(Piazzas working with the production companyKaleidoscopeto develop a true-crime podcast about the murder.)
And while it was very necessary, it could also be very dangerous.
In the meantime, consider this excerpt below, exclusive to Bustle, youraperitivo.
The color of the water beneath us shifted and swirled from light blue to navy to an emerald green.
Its an adventure, baby girl.
I heard Rosie so clearly that my eyes watered.
Rosies last voice memo to me on the day before she died played on repeat in my mind.
Get your ss out of bed and seize the gdd*mn day.
I hoped that she had managed to seize her last gddmn day.
Do you think she was losing it?
Did she have dementia at the end that we didnt know about?
She was sharp as a knife.
Everyone sort of loses it when theyre that old, Carla said.
Im totally sure she hadnt lost it.
I wish I was going with you.
I know, I said.
And Rosie probably knew you had a big case going on, plus the kids.
I lied to assuage my sisters quiet jealousy.
She was bouncy, sparkly, and liquid magic.
Things just worked for her while I struggled for everything.
I never resented her though; her charm worked on me most of all.
But Carla still felt the need to add, Also she knew you needed cash.
And that getting away would be good for you.
This was like her final way of taking care of you.
Youve hardly changed your clothes for the past two weeks.
So do what the letter says.
Figure out if this deed is real or not.
Its probably not, but whatever, Carla said.
Have sex with some hunky Italian men who dont speak a word of English.
I promised her I would try my best.
I translated in my head.
I hope all is well.
The meatball kissed both of my cheeks like we were old friends and switched to a heavily accented English.
I am so sorry for the loss of Rosie.
His intimacy surprised me.
Of course, I knew Rosie.
We spoke many times on the computer and the WhatsApp.
She was looking for a driver for you, but she got a friend in me.
He pounded on his chest like a proud ape.
Let me feed you.
She would want me to feed you.
He introduced himself properly while we walked.
It was pronounced Peep-poh.
Ciambella!He announced the name of the pastry like he was presenting me with an Oscar.
I could almost see my reflection in the pastrys thick sheen of butter before I devoured it in seconds.
For the past couple of months, nothing tasted good.
Eating, once my greatest joy, turned into the most mundane activity of my day.
The ciambella was the first time in a long time that I actually derived pleasure from something.
I slid my finger beneath the seal and a laminated photograph fell onto my lap.
It used to hang in Rosies hallway with all of our school pictures.
It was the only photograph she had of her mother, one taken in 1925 right before Serafina died.
Serafina stared directly into the lens.
Id never thought much about this picture before.
Her stare was hard and timeworn.
Her lips were full, not unlike my own.
They formed a slash across her face.
Not a scowl exactly, but more a look of displeased resignation.
Theres another reason I wanted you to come all the way here.
This trip is first and foremost for you.
But Im also a selfish old broad and I have one favor to ask now that you are here.
I was always told she got sick, that she died of a flu.
But as a girl I heard things I was never supposed to hear.
I didnt dare ask any questions.
Children didnt ask them back then.
I know there is more to my mothers story.
You gotta be there to get people to open up.
I want you to find out what really happened to my mother.
Excerpted fromThe Sicilian Inheritanceby Jo Piazza.
Copyright 2024 by Jo Piazza.
Reprinted with permission from Dutton, an imprint of Penguin Random House.
