Free The Lost Art of Second Chances by Courtney Hunt Page B

meant the angels had visited to check the fallen ones were still trapped. She said they left a feather from their wing behind. That’s where the town got the name—Angel’s Wings.”
    “Ali d’Angelo,” the proprietor murmured, going perfectly still, holding Jack’s coffee cup in mid-air. Both Lucy and Jack looked up at him.
    “You know it?” Jack asked. “We’ve been searching for it all this time.”
    “You will not find it on any map.” The proprietor shook his head. “It doesn’t exist any longer.”
    “What do you mean?” Jack asked before Lucy could speak.
    “We do not speak of it. It is one of the—how you say in English—horrors of war. All around the countryside, here in Toscana, villages were destroyed in the blink of an eye. Gone forever.”
    “Were they bombed?” Lucy asked.
    “Some were.” The man shrugged, picking up the basin of plates.
    “My grandmother was from Ali d’Angelo,” Lucy said. “We’re here searching for it.”
    “There is nothing to find, bellisima . A road runs through where it used to be and the rest is all in ruins.” He cleared the dishes away and headed toward the back kitchen area.
    “Can we go there? Can we walk amongst the ruins?” Jack called. The owner shrugged and kept his back to them. “How can we do that?”
    “You would need to find a guide, someone who knows where the ruins are,” the owner said, still with his back to them.
    “It wasn’t that long ago, surely there are people who know where . . .” Jack began and the owner whirled back around, his dishes clattering in the empty cafe.
    “You do not wish to go to Ali d’Angelo.”
    “Listen . . .” Lucy recognized Jack’s lawyer voice and she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.
    “Did you lose someone there, at Ali d’Angelo?” she asked quietly. The owner’s jaw worked, causing a muscle in his cheek to jump.
    “My grandfather and uncle died at Ali d’Angelo when I was a baby. My grandmother and mother would never speak of it.”
    “I am Belladonna Rossi’s granddaughter. She sent me,” Lucy said and the owner glanced up, surprise lighting his eyes.
    “My mother spoke of the Rossi family, the owners of the vineyards.” Lucy nodded.
    He sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “I am Vincenzo Santini.”
    “Can you take us there?” Jack broke in and the old man shook his head.
    “No, I cannot. But I will ask my grandson to take you, if you are sure you wish to go.” Both Lucy and Jack nodded. “Be here tomorrow morning. Now, I am closing so . . .”
    Lucy and Jack departed, unwilling to press their luck any further. As they walked out into the Tuscan night, she realized she’d never asked Jack where he was staying.
    “I’m staying at the same hotel as you are. Jenny told me where to book.” He smiled as they walked the short distance to the hotel together, enjoying the balmy night breeze and the velvety sky strewn with stars.
    “I wonder why he was so closed mouth about Ali d’Angelo,” Jack mused.
    “I guess we’ll find out more tomorrow.”
    “I could research more online tonight,” Jack offered.
    “You’re good at internet stuff, aren’t you?”
    “I suppose.” Jack shrugged. “It’s easier than the way I learned to do legal research. I’ll let you know what I find.”
    Hands in his pockets, he strolled down the hallway and out of sight, leaving Lucy to wish she’d asked him inside instead.

Belladonna
    Ali d’Angelo, Italy
1944
    Over the months of Paolo’s infrequent visits, the crawlspace under the church and the caves beyond gradually filled with higgledy-piggledy piles everywhere, a sultan’s treasure, a cave of wonders. Priceless art stacked like so much rubble. Through her long and difficult days, keeping body and soul together not only for herself but also for her increasingly frail father, knowledge of the secret treasure trove concealed beneath the church and in their vineyard caves, once so full of wine, buoyed Bella’s