Chapter 12
Rome. 1995.
Delila ran through the streets of Rome, searching, searching. The day was balmy and relaxed, people strolling the streets as though they had not a care in the world, but Delila didn’t notice the weather or the mood. She was furious, so angry she felt her blood run hot and her vision turn dark. As she ran she held a letter tightly in her hand, the pages crumpling and jutting out from her fist. On the very edge, if someone had looked carefully, they would have been able to make out a symbol scribbled on the corner of the envelope.
Where was he? He had left that morning, saying he was taking their daughter to Piazza Mattei. She loved the fountain that sat in the middle of the piazza, the one with the little stone turtles scrambling their way up to the top, hoisted by
