penn while he went to its law school. They became each other’s family and were blessedly happy, most of their fights over stupid things like March Madness, which she regretted now.

Mike, it’s only a basketball game. If we leave now, we’ll be back for the last quarter.

Babe, that’s the climax. Boys need foreplay, too.

Julia’s memories would keep her in bed, where she was the most miserable, and the more she remembered, the more miserable she’d be and the more stuck in bed. Getting up meant starting another day without him in a life that was Before and After. She lived an Afterlife.

Mike’s ashes were on the bookshelf in a brass urn, since he told her he wanted to be cremated in a conversation they both thought was hypothetical. Next to it sat a photo of him from his law school graduation, grinning in a mortarboard. It had been displayed at his funeral, but Julia thought no photo could capture Michael Aaron Shallette, who was so full of life, talk, and opinions.

He has the gift of the gab, her father always said.

Her truest feeling was a deep sadness for him, not for herself. Mike got only thirty-two years and twenty-one days on the planet, and she raged at the injustice. Gone too soon and life cut tragically short were too generic for him. Mike set goals and announced them, always planning. He wanted to be a father by thirty-four and he used to talk about their first child. He’d say, I’ll take a boy or a girl. Girls can hit three-pointers, too.

He used to talk about the BMW Z4 he configured online. Honey, I’m getting that car when I make partner. The website said so.

He used to talk about his lawyers league championship. Next year, Dechert goes down.

But Mike didn’t get next year. He didn’t even get next week, and that was what she mourned. Sorry for your loss, everyone told her, but he was the one who lost everything, and that killed her. She didn’t know if the word for that feeling was grief, or love.

Julia barely slept. She had nightmares that left her trembling. She’d see the man in the hoodie stepping from the darkness, the knife, Mike’s blood. Some days she’d get up, brush her teeth, and shower, but working seemed impossible. She had a small business designing and maintaining websites, but she could barely concentrate. Meanwhile, the financial pressure was on. She made $75,000 to Mike’s $250,000 a year, and his firm had already direct-deposited his last check. She had rent, student loans, credit card bills, and car payments. There was about $37,000 in savings, but $8,500 went for his funeral. Mike had only minimal life insurance because he was too young to die.

The police had no leads on his murder, and she routinely called the Homicide Division and the ADA. She’d given statements but didn’t have a good description of the killer because it had been too dark. His face had been shadowed by the hoodie, so she hadn’t seen his features and didn’t know his race or age. He hadn’t said anything, so she hadn’t even heard his voice. The ADA warned her to be vigilant when she went out, since she was an eyewitness, and it disturbed her that the killer knew what she looked like but she didn’t know what he looked like. She wouldn’t see him coming, so she stayed inside.

The guilt was a gut punch, and a loop of second-guessing ran through her mind several times a day. What if she hadn’t worn a designer bag? What if they hadn’t eaten so late? What if Mike hadn’t tried to protect her? Since the funeral, Julia had a constant stomachache. She thought it was something she ate until she realized it was pure, weapons-grade guilt, Catholic in origin. Mike had died for her.

A social worker had called, urging her to use Crime Victim Support. Julia ended up Zooming with a mother whose son was shot at a wedding, a man whose brother was stabbed in a bar, and a woman whose sister was strangled by a boyfriend. Julia listened to them in horror, crying with them. Her nightmares intensified, so she quit.

Her best friend Courtney made her see a therapist, Susanna Cobb. They had their first session, also on Zoom, and Susanna recommended a Zoom widow bereavement group, but that didn’t work, either. The other widows had decades with their husbands, and all Julia could think was how lucky they were. Plus the facilitator talked about ‘widow empowerment’ and ‘interactive self-help tools,’ when Julia felt neither empowered nor interactive. They told her to expect the occasional ‘griefburst,’ but she lived in a griefburst. moping is coping read their slogan, but she coped way too much.

Since Mike’s death, Julia thought of her mother more and more. They’d been best friends, and Melanie Mortssen Pritzker was a warm and funny woman, a former NICU nurse devoted to Julia and filling her childhood with happy moments. Chasing foamy wavelets at the beach. Exploring the smelly darkness of the reptile house at the zoo. Nobody loved to bake more than her mother, and making a Funfetti cake was her birthday tradition.

Julia would never forget her tenth birthday, when the two of them huddled happily in the kitchen, sprinkling Funfetti into the batter. Her mother always mixed with a wooden spoon, old-school she said.

Her mother smiled. This is the happiest day of the year for me.

My birthday? Julia asked, surprised. She watched the red, green, and blue jimmies churn by in the batter.

Absolutely.

But you didn’t get me on my birthday. Julia had known she was adopted from when she was little. Her mother had told her with characteristic honesty, making it no secret.

True, but the world got you that day. Her mother’s hazel eyes twinkled. And I’m so happy you were born.

Julia still had questions. Do you ever wish I came out of your belly?

Her mother shook her head. No, not at all.

Julia wasn’t sure she believed her. Why not?

Other moms and dads don’t get to choose, but I got to choose you. I waited for you for a long time, and you’re very special. God wanted us to have you and He brought you to us.

Julia smiled, suffused with her own adopted specialness, but suddenly her mother frowned, her hand going to her forehead.

Ow, that hurts.

What, Mom? Mom?

Julia didn’t want to remember what happened next. Her mother collapsed to the floor, her eyes wide open. The wooden spoon lay where she’d dropped it, dripping cheery Funfetti batter. Julia had tried to shake her awake, but her mother was already gone, dead of an aneurysm that very moment, on Julia’s tenth birthday.

Her father died of a heart attack her junior year at college, but they were never close. Her mother was their family’s chirpy driver, and her father its taciturn passenger. A structural engineer, Martin James Pritzker shut down after his wife died. Julia stepped into her mother’s role, cleaning and making dinner, but she couldn’t make him happy. He was a Sigher, and she didn’t have to ask why. She knew he missed her mother.

Once a year, they endured the awful convergence of her birthday and the anniversary of her mother’s death. They would visit her mother’s grave, then go home and have lunch, talking neither about her mother nor her birthday. Her father would descend to his basement and watch TV with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label, which he permitted himself this day only.

Finally, when Julia turned fourteen, she found herself teary-eyed in the kitchen, making a Funfetti cake and mixing the batter by hand, then she took it downstairs.

Dad, look, I made—

What the hell is that? Her father turned in his leather recliner, a crystal tumbler in his hand. The TV showed a golf tournament on mute, its bright green fairway filling the screen.

It’s for her, Julia answered, instantly regretful.

Bullshit! It’s for you! Her father scowled, slurring his words. You made a cake, today? Your mother deserved better than you! Better than me!

No… Dad, Julia tried to say, stricken. I just thought—

You’re an ingrate! You should thank your lucky stars for her! All she wanted was a baby! And I couldn’t give it to her! She never shoulda married me!

Julia edged back to the staircase.

You wouldn’t be here but for her! You were her idea! The whole damn thing was her idea. I didn’t want you!

Julia’s heart broke that day. The Sigher had been sighing because he was stuck with her. She realized then that adoption gave you a family, but not necessarily a happy one.

Sitting at her desk, she realized how different her life was from other people her age. She was only thirty-two, but she’d already lost all the family she had. So far, her defining moments were marked by gravestones, not milestones. She wondered if grief acquired mass with loss after loss, like an avalanche rumbling down a mountain, gathering size and momentum, flattening everything in its path. Flattening her.

Julia came out of her reverie and glanced outside, since her desk sat against a window overlooking the street. Bundled-up men and women hurried to work laden with purses, messenger bags, and backpacks. Young mothers yakked on phones while they pushed strollers. Neighbors walked dogs, and runners ran by, checking watches.

Julia couldn’t imagine going Outside, among the people and the phones, the designer bags and the knives. She was afraid, but mostly she didn’t think she belonged there anymore. She belonged Inside, with her mourning and her memories, her voices and her ghosts.

But she had to get to work, today. She turned to her desktop, palmed her mouse, and opened her email account, which piled onto the screen. Her attention went to the oldest email, which came in on October 11, the day of Mike’s murder.

Julia shuddered, thinking back to that morning, which was like any other, then snapped out of it and made herself focus. The email was her daily horoscope from StrongSign, which she usually checked. She’d become interested in astrology after her mother died on her birthday, a fluke of fate if there ever was one, like a freak accident in a family. She often wondered if her own birth was an accident, too, given that she was put up for adoption. Sometimes she even wondered if she was cursed.

Julia opened the email and read the horoscope:

You’re a Cancer Sun, Sagittarius Moon, and Virgo Rising, and you love your home and family. Do not be alarmed but do be aware today. You or a loved one may be in jeopardy. Trust yourself today, and every day.

Her mouth went dry. The horoscope predicted Mike’s murder before it happened. Dumbfounded, she read it again and again, then the guilt, second-guessing, and self-recrimination started. If only she’d read the horoscope that morning. If only she’d trusted herself that night. Could she have prevented Mike’s murder? Would he be alive today? Was it her fault? Was it his fate? Was it hers?

Julia needed somebody to talk to, and she knew just who to call.

Every woman did.

3

Julia FaceTimed her best friend, and just the sight of Courtney Horan made her feel better. They’d met in drama club at their small Pennsylvania high school, where Julia felt weird being adopted and Courtney felt weird being biracial. They were on stage crew together, while Julia painted sets at a level of detail an amateur production of Annie didn’t require, and Courtney came into her own as stage manager, even standing up for Julia when a mean girl in the cast called her Little Orphan Julie. On the show’s opening night, Julia didn’t cry during ‘Maybe’ because everyone was watching her, but she lived that song.

Their one mistake was giving up me.

After graduation, she and Courtney went to Notre Dame together, helping each other through bad boyfriends and Statistics I, and they got married around the same time, serving as each other’s maid of honor in real Jimmy Choos.

No knockoffs for us!

Julia’s phone screen showed Courtney in aviator glasses that emphasized her striking green eyes and prominent cheekbones. Her skin was a poreless light brown, her thick black hair pulled back into a short ponytail. She wore almost no makeup, naturally pretty in a navy Patagonia fleece and white cotton turtleneck and jeans. She was sales manager for an office equipment company, on the road constantly, a creature of the airport lounge, where Julia found her today.

‘Courtney, do you have time to talk?’

‘Totally, I’m on another delay.’ Courtney smiled. ‘How’s my girl?’

‘I have something to tell you. My horoscope predicted Mike’s murder.’

‘What?’ Courtney’s eyes widened. ‘That’s not possible.’

‘Listen to this, from October eleventh.’ Julia read her the horoscope. ‘Well? I’m not crazy, am I? It says what I think, doesn’t it?’

Courtney blinked. ‘It really says “be aware”? A “loved one in jeopardy”?’

‘Yes, and I told you, right before it happened, I knew something was wrong.’ Julia remembered the feeling, the dreadful knowing. ‘I had a premonition, straight-up, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust it. The horoscope says I have to trust myself and—’

‘Stop, hold on. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘Why not? I should’ve said something when I had that feeling. If I’d trusted myself—’

‘No, Jules, that’s wrong.’

‘—I could’ve warned him.’ Julia was upset all over again. It felt like a confession, but she was already guilty.

‘What difference would it have made?’

‘He could’ve moved aside. I could’ve screamed sooner. People could’ve come.’ Julia’s gut twisted. ‘Anything could have happened. Anything else.’

Courtney scoffed, shaking her head.

‘Plus if I’d read the horoscope, I would’ve made different choices. Not go out to dinner. Order in. Cook. He’d be alive today.’

‘Mike didn’t die because of a stupid horoscope.’

‘Don’t you believe in astrology? I thought you did.’

‘Not like this.’ Courtney’s expression softened. ‘Look, I believe there’s a lot of things we don’t understand. I believe in God, and He does work in mysterious ways. I know it’s a cliché, but I believe it.’

Julia had gone to church when her mother was alive, but not since. She’d lost her religion on her tenth birthday.

‘Everything happens for a reason. Another cliché, but it’s true.’

Julia couldn’t imagine the reason God would take Mike in such a horrible way.

Courtney frowned. ‘Jules, you look tired. How are you sleeping?’

‘I’m okay.’ Julia glanced at herself on the screen. She used to be cute, but she’d lost weight and her face was too thin. Her blue eyes had dark circles underneath, and there was a reason her dirty blonde hair looked dirty.

‘You’re out of pajamas. Good for you.’

‘Right?’ Julia had on a house sweater and yoga pants that could use a laundering, but the washer-dryer was in the basement, which creeped her out these days.

‘Anything new on Mike’s case?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You can’t be okay in the apartment with all his stuff.’

‘I like his stuff.’ Julia loved Mike’s stuff. His headset and gaming console sat beside the monitor. His puffy coat and backpack hung by the door. His ChapStick tubes rolled on the kitchen counter. Most of their kisses had been Classic Spearmint. Last Thanksgiving, she bought him Pumpkin Pie flavor, which he didn’t like.

What, no turkey flavor?

Courtney was saying, ‘Let me help you pack it up. I can make a quick trip to Philly. We can put it in storage.’

‘No, thanks.’ Julia couldn’t bear the thought of storing Mike. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, but I worry about you.’ Courtney cocked her head. ‘Did you think about moving to Chicago? You could be near me. There’s nothing keeping you in Philly.’

Julia knew it was true. Most of their friends were Mike’s. He was the extrovert, not her. ‘I live here. We picked this apartment together.’

‘Come on, we’d love to have you. We could hang like we used to.’

Julia cringed. They’d been a foursome at school, not a threesome. ‘You’re never home anyway.’

‘What are you going to do for Christmas?’

Julia didn’t want to go there. ‘Could we get back to the horoscope? I mean, it predicted his murder.’

‘Let me see for myself.’ Courtney started typing on her laptop. ‘Okay, I’m on StrongSign. Oh look, a pop-up. It says I can ask the stars a free question.’

‘So, ask.’

‘Okay. When’s my fucking flight?’

4

The morning sun slipped through the blinds, waking Julia up, and she groped for her phone to check her horoscope. In the past six months, she’d gone full astrology girlie. She always read her StrongSign horoscope, then checked three other astrology sites. She’d become Queen of In-App Purchases and she asked the stars ten questions a week. She did natal charts for herself, Mike, Courtney, Paul, Jennifer Aniston, and other random celebrities. She memorized her customized annual reading. She learned words like sextile and trine like they were SAT vocab.

Julia opened StrongSign and read today’s horoscope:

Your luck is going to change today. You are stronger than you know. Trust yourself. It is only the beginning.

Whoa. Julia sat up, astonished. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was an amazing horoscope, and so specific. The last horoscope she’d gotten like that was on the day of Mike’s murder. Too often they were generic affirmations, like integrate past lessons and determine what belongs to you and don’t be self-critical.

Julia blinked, her mind racing. If her luck was going to change, then something really good was going to happen today. She wondered what, and her first thought was that the police would catch Mike’s killer.

Yes! Her heart lifted with hope. So far there hadn’t been any leads, and she’d been worrying they’d never find him, as if Mike didn’t matter at all.

Maybe today was the day.

Julia believed.

Julia gulped breakfast, avocado on Ezekiel toast, and read her horoscope again and again, her brain afire. She could barely wait until nine o’clock, when she called her contacts on Mike’s case to see if there was any news. Neither answered, so she left messages.

She slipped the phone into her pocket and tried to start the day. She had to get the mail because she was expecting a check for eight hundred dollars. Then she crossed to the door, got her key from the woven bowl, and undid the deadbolt. She stalled, nervous whenever she left the apartment. She’d barely gone out since Mike passed. She bought everything online, even groceries. She ordered takeout on Seamless so she didn’t have to talk to anybody.

She braced herself, opened the door, and peeked into the hallway. No one was there. She stepped out and locked the door behind her. She hurried down the stairs, reached the ground floor, and opened the door to the entrance hall, propping it ajar with her foot. On the left was a panel of stainless-steel mailboxes, and their mailbox was the third; apt 2 pritzker/shallette, read the label in Mike’s neat printing.

Babe, I put your name first. Happy wife, happy life.

Julia unlocked the box and pulled out the mail. The check hadn’t come in. There was only a bill from PECO and a yellow plastic envelope from DHL. Weird, she never got international mail.

She closed the mailbox, locked it, then slipped back through the door, making sure it locked. She hurried upstairs, reached her apartment, unlocked the door, and went inside, locking it again.

She crossed to the table and sat down with the DHL envelope. The return address was Massimiliano Lombardi, Studio Legale, Via Santa Maria alla Porta, 5, 20123, Milan MI, Italia. She didn’t know anybody in Italy. She opened the envelope and inside was a sheet of old-school embossed stationery, which read:

Ms Julia Pritzker:

I am an attorney representing the estate of Signora Emilia Rossi. Client Rossi has left a significant monetary bequest to you, in addition to a property located at Via Venerai 282, Chianti, Italia, including a villa, vineyard, and land.

Please contact my office as regards this inheritance. I have been trying to contact you via email.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Very kindly yours,

Massimiliano Lombardi

What? Julia read the letter again. It sounded like one of those scams from Ethiopian princes. She didn’t know who Emilia Rossi was. It had to be a scam. She rose with the letter, crossed to her desktop, and searched her email for Massimiliano Lombardi or Emilia Rossi. No emails from either.

She navigated to her spam folder, and two emails popped up from Massimiliano Lombardi. She opened the most recent, and it was the letter verbatim. So Lombardi had been trying to reach her. She opened his earlier email. It was a copy of the letter, too.

Huh? Julia racked her brain but didn’t know any Emilia Rossi. She picked up her phone to call Lombardi, then realized she didn’t know how to call internationally. It was a different time zone, too. She googled both answers.

Julia pressed in Lombardi’s number, then remembered:

Your luck is going to change today.

5

Mr Lombardi? My name is Julia Pritzker. I’m calling about Emilia Rossi.’

‘I’m delighted to hear from you. I have been trying to reach you, Ms Pritzker.’

Miz Preet-zker? Julia thought Lombardi’s accent sounded Italian, but she couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. ‘Are you really a lawyer?’

‘Of course, yes. I am one of the most well-respected estates attorneys in Milan. I wrote to inform you that you are a beneficiary of my client Emilia Rossi.’

Yeah, right. ‘So this is real?’

‘Certainly. Why not?’

‘I don’t know Emilia Rossi.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘I have no idea who Emilia Rossi is. I don’t know anyone by that name.’

Lombardi fell silent a moment. ‘She has bequeathed you a very considerable sum, a villa, and property.’

‘She can’t have, I don’t know her.’

‘A distant relative, perhaps?’

‘No, it must be a mistake.’

‘Ms Pritzker, there is no mistake.’

This has to be a scam. ‘What do you want from me? Money?’

‘No. On the contrary, I’m obligated to send you a distribution after probate is complete.’

This guy is good. ‘How do I know you’re who you say you are?’

‘Ms Pritzker.’ Lombardi’s tone stiffened. ‘If you wish to review my bona fides, please consult our website, Lombardi & Palumbo, Studio Legale.’

Julia typed it into her laptop, and a website popped onto the screen, showing two older lawyers in a modern office in front of a cityscape. Still, she made websites for a living, so she knew it could be fake. ‘This doesn’t prove anything.’

‘Ms Pritzker, I assure you, I am genuine.’

‘But I don’t know any Emilia Rossi.’

‘There must be someone in your family you can ask.’

Julia blinked. ‘My parents have passed, and I’m adopted. I don’t know anything about my biological family.’

‘So you cannot say you are not related to Emilia Rossi.’

‘Well, no,’ Julia said, realizing it was theoretically possible. ‘But in Italy? How could I be related to someone in Italy?’

‘In any event, I intend to see that distribution is made to you as soon as possible. Probate will take several months under Italian law, due to taxation and such. In total, your bequest amounts to three million, two hundred thousand euros.’

Wait, what? Julia gasped, stunned. She must’ve heard him wrong. ‘How much?’

‘Your bequest is three million two hundred thousand euros, which is roughly the same in dollars.’

‘Are you serious?’ Julia’s mouth dropped open. Her mind reeled. It was like she won the lottery if it was true, which it couldn’t be. ‘That’s impossible!’

‘Ms Pritzker, I have a meeting and I cannot be late.’ Lombardi cleared his throat. ‘You may take possession of the villa immediately, and I will draft the necessary papers. If you wish, I will have my assistant fly you to Milan and book you at a hotel near my office. You could sign the papers, then travel to your property. I could arrange a car.’

Oh my God. Julia’s head was spinning. ‘Where’s the house again?’

‘The villa is in Chianti, and the property is twenty hectares, about forty acres.’

‘Forty acres?’ Julia asked, trying to get a grip. ‘Plus I thought Chianti was a wine.’

‘Chianti is a province in Tuscany, outside Florence. Sangiovese grapes are grown in Chianti province. Authentic Chianti can be made only there. My wife is Tuscan.’ Lombardi’s voice warmed. ‘Tuscany is very beautiful, and we go often.’

‘I can’t believe this.’ Julia shook her head, unable to process it fast enough.

‘Should you wish to sell the villa, I can engage a realtor for you. He can ascertain the value of the property better than I.’

‘And I get a house on top of the money?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Holy shit!’ Julia blurted out, dumbfounded. It was an enormous inheritance, if a total mystery. ‘But I don’t know Emilia Rossi.’

‘I could also assist you to investigate your familial connection to her. I have a family investigator I use. I can include him in our meeting, if you wish.’

‘I wish!’ Julia felt a surge of excitement. The prospect of learning about her biological parents made her heart race. She’d wondered about them her whole life.

‘Ms Pritzker, I must go now. Please let me know when you wish to visit. I’m available this week but not the next few.’

‘Thank you very much.’

‘My pleasure. Good evening.’

‘Goodbye.’ Julia pressed End in a sort of shock. She found herself rising and looking out the window. Sunlight flooded through the glass, so bright she couldn’t see outside. She stared into the light, trying to get through her head what had just happened. She was inheriting millions of dollars, a villa, and land from a stranger who might be a blood relative.

Her horoscope said her luck would change today, and it was right again.

Still, for a lead in Mike’s case, she would’ve given all the money in the world.

6

Courtney, hi!’ Julia opened the door in the entrance hall, and Courtney rushed in, bear-hugging her.

‘Jules, you’re a millionaire!’

‘Can you believe it?’ Julia hugged her back, still incredulous. She’d tried for days to absorb the news, but her thoughts kept returning to Mike. How she wished it were a break in his case. How he deserved to share her luck. How happy he would have been, should have been, deserved to be.

‘Is this real life?’ Courtney released her, alive with animation. Her hair was in its ponytail, and she looked classy in a tan linen pantsuit with a white silk camisole and nice flats. She’d been at a sales conference in New Jersey and had come over to celebrate. ‘Let’s go out! You’re buying dinner!’

Julia stiffened. They hadn’t talked about going out. She thought they’d eat in. ‘I made us salads. Arugula, feta, orange slices, and walnuts, like you like.’

‘Are you crazy?’ Courtney rolled her eyes. ‘We’re drinking dinner! Champs! Chianti! Both!’

‘But it’s late.’

Courtney snorted. ‘It’s nine o’clock!’

‘I’m not dressed.’ Julia had on a white cotton sweater, yoga pants, and Birks.

‘You look fine! We’re going out.’ Courtney grabbed her arm, but Julia pulled away, eyeing her street through the window in the outer door. It was dark, the only light from a fixture with a dim bulb. Mike had been killed five blocks away. She flashed on that night. The man in the hoodie. The big knife. The blood. Mike’s eyes, staring heaven-ward.

Julia’s mouth went dry. ‘Let’s stay in.’

‘All right.’ Courtney smiled begrudgingly. ‘But you better have wine.’

Julia sipped the wine, a fruity Vermentino, which relaxed her. They’d finished their salads, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and shared a container of Cherry Garcia. They played Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods and Sunday in the Park with George, since they were theater nerds. Night had fallen outside the window.

Courtney’s eyes narrowed. ‘Can I ask you something? When was the last time you were out?’

‘I don’t know,’ Julia answered, hoping she sounded nonchalant. Courtney’s mother was a therapist, and Courtney was an Esther Perel wannabe with Sandler training.

‘Was it since Mike’s funeral? That’s what Paul thinks, but I told him he’s wrong.’

Julia felt embarrassed they’d discussed her, even out of love. ‘Court, I go out.’

‘Oh really? Well, remember when we gave each other Find My Phone? You were worried about me, because I was flying so much? Well, after Mike died, I was worried about you, so I started checking the app.’ Courtney got her phone, scrolled, then held it up. Its glowing screen showed Julia’s profile picture over a grayed-out map of Philadelphia. ‘Your lil’ face never moves from that spot. I never see you leave the house. As far as I can tell, you don’t go anywhere.’

Julia’s mouth went dry. ‘You track me?’

‘Yes. You can thank me anytime.’

Busted. ‘Look, I don’t go out that much, but whatever. I work at home, and the prosecutor told me not to, remember? And it was winter.’

‘It’s been six months.’

‘That’s not long.’ In widow years.

‘I think you’re self-isolating.’

Me, too. ‘I’m fine. I’m working.’

Courtney pursed her lips. ‘All the time?’

‘I have to, I need the money, plus I’m a homebody. Typical Cancer.’

‘Don’t start with that.’ Courtney shot her a look. ‘Are you afraid to go out?’

‘No.’ I’m afraid of what could happen when I do.

‘I’m worried you’re agoraphobic.’

‘I get a little nervous on the street, after dark, that’s all.’ Can you blame me?

Courtney cocked her head. ‘What does Susanna say?’

‘She says it’s part of my “grief journey.”’ Julia hated the expression, which sounded like a trip nobody wanted to go on. ‘You get twelve months before it’s “prolonged grief disorder,” so I’m crushing it, mourning-wise.’

‘Do you have a diagnosis?’

Julia’s cheeks warmed. She knew her DSM codes because she submitted them for insurance, which didn’t cover much anyway. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Situational depression and generalized anxiety, with a dash of PTSD. Season to taste.’

‘I’m sorry, honey.’ Courtney made a sad face.

‘It’s okay not be okay, right?’ Or is it? ‘I hate the “D” in PTSD. I hate thinking I have a disorder. I’d rather just have stress like everybody else.’

Courtney smiled, sympathetic. ‘So make the “D” stand for something good.’

‘Deluxe?’

‘Delightful, delicious, de-lovely?’

Julia chuckled. ‘Anyway, it’s not forever.’ I hope.

‘Agree, totally. Do you think Susanna’s helping you?’

‘Yes,’ Julia answered, though all she did was cry through the sessions, at $250 an hour. She could’ve cried alone for free.

‘Do you go to her office?’

‘No, we Zoom.’

‘Does she know you don’t go out?’

‘I don’t know. We have more important things to talk about, like Mike.’ Julia felt a stab of grief.

Courtney’s expression softened. ‘What does she say about meds?’

‘Nothing. She gave me coping strategies, like box breathing. Breathe in and count to four, then breathe out and count to four.’ Julia didn’t like feeling that she had a mental illness, but at the same time, judged herself for being so retro, newly sensitive to terms like crazy, basket case, nutjob. She wondered if people understood how easily you could cross the divide from normal, whatever that was, to whatever she was now.

Courtney met her eye. ‘I gotta say, I think you need meds.’

‘I gotta say, I think you sell office equipment.’

‘Jules, sales involves a lot of psychology.’

‘But I’m not a laser copier.’

Courtney smiled. ‘Then how are you going to Tuscany if you don’t leave the apartment? I’d go with you but I have work.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘What?’ Courtney’s lips parted in surprise.

‘There’s no reason to go, and I have work.’ Julia sipped more wine. She wanted to go to Tuscany, but she couldn’t imagine it, with or without Courtney. It simply wasn’t possible.

‘What about the money?’

‘They can send me a check.’

‘And the villa?’

‘They can sell it.’

‘Don’t you want to see it first?’

‘Why? I’m not moving there.’

Courtney blinked. ‘What about the investigator? Don’t you want to meet with him about your bio family?’

‘We can Zoom.’ Julia didn’t use terms like bio family because she hadn’t grown up with them. Maybe she was old-school, too. Meanwhile she’d always wanted to know about her biological family, who they were, where they were from, and why they’d given her up. But Italy?

Maybe far away or maybe real nearby.

‘You’re Zooming instead of going to Florence?’ Courtney threw up her arms. ‘Jules, you have to go! They have so much art! You’d love it, and you’re rich! You can go shop till you drop!’

‘I don’t need anything.’ Julia flashed on the last time she’d gone shopping, with Mike at Crate & Barrel, when they’d bought an end table. Another end table? he’d asked. Can this be the end of the end tables?

‘But what’re you going to do with the money?’

‘Get out of debt, pay off my cards and loans, save—’

‘Buy something, buy a Porsche! Don’t you want a Porsche?’

‘No, I have a car. Do you want a Porsche? I’ll get you one.’

‘Aw.’ Courtney smiled, waving her off. ‘I’m not taking your money.’

‘There’s plenty,’ Julia said, meaning it. ‘I’ll pay off your student loans, too.’

‘I’m talking about you, honey. Buy something! Don’t you want anything?’

I want Mike back, Julia thought but didn’t say. ‘You know, my horoscope predicted this, too.’

‘You mean your horrorscope?’

‘Joke all you want. I did a deep dive, and it even said I was expecting a windfall this month. The whole thing was all there. Plus Mercury’s in retrograde in Aries, so don’t make any contracts.’

‘I make contracts every day.’

‘Well, read the fine print.’

‘Nobody reads the fine print.’

‘Court, be that way, but we just had the solar eclipse, did you see it? It’s a time of new beginnings, new directions, new starts. My horoscope predicted my luck would change.’

‘What about the billion other times it didn’t predict anything? Since when do you need a horoscope to learn about yourself, Jules? You know yourself. You’re not one of those people.’

Maybe I am, now.

‘What’s with the astrology, really?’

‘I just like it,’ Julia answered, hoping it would suffice. Astrology gave her a sneak peek at fate, a fighting chance against the stars, and until this inheritance, her luck hadn’t exactly been stellar.

‘Whatever. Go to Tuscany. Go see your villa. Count your euros.’

‘What if the police get a lead on Mike?’

‘Tell them you’re going on vacation. They have your cell and email.’

‘What if they get a suspect and I have to identify him?’

Courtney waved her off. ‘You can fly back. They’ll schedule around you.’

‘What if they won’t? I have to remind them of the facts whenever I call. They act like he’s a cold case. If I don’t bug them, they’ll forget about him. They’re never going to catch the guy, are they?’ Julia blurted out, realizing she’d never said it aloud. But she thought it every day.

‘Yes, they will.’ Courtney looked pained. ‘We have to have hope.’

Julia reached for her wine, but the glass was empty. She’d been drinking too much lately, she knew that, too.

Courtney’s bright eyes lit up. ‘Hey, I just figured out why you have to go to Tuscany. You inherited everything in Rossi’s house, right? Her personal belongings?’

‘I assume so.’

‘So, anything she touched will have her DNA. Her clothes, her shoes, her towels, even her furniture. You should collect her DNA and get it sent to a lab. Then you should take a DNA test.’

Whoa. Julia felt the realization dawn on her. ‘Then I’d know if we’re related.’

‘Right, it’s proof. You need to oversee the collection of her DNA and you need to get yourself tested.’ Courtney leaned over, newly urgent. ‘Not only that, imagine what you can find out about her, going through her stuff. Computers, files, bills. You can’t do that over Zoom.’

Julia swallowed hard.

‘So, are you going?’ Courtney asked, triumphant.

7

Can I have some wine, please?’ Julia asked the male flight attendant, who nodded and left. She began to relax now that she was in the cool, quiet cabin. She’d never flown first class before, and it was predictably plush. Passengers around her stowed shiny Rimowa carry-ons and slipped into Bose headphones. She was ensconced in her own walled pod, like a bougie cocoon.

Julia exhaled, counting to four. She’d white-knuckled through the Philly airport, sweating under her blazer. There’d been people everywhere, and the noise and commotion made her nervous, which she hadn’t expected in the daytime. She’d thought about going home, but she’d box breathed through security, using up all the oxygen in Terminal A.

Julia took a mental inventory to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. She’d called the prosecutor and detective to give them her contact information. They had no news on Mike’s case and promised to get back to her, which they always said and never did. She’d notified her clients she was taking a week’s vacation, so nothing was hanging over her head.

Julia picked up her phone, opened the StrongSign app, and checked her horoscope again.

Practice acceptance today. Remind yourself to stay flexible. Be honest and generous with yourself. Know that if you commit to a course, the cosmos will conspire to help you.

The flight attendant arrived with a mini-bottle of Brunello, a glass, and a napkin. ‘OMG, are you on StrongSign, too?’

‘Yes.’ Julia couldn’t remember the last time she had a conversation with a stranger.

‘I’m obsessed.’ His eyes lit up. ‘I’m a Cap, Aquarius Moon, Rising Virgo. I’m on StrongSign, Co-Star, and Kyle Taylor Astral. Do you want to know which site is best? I have thoughts.’

‘Okay, which?’ Julia smiled, sensing a kindred spirit.

‘Listen and learn,’ he began.

It was a sunny morning in Milan, and a gleaming black Mercedes S550 picked Julia up at the airport. A uniformed driver ushered her into the back seat, pointing out water bottles and organic snacks on the center console. She exhaled, appreciating the calm after the airport’s hustle-bustle. She’d gone from one bougie cocoon to another, realizing that money separated you from everybody else. Maybe all rich people were agoraphobic.

She looked out the window, trying to get her bearings as they whizzed along. Milan had glass skyscrapers, mirrored buildings, and blocky apartment complexes in a skyline that struck her as unique, even quirky. The highway was as busy as Philly, but the cars were smaller.

They approached the center of Milan, and there were peopleeverywhere. The Mercedes navigated down the narrow Via Monte Napoleone, passing ritzy Brunello Cucinelli, Loro Piana, Bottega Veneta, and Valentino boutiques. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Maseratis lined the street.

The Mercedes turned the corner onto Via Gesù, passed a crowd waiting to get into Goyard, then pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel.

Best. Bougie cocoon. Ever.

Julia reached her room, relieved the moment the door sealed her inside. Her clothes were damp again, and her mouth was permanently dry. Maybe she needed remedial coping strategies. She had a meeting with the lawyer and the family investigator at four o’clock today.

She slid out of her blazer and hung it on the doorknob, looking around the beautiful suite, with two rooms overlooking a courtyard of sculpted hedges and flowering vines. The living room had a flat-screen TV, a couch in a beige linen, and matching side chairs. A walnut coffee table displayed Italian magazines, a tray of designer chocolates, and a note hoping that everything was to her liking. It was.

She went into the bedroom, which had two more windows and eggshell-white walls lined with etchings of wildflowers. The king-size bed had a taupe upholstered headboard, a shiny golden coverlet, and an array of shams and pillows. She crossed to the bed, flopped down, and slid her phone from her pocket. The screen showed a notification of her horoscope from StrongSign. She’d forgotten to check it, between the change of time zone and her anxiety at the airport. She clicked:

It’s not easy to unwind when you hold on so tight. Practice letting go and learn to trust yourself and others. The cosmos will continue to support you in surprising ways.

Julia tried to absorb the message and resolved to let go. She exhaled, put her phone down, and shifted onto the pillow mountain. She needed a nap before her meeting. She moved one sham aside, then another, and underneath was a neck roll.

Neck rolls are better for you, Mike used to say. It’s basic anatomy.

Julia hugged the neck roll and closed her eyes but didn’t sleep.

She was wondering about the surprising ways of the cosmos.

8

Julia was shown to Massimiliano Lombardi’s office, and the lawyer turned out to be in his sixties, with smooth gray hair slicked back from a lean, lined face. He had milky-brown eyes behind rimless glasses and a gray mustache that coordinated with a well-tailored gray suit and patterned tie. He was trim and compact.

‘Please, sit down.’ Lombardi gestured to a black leather swivel chair opposite a glass desk. His manner was businesslike, if less than warm.

‘Thank you.’ Julia took a seat, deploying her second coping mechanism: Ground yourself in your surroundings. The office was large, square, and modern. Lawbooks and black binders lined glass shelves, and a floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the Milan cityscape. The only thing missing was the family investigator.

Julia asked, ‘Is the investigator coming?’

‘I’m sorry, no.’ Lombardi sat down behind his desk. ‘Unfortunately, he has Covid. But I have already contacted another investigator I know, in Florence. His name is Gustavo Caputo, and he will be more familiar with Tuscany. I made an appointment for you on Wednesday. It was his first available. I’ll email you his contact information.’

‘Thank you.’ Julia masked her disappointment. She was dying to know who Rossi was and why the woman would leave her such a large inheritance. ‘Before we get started, can I ask you about Emilia Rossi? I researched her online, but I didn’t find anything, not even social media.’

Lombardi blinked. ‘Of course, ask me any questions you have.’

‘Do you have any idea how she’s related to me, if at all?’

‘No.’

‘Did she say why she was leaving me so much money?’

‘No.’

‘What about how she knew me?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ask her?’

‘No, and I don’t typically.’ Lombardi paused. ‘In my practice, it is not uncommon for certain surprises, shall we say, to arise when beneficiaries are named. Children and lovers, relationships previously unknown, come to light. All of the secrets come out. For that reason, I make it a point not to interrogate my clients about the particulars. To do so would be to burden their disclosures to me, and I want them to have their final wishes fulfilled in every respect.’

Okay. ‘How old was Rossi when she passed?’

‘Seventy-seven. She died of breast cancer. I will email you the mortuary certificate when I obtain it.’

Seventy-seven. Julia realized Rossi would be about the age of her biological grandmother. ‘Is Rossi her married name?’

‘No, it is her name. In Italy, women keep their last names when they marry. Children take the father’s last name.’

Oh. ‘Was Rossi married?’

‘No.’

‘Divorced?’

‘No, she never married.’

Julia blinked. ‘But she had children?’

‘No, none.’

Julia tried to understand how Rossi could be her biological grandmother, then. ‘She must have.’

‘None.’

‘How do you know she didn’t have any children?’

‘She told me.’ Lombardi hesitated. ‘However, I do not verify information supplied me by clients.’

Oh. ‘So you don’t know if it’s true, but it’s what she told you.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Did you meet Rossi?’

‘No. I offered, but she declined. This is not atypical, as most of my clients are older or infirm. She contacted me via phone, and I drafted the documents and sent them to her.’

‘No email?’

‘No.’

‘Was she referred to you by another client or a lawyer?’

‘No, not that I know of. She called the office, as I remember.’

‘Do you know why she didn’t tell me about the inheritance, when she had you draft the will?’

‘No.’ Lombardi shrugged his padded shoulders. ‘Perhaps she tried to reach you, but couldn’t, as with me.’

‘No, I checked.’ Julia had searched her email and spam folder. ‘She had my name and address, right? Isn’t that how you got it?’

‘Yes, she gave me your contact information. I don’t know how she got it.’

‘Maybe she found it online?’ Julia’s name and address were in the online White Pages. Her email was on her website under Contact Me. ‘But how did she even know who I was?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who notified you of her death?’

‘The hospital. She had already made the necessary arrange-ments.’

‘Do you know who was at her funeral?’

‘No.’

‘Were you there?’ Julia asked, double-checking.

‘No, I rarely attend the funerals of my clients.’

‘Do you know where her funeral was held?’

‘In Croce, I assume. It’s the town nearest the villa.’ Lombardi pursed his lips. ‘You may explore the family connection with Mr Caputo, when you meet. I administer only the legalities of the estate.’

Julia sensed he was over it. ‘One last question. Does my inheritance include the contents of the villa?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Great.’ Julia was thinking about Rossi’s DNA. She’d researched online and learned that DNA could be found on almost every conceivable surface for years, if it wasn’t contaminated.

‘Now, I should mention there is a caretaker couple on the property, Anna Mattia Vesta and Piero Fano. They are the only other beneficiaries under the will.’ Lombardi’s spectacled gaze fell on the papers on his desk. ‘They receive a bequest of ten thousand euros and they are paid through the month. They intend to retire after that and move south to be near their grandchildren.’

‘Do they live in the villa, too?’

‘No, in a carriage house on the property.’ Lombardi raised an index finger. ‘One piece of legal advice. I urge you to obtain an Italian will and I would be happy to draft one for you. You are inheriting a significant estate and you have no immediate family to inherit automatically. Here, if you die without a will, your estate would enter probate. It would lose value to the authorities, and probate would be delayed for a long time.’

‘Okay, but I don’t know who I would leave the money to. My best friend, I guess?’

‘You should give it some thought. Likewise, consider whether you want to sell the property. I will follow up with the realtor in Chianti. I know the best one.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Now, perhaps I can take you through the documents I mentioned at the outset?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Julia answered, and Lombardi returned to his packet, which turned out to be printed versions of Rossi’s will and various other documents. She signed where he asked her to, then he packed up the papers and slid a set of brass keys across the desk.

‘Here are your keys.’

‘Wow.’ Julia picked them up, turning them in her hand. She realized she might be holding the keys to her biological family, literally.

‘One final matter. I should mention that I spoke with Emilia Rossi on the phone, on one occasion. She told me she was related to Caterina Sforza, a daughter of Galeazzo Sforza and Lucrezia Landriani.’

‘Great!’ Julia’s heart leaped. She didn’t know why he hadn’t said so before. ‘Who are they? Can I meet them?’

‘No, they’re long gone.’ Lombardi smiled tightly. ‘They were very important historical figures who lived during the Renaissance.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Galeazzo Maria Sforza was the Duke of Milan, the most powerful nobleman in northern Italy. He had many lovers, and the best-known was Lucrezia Landriani. She bore him several children, among them a daughter named Caterina, who would become Countess Caterina Sforza of Forlì and Imola.’ Lombardi’s tone turned professorial. ‘The Duke treated his illegitimate children the same as his children born within marriage. Caterina grew into a remarkable noblewoman, legendary in the history of Italian royalty.’

Julia’s head was spinning. It sounded like the History Channel. ‘Are you saying that Rossi was related to royalty?’

‘No.’ Lombardi held up a cautionary finger. ‘I’m saying she claimed to be related to royalty. I do not know if the claim was true. I have many aging clients who develop dementia and harbor common delusions, some as regards their past. Often they suspect that children or the help are stealing from them.’

Julia tried to understand the implications. ‘Could she still make a will? She was of sound mind, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, but she did have a peculiar, strongly held belief that she was related to Caterina Sforza.’ Lombardi lifted a graying eyebrow. ‘In fairness to her, it is a matter of historical fact that Caterina Sforza bore illegitimate children, and it is possible they went unrecorded by history. One such child could have been the beginning of a line that gave rise to Emilia Rossi.’ Lombardi met Julia’s eye. ‘If so, then you could be related to the bravest Italian noblewoman who ever lived.’

‘Me?’ Julia laughed. She wasn’t even brave enough to leave her apartment. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘I like to be respectful of my clients. Yet I also felt you should know.’

Julia read between the lines. ‘Do you think Rossi was… crazy?’

‘I’m a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.’ Lombardi rose, tacitly ending the meeting. ‘You may want to educate yourself about Caterina Sforza. There is no better place to do so than Milan. You should visit the Castello Sforzesco where Caterina grew up, only a few blocks away. You should also visit the Cathedral of Milan, built by the Duke, among others.’

Julia couldn’t imagine sightseeing in this crowded, bustling city. She wondered if she could drive past the castle and the cathedral in her Mercedes cocoon. She was still trying to metabolize the possibility that her biological family could be Italian royalty.

Either that, or insane.

9

Julia stood in front of the Sforza family castle, Castello Sforzesco, a gargantuan walled fortress spanning ten city blocks, with red brick walls that soared into the late afternoon sky. Huge turrets with conical roofs anchored its corners, and a covered battlement ran the endless length of its walls. It was inconceivable to Julia that she could be related to such world-class wealth and power.

Meanwhile she began to feel more and more nervous in the crowd, which she’d underestimated. Tourists teemed around the castle’s arched entrances and exits, filling its open spaces. Noise, motion, sight, and sound surrounded her. People of all ages and races talked and shouted, drinking, smoking, and jostling each other. Vendors hawked souvenirs, waving Pinocchio marionettes and fake gold crowns.

Julia broke into a sweat. She had to get back to the car, which waited for her at a nearby traffic circle. She left the castle grounds and white-knuckled through the crowd heading to the rendezvous point. She looked ahead but didn’t see the Mercedes. It had been parked in a line of other hired cars, and all were gone, evidently shooed away by the traffic cop. She didn’t know what to do.

Her heart thundered. It was beginning to get dark. The crowd behind her pressed her forward, almost into the street. Traffic lurched around the rotary. Teenage boys crossed against the light, dodging cars and laughing. A bus driver leaned on his horn, startling her.

Julia took off. The hotel was twenty minutes away. She hurried down Via Dante, a main drag for pedestrians, lined with bustling shops, restaurants, and cafés, and kiosks vending kebabs, pizza, and gelato.

Panic tightened her chest. The moving throng was thick with noise, language, laughter, cigarette smoke, vapes, and weed. She picked up the pace. Evening was coming on, and the sky was deepening to periwinkle. Stars shone through a transparent film of darkness.

Julia hurried ahead. Fear twisted her gut. She willed herself to keep it together. The street curved, and ahead was the Cathedral of Milan, its illuminated facade of white marble bright as bones against the blackening sky. Its ornate facade came to a majestic point, its spiky Gothic towers stabbing the night.

She reached the massive piazza in front of the cathedral, lined with lighted shops and restaurants. People surrounded her, talking, laughing, and partying. She wedged her way through.

‘Mi scusi!’ a man shouted, bumping into her.

Suddenly Julia lost her sense of direction. She didn’t know which way the hotel was. She was too short to see above the heads. She turned right, then left, whirling around. Everywhere around her were shadows silhouetted against the cathedral. She looked up to see its marble gargoyles glaring down at her.

‘Move!’ Julia barreled ahead, broke into a jog, then started running. She elbowed people out of the way, feeling like she was running for her life. Some got angry. Others pushed back.

Julia kept running.

From what, she didn’t know.

10

The next morning, Julia sat in the back seat of the Mercedes, gliding through Tuscany. She was relieved to have left Milan, shaken by what happened at the castle. She’d barely slept, jet-lagged and jangly nerved. When dawn broke, she read her horoscope, taking some comfort.

Go with the proverbial flow. Don’t try and control so much. The universe has agency. Let go, and go. Be of open heart and mind.