The Last Promise

by Richard Paul Evans

  “Well, you should be glad he’s gone, amore. I did a little research. Ross Story is a murderer.”

  Eliana looked at him blankly.

  “You don’t believe me. E vero, amore.” It’s true, love. “He killed his own fiancée.” He reached down, extracting papers from his briefcase. He set them on the table in front of her. She looked down at them. There were six sheets in all, newspaper articles printed off the Internet. She lifted the first article to read.

  MINNESOTA ADMAN MURDERS FIANCÉE.

  Below the headline was a picture of Ross. His hair was shorter then, he was younger, fresher in face, but it was definitely him.

  Advertising executive Ross Story of Wayzata was arrested Friday evening for the murder of his fiancée, Ms. Alyssa Boyd of St. Paul.

  Ms. Boyd was found bleeding and in shock, by joggers, in Como Park less than an hour after neighbors had complained to apartment management of a domestic disturbance involving her and Story. Story was seen chasing Ms. Boyd out of her apartment into the park. Ms. Boyd was rushed to Regions Hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival.

  Story is a founding partner of Twede Story Advertising, one of Minneapolis’s largest advertising firms. The couple was to be married three days later. Boyd, a resident of St. Paul, was 21 years of age and graduated last summer from the University of Minnesota.

  Eliana looked at the other articles, reading the headlines and photo captions, and scanning the stories in disbelief.

  MINNEAPOLIS ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE CHARGED IN FIANCÉE’S MURDER.

  JURY CONVICTS ADMAN OF FIANCÉE’S MURDER.

  FAMILY FILES CIVIL SUIT AGAINST DAUGHTER’S MURDERER.

  The headline on an article from a Minneapolis advertising publication read: END OF STORY—THE FALL OF RISING AD STAR ROSS STORY. The photograph showed Ross in happier days, clad in a tuxedo, accepting an advertising award.

  Eliana read the articles as numbness spread through her. As much as her heart had already suffered, it was as if a sledgehammer had come down to finish it off.

  Maurizio watched as she read. When she finished she looked up at him speechless.

  “You should choose your boyfriends a little more carefully. Especially those you trust with our son. If you as much as talk to him again, I will see to it that you pay.”

  For a moment Eliana was in too much shock to speak.

  “Where is the American now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  His eyes narrowed in distrust.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “When is he coming back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He leaned toward her, his face only six inches from hers. “When he returns you will not see him. You will not speak to him. Do you understand?”

  She was trembling. “Yes.”

  He pulled down on the skin below one eye. “I will be watching.” He stood. “Everyone at Rendola will be watching.” He walked from the room. When he was gone, Eliana looked again at the newspaper articles. She wanted them to change. It couldn’t be him. The Ross Story she knew wasn’t capable of this. She looked at the pictures until they made her ill and she could not look at them anymore. She slowly cleared the table. Then she went into the bathroom and threw up. She kneeled in front of the toilet holding her head. It was too much at one time. How could he not have told her?

  CHAPTER 26

  “Non mettere il tuo cucchiaio nell’altrui zuppa.” Don’t put your spoon in another man’s soup.

  —Italian Proverb

  Maurizio was alone in the courtyard when Ross entered. It was late at night and the sound of his scooter had alerted Maurizio to his return. Maurizio was leaning against the wall next to his apartment’s doorwell, the smoke from his cigarette rising, curling in the air above him. Ross waved to him.

  “Ciao, Maurizio.”

  Maurizio only glared at him as he lifted his cigarette again. From his hateful expression Ross deduced that he knew about Eliana and him. He wondered if Eliana, under the pressure of her own guilt, had confessed to him her feelings. The hypocrisy of it angered him. It would be like confessing a speeding ticket to a formula race car driver.

  “Did you enjoy the Vendemmia feast, Mr. Story?”

  Ross stopped. “Yes.”

  He blew a stream of smoke in Ross’s direction. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you the other night. You just slipped away, didn’t you?” His eyes and voice suddenly took on the full weight of his anger. “Just like my wife.”

  Ross stood emotionless. Maurizio’s face turned to a scowl.

  “I know who you are, Story. I know why you left the U.S.” He took a drag from his cigarette and his expression turned darker. “You have been spending much time with my wife. Troppo, troppo tempo.” He looked at his cigarette, rolled it casually in his fingers. “You want her perhaps. Yes, you do want her. I have been watching you for some time.” He took another short puff on his cigarette then threw the butt on the ground near the others. “You are no longer welcome here. You will leave now. If you try to make trouble I will make more trouble. You are staying illegal in Italy. You have only a tourist visa that is already expired. You have no permesso di soggiorno to be in Florence. I have powerful friends in the questura. If you ever come around here again, I will see that you are thrown out of Italy, if not back in prison.”

  Ross just stared at him.

  “You are not the first, you know.”

  Ross flinched.

  “Oh, you thought you were special? Eliana does this every year or so. She gets bored and finds some new man. How do you call it, wanderlust? An itch.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  He smiled, a slim, cruel smile. “Every man thinks his love is incapable of lying to him. It is the foolishness of our gender.”

  “No, you’re a liar. Eliana’s not like you. She actually has a soul.”

  “Then her soul will burn in hell, no?”

  “There’s been no adultery.”

  “Now who is lying?” Maurizio’s expression turned still angrier. “You do not know how bad I can make things for Eliana. I can take my son from her, you know. If she sees you again, I will. I will throw her out and take my son. Then you will see how happy she is to be with you. Then you will see how important you really are to her.”

  Ross was filled with rage but constrained himself. He had no doubt that Maurizio would exact any revenge on Eliana.

  “You will leave Rendola and never come back. Or else you both will pay dearly. Capito?”

  Ross had maintained eye contact with him the whole time, but now he looked down, his face tight with duress. “I need to get my things.”

  Maurizio eyed him suspiciously then walked over to the apartment, took a key from his front trouser pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped back from it as Ross passed. “You have one hour. Then I call the police.”

  Forty-five minutes later Ross came out carrying only his backpack across his shoulder. Maurizio was still outside smoking. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

  “There’s a pasta maker and a toaster on the counter. Eliana can have them.”

  “The servant will throw them away. But I’ll be sure to give Eliana your regards.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Ross walked slowly to his scooter. He stopped at the great doors of the courtyard and looked around once more. It would be his last look at Rendola, he knew it. He looked up at Eliana’s studio. He couldn’t be sure—it was dark—but he thought he saw her looking down at him. He wanted to take her, to ride off into the sunset with her. But things had changed. He balanced his pack on the back of his scooter and headed for Florence.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Dopo il dolce vien l’amaro.” After the sweet comes the bitter.

  —Italian Proverb

  It was more than two weeks from her departure that Anna returned from Genoa. Even though it was noon, Eliana was still in bed when Anna rang her doorbell. She would have let herself in, but
the door was locked and dead-bolted. Eliana only opened the door enough to see out, and Anna let out a small gasp when she saw her. She had lost six pounds since her confrontation with Maurizio, and on her small frame it looked like more.

  “Mamma mia, Eliana, what has happened to you?”

  At the sight of her friend Eliana began to tear up, and Anna stepped inside, putting her arms around her. “Mamma mia, are you ill? You have lost fifty pounds. And look at your house.” Anna shook her head. “What has happened, Eliana?”

  “Maurizio found out about me and Ross.”

  “Oh, Blessed Mother, no. Here, sit down.” They went over to the couch. Anna sat down first, then pulled Eliana close. “Tell me everything.”

  “When we came back from shopping, after we dropped you off, Maurizio was waiting for me. Somehow he knew all about Ross and me. He kicked Ross out of his apartment. He’s forbidden me to see or speak to him.”

  Anna stroked her hair. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “But there’s more, Anna. It’s horrible.”

  “What could possibly be more horrible?”

  She started sobbing. When she stopped crying long enough to speak, she said, “I need to show you.” Eliana went to the cupboard drawer and brought out the articles.

  Anna looked at the pictures then said, “I can’t read them. They’re in English.”

  “I’m sorry.” One by one Eliana translated the articles for her. When she finished, Anna looked more confused than concerned. “I don’t believe he is capable of this. Do you?”

  “But it’s all right there.”

  “Sì. But how long ago was this?”

  “I don’t know, about three years?”

  “And in the United States you only go to prison three years for murder?”

  Eliana had been so devastated by the news that she hadn’t considered this obvious discrepancy.

  “Believe me, Eliana, there is more to this. I know people. It’s a gift from God—I can read them like books. What does your heart tell you about Ross?”

  “My heart tells me that he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  Anna nodded.

  “And that I don’t want to be without him.” She started crying again. “But what if . . .”

  Anna pulled her in again and held her. “No if, Eliana. No if.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Amoante non sia chi coraggio non ha.” Who will be a lover must be courageous.

  —Italian Proverb

  Ross waited to hear from Eliana for three days before he tried to contact her, careful only to call her on her cell phone. At first her phone wasn’t turned on. Then, after several days, it simply wasn’t answered. Nor were the multiple messages he left, each growing more emphatic. It was a whole week before he risked calling her house, but she didn’t answer there either.

  He was unwilling to accept that she could so fully desert him, and it was a full week before he began to struggle with the reality that her silence might be, in fact, her verdict. After two weeks, three weeks if he counted the time in Pisa, he believed it was, and he took it hard.

  He considered risking a visit to Rendola but decided against it. The property had eyes other than Maurizio’s—the workers in the vineyard and winery, Luca and the gardener Vittorio. As hard as it was to accept, he knew that if she wanted to see him she would see him. And after three weeks he had lost hope. Heartbroken, he did what came natural to him. He returned to his art.

  Francesca welcomed Ross back with kisses on both of his cheeks. The Vestal exhibit had arrived in his absence and she took him through the displays, introducing the pieces with her usual flamboyance. To her surprise Ross seemed uninterested. In actuality it depressed him. He could not look at the exhibit without thinking of Eliana, her painting of the virgin and the night in her studio when she told him about the fallen Vestals. Even though his pain was still fresh, it already seemed like a long time ago.

  Ross’s first tour group was a baker’s dozen of newspaper journalists from Brisbane, Australia. They completed the usual tour of the gallery and then gathered on the first floor before a marble statue of a Vestal as sallow-faced as the Medici Venus.

  “Le Vestali, or The Vestals, is a new exhibit and on loan to the Uffizi for only a short time,” Ross explained. “Vesta, the goddess of hearth and home, was an important deity to the ancient Romans. I was told that you’ve already toured the Roman ruins, so you might remember seeing the temple of Vesta near the Forum. The keepers of the temple were called the Vestals. They lived near the temple, in a building that is thought by some to be the predecessor of today’s convents.

  “The Vestal Virgins were very powerful women. They were not just the guardians of the temple, but the guardians of Rome’s homes and families as well. These women were chosen as Vestals while still young, between the ages of six and ten, and upon her selection the Vestal made three sacred vows. The first was complete allegiance to the goddess Vesta, as her priestess and handmaiden. The second was to keep the sacred fire of her temple burning. The last promise she made was to take upon herself a vow of chastity.”

  Suddenly a woman from the crowd asked, “What happened if she broke the last promise?”

  Ross looked to find who had asked the question. The woman was standing just outside the perimeter of his group, in the shadow of the arched doorway. Her gaze was fixed tightly on him. It took him a moment to realize it was Eliana. They shared eye contact; then Ross turned back to his group.

  “If the final vow was broken, punishment was severe. The Vestal would be bound in linen burial clothes, then placed in a small chamber, where she was buried alive.”

  There were audible gasps from the group.

  Eliana still stared at him. “Was it worth it?”

  A few of the journalists laughed at her question and nearly all turned to see her. Only Ross knew that she was serious.

  “I guess only the Vestals could say. But apparently eighteen of them thought so. That’s how many of them were buried alive.”

  There was a moment of silence; then Ross looked away from her, back at his group. “If there are no further questions, go ahead and look through the exhibit. I will meet you in front of the large, circular portrait in the next room in ten minutes.”

  Ross waited until the group had mostly dissipated before he approached Eliana. She waited alone in the doorway, eyeing him timidly.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  His voice was guarded. “Hi.”

  “You probably never thought you’d see me again.” Her eyes betrayed her uneasiness. “Or maybe you just hoped you wouldn’t.”

  Ross’s thoughts ranged too wide for a concise answer, so he just remained silent.

  “I wanted to bring you something. I had to leave it out front. It’s the portrait.” She spoke nervously. She forced a smile. “I didn’t think the guards would take well to me walking around the gallery with an oil painting in my bag. It took longer than I thought it would. And Maurizio’s been home a lot more lately. So I couldn’t work on it as much as I’d like.”

  Ross’s mind reeled with questions, but he held back. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t returned his calls. And why she had come back, when he was finally starting to accept her absence. “I . . .” He stopped himself. “Just thank you.”

  The silence stretched into awkwardness and Eliana smiled to keep from crying. She had never seen him this way before.

  “I was wondering if”—she looked down, gathered her courage—“well, if maybe we could talk.”

  “I’ve been trying to talk with you for weeks.”

  She looked down, ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry.” She suddenly felt foolish for coming to him. She had abandoned him. What kind of a reception had she expected? She exhaled and again forced a smile. “Well, you have people waiting. I just wanted you to have the painting. I left it at the front desk, where they rent the headphones.”

  “How’s Alessio?”

  Her lower lip began to tremble. “He’s be
en okay. He asks about you all the time. Yesterday he asked if you could come to dinner. He misses you.” She paused, looked into his face. “So do I.” Her eyes began to moisten. “I’m sorry, Ross. I’ve . . .” She stopped herself, no longer daring to look into his eyes. She put her hands in her pockets, brought out her leather gloves and put them on as she waited for his response or rebuke, hoping for one of them, hoping for anything but his silence. Still Ross said nothing. She looked up again. “I’m sorry I hurt you. You deserve better.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye.” Then she turned and slowly walked away. She was past the door onto the landing when Ross called after her,

  “Eliana. Wait.”

  She turned around and he saw that her cheeks were already wet with tears.

  “I’ll be finished in about a half hour. We can meet in the café on the second floor.”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Too emotional to speak, she nodded in agreement and walked off to wait. Ross watched her go, then went off to finish his tour.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Sdegno d’amante poco dura.” The anger of lovers lasts a short time.

  —Italian Proverb

  Ross found Eliana sitting at a small round table near the back of the café, nervously twisting a napkin into rope, a cup of coffee in front of her. She seemed to him fragile and beautiful, like a porcelain figurine.

  She saw him enter and followed him with her wet eyes until he stood by her and pulled out a chair to sit across from her. They were both unsure where to begin. Ross took a deep breath. “Maybe I should just tell you what I’m thinking.”

  She nodded.

  “You broke my heart,” he said. “You broke my heart and then you deserted me without an explanation. I think I could have handled anything, except not knowing if I would ever see you again.” He closed his eyes, trying to stop the emotion that was beginning to surface. “Not knowing if you still cared about me.”