Midnight in Venice by Meadow Taylor

Antonio a moment to regain his composure before speaking, but when he did he thanked them again for coming. “I also want to thank Alessandro for helping me celebrate tonight. Like most fathers, I dreamed my son would follow in my footsteps, and when I held him in my arms that first time, I could already imagine him racing the cars I made . . .”
    Oh my God!
Alessandro belonged to
that
Rossi family?! Rossi racing cars were absolutely iconic—right up there with Lamborghini, Porsche, and Ferrari. No wonder his friends looked so well heeled! He was probably one of the richest men in all of Italy! Another reason why she hadn’t connected Alessandro’s wife with Rocco’s sister. Silvio had said Rocco’s sister had married into a wealthy family. It had never occurred to her that Alessandro was wealthy. He was a
cop
—though the palazzo on the Giudecca should’ve been a clue.
    Suddenly, the enormity of his wife’s death struck Olivia with a force it hadn’t before. He’d given up the lifestyle of the super-rich to pursue his wife’s kidnapper and killer. It spoke of incredible devotion, and she was right to be cautious. Katarina Zucaro was going to be a hard act to follow.
    â€œBut like all rebellious young boys,” Alessandro’s father continued, “he spurned the family business and decided to play the piano instead. I was, of course, disappointed,” and smiling, he turned to face Alessandro, “and I hope you forgive me that. And I do thank you for humoring me by racing now and again.”
    Alessandro placed an arm around his father’s shoulders, while his father continued. “I came to accept it and used to joke that when he inherited the business, he’d turn the car factories into piano factories.” There was a ripple of laughter, and Olivia remembered her Grand Prix–loving brother-in-law, Phil, once mentioning while watching a race on TV that the Italian driver was also a concert pianist. She’d said that it was a peculiar mix of talents, but she’d thought nothing of it at the time, not even bothering to look up at the screen where she would’ve seen Alessandro.
    The laughter died, and Antonio concluded emotionally: “But I have to say, his playing has been one of the great joys of my life. I wish Katarina could be here tonight. But I trust she can hear anyway and sends her blessings.”
    Olivia wondered how Alessandro would react to this mention of his wife and was surprised when he looked at her through the crowd and gave her one of his heart-stabbing smiles.
Don’t get ahead of yourself
, she reminded herself, knowing full well she might as well try to stop breathing.
    Alessandro started by thanking everyone for coming and helping his father celebrate his birthday. “These have been difficult years, and I thank my father for convincing me to perform again. Here’s to friends and family, to old memories and making new ones. Tonight, I will be playing my father’s favorites.”
    As he sat at the piano, a hush fell over the audience. Alessandro began with “Clair de lune” by Debussy. It was familiar to Olivia, but she’d never heard it played like this, a subtle blending of harmonies like colors on a canvas, an Impressionist painting in sound. His hands appeared to float over the keys rather than strike them.
    Alessandro played for an hour. When it was over, he bowed and smiled and was rewarded with a standing ovation and calls of
Bravo! Bravo!
    He went back to the piano and waited for the applause to stop before addressing the audience. “Thank you all again. Please stay and have another drink. I understand there’s marvelous food. Let’s make this a birthday my father will never forget. And now for the encore. I’m going to play something new but already very special to me. So while the rest of the program is dedicated to my father, this one is for the girl with eyes