Francesca
I had to stop thinking about him, stop noticing his appearance. I didn't like the way the hairs on my arms stood on end every time he walked into a room. An attraction to this horrible, dangerous man—the person who locked me in a dungeon, for God's sake—was out of the question.
"Niente, Papà," Giulio said, his posture stiffer now that his father was in the room.
Ravazzani leaned over to kiss Zia's cheek. "Buongiorno, nonnina." His expression was soft and affectionate as he hugged her.
Zia smiled, but slapped his shoulder with her palm as she seemed to scold him in rapid Italian.
Giulio leaned toward me. "He calls her Grandma all the time just to make her happy."
I grimaced. I didn't want to see this side of the older Ravazzani, the one who taunted his aunt, wh
