FIFTEEN
The dissonant notes of tuning instruments reached out into the corridor like skeletal fingers. Pasquale escorted Sophia down the short, narrow stone passageway of the San Salvador Convent, the heat trapped and stagnant in the confined space; his beefy face glistened with a sheen of perspiration. Once across the threshold, he offered her a curt tip of his head and stepped away without a word or grunt of acknowledgment. Here he need not stand on pretense. Indeed, his quick action revealed how little compunction he felt in taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere of these informal musical gatherings, beginning the night by leaving her to her own devices once more.
Sophia stood at the outskirts of the fracas, a lone tree grown beyond the forest’s edge. Though not as opulently appoi
