Page 27 of The Unraveling of Julia

“Please, take a seat.” Franco gestured her into a black chair, hustled around his desk, and sat down, pushing toward her a bottle of Panna water and a napkin. “My colleagues aren’t in yet, so we have the place to ourselves.”

“Great, thank you.” Julia opened the water bottle and sipped some.

“How was your first night in the villa?”

“Fine, thanks.” Julia wasn’t about to tell him about her nightmare. “Before we get started, I stopped in a few shops asking about Rossi, andnobody knew her, which surprised me. I get the impression people here aren’t that friendly. Am I missing something?”

“No, I’m sorry. I can explain.” Franco frowned, his regret plain. “Croce is a town of eight hundred people. We all know each other. We go to the same church, and the kids go to the same school. You saw the streets. Weliveon top of each other.”

“So they must have known Rossi.”

“Yes, or of her. We’ve had our eye on her property for a long time.”

“So what’s going on?”

“They close ranks. They know you’re the American who inherited Rossi’s estate, and you’re an outsider.” Franco hesitated. “And there’s another issue. People didn’t like Rossi, so they don’t like you.”

“Why didn’t they like her?” Julia felt a pang, unaccountably defensive.

“Rossi thought she was a Sforza and acted like it. You can’t behave like Milanese royalty here. She treated shopkeepers like servants. She even slapped the grocer’s daughter for moving too slow.”

Julia recoiled. “That’s not good.”

“No. People are proud. They wouldn’t serve her, they mocked her. It got so bad she stopped coming into town. Anna Mattia ran her errands.” Franco shook his head. “Nobody went to her funeral Mass. I was there, and the church was empty. The only one crying was Anna Mattia.”

“You said Rossi thought she was a Sforza. Do you think she was?”

Franco cleared his throat. “No, I don’t believe she was a Sforza. I think she was crazy.”

Ouch.“Is that what people in town thought?”

“Yes.” Franco slid a glossy brochure in front of her, opening it to an array of lists. “These are the estates like yours that have sold in the past. I can take you through these, if you want. Bottom line, your villa and property are worth two million euros.”

“Twomillion?” Julia repeated, astonished. She felt like she won the lottery,twice. “But it’s in terrible condition.”

“I know. The reason it’s worth two million is because of my contacts, its location, and scarcity. Property doesn’t free up here. There’snomovement.” Franco leaned over.

“I know how to find the type of buyer who can afford a villa in this condition and will spend the money to restore it to its former glory.”

Julia couldn’t imagine it. “That would cost afortune.”

“Exactly, that’s why you should sell.” Franco met her eye in a knowing way. “Why burden yourself? I doubt the villa is even structurally sound, and the grounds are an absolute nightmare.”

Tell me about it, Julia thought but didn’t say.

“Signore Lombardi referred you to me, so I assume you inherited money from Rossi. Of course, he didn’t disclose how much.”

Good.Julia had been wondering.

“But do you want to spend the money to rehabilitate that villa? Then tomaintainit? I have the contacts to find high net-worth individuals.” Franco nodded with confidence. “That’s who buys in Tuscany. They’re from all over Europe and Asia, people with world-class wealth. That’s why I can get you a deal quickly. I’ve already made calls. I’m getting alotof interest.”

“How? They haven’t even seen it.”

“I’ve had pictures of that place for years and I’ve sent them to my contacts.” Franco leaned forward. “There are people so wealthy they buy sight unseen because the location is fabulous. They romanticize the renovation process. I swear,Under the Tuscan Sunstill sells villas.”

Julia understood, except for one thing. “So you’re marketing the villa to foreign buyers. Why is any other foreign buyer better than I am, in the eyes of the residents?”

“I go to Italian buyers first, and they know that. The feelers I putout for your property are in Rome.” Franco slid out a sheaf of papers. “This is a standard contract. It’s exclusive and lasts six months. I can get started in earnest as soon as you sign.” He handed her a gleamy Montblanc and pointed to the line. “Please, sign here.”

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