Sure enough, before a quarter hour had passed, Dante Ferrante came striding out of the estate, and right behind him, draped in gold and silver, was Gianna Greco.
The steward pointed at me. "Boss, this woman claims to be your wife. If she's a fraud, I'll have her thrown out at once."
Dante looked down at me from the top of the steps. "Lift your head."
I tilted my chin up slowly, the ghost of a smile on my lips.
The moment he saw my face, every drop of color drained from his.
"Serafina, is it really you? What are you doing here?"
He strode over and lowered his voice to a hiss.
"If you wanted to see me, you could have sent word through one of the men. Why make a scene in front of everyone?"
"Besides, I told you in my letters not to come back on your own. When the time was right, I would have sent someone to bring you."
I held my daughter tight and stared at him in cold silence.
Five years apart, and Dante looked even more handsome than before. Younger, somehow.
His suit was cut from fabric that cost more than most men earned in a year, the cufflinks heavy gold, monogrammed with the Ferrante crest he'd stolen.