ANMELDENMatteo Rossi POVShe has rearranged the dining table.I notice it the moment I walk in. The chairs are slightly closer together than I keep them and there's a centrepiece I don't own — small yellow flowers in a glass of water — sitting in the middle like it grew there overnight.My mother does this. Arrives and quietly makes spaces hers without announcing it. By the end of two weeks the apartment will feel completely different and when she leaves it will feel wrong again for at least a month.I don't say anything about the flowers."You're late," she says from the kitchen."I said two.""It's four past.""That's not late.""In this family four minutes is late." She appears in the doorway with a dish towel over her shoulder. Looks at my jacket. "Take that off. You're not at the office."I take the jacket off.Alessandro is already at the table. He looks up when I sit and there's something in his face today that wasn't there yesterday. Something sitting behind his eyes that he's carryin
Matteo Rossi POV"Talk."Marco sets two folders on my desk without sitting down. He never sits down in my office unless I tell him to. Seven years and that hasn't changed."Luca Mariani returned to Milan yesterday morning," he says. "Met Alessandro for lunch at the apartment. Left at four."I look at the folder. Don't open it yet."And Alessandro.""He had a visitor this morning. Enzo Bianchi. Thirty minutes. Then he left for his office." A pause. "He also received a message from an unknown number two days ago. Same number that sent the photograph to Naples."I look up. "You've been tracking the number.""Since Naples yes." Marco's expression doesn't change. "It's a clean sim. Untraceable through normal channels. But the location pings put it in Milan's second district consistently." He opens the second folder. Slides it across. "Which is where this man has been staying since Tuesday."I look at the photograph.Young. Dark haired. The easy relaxed posture of someone who has spent year
22. Alessandro Rossi POV"He called you?""Texted." Enzo drops into the chair across from my desk without being invited which is standard Enzo. He has never once in the years I've known him waited to be invited anywhere. "This morning. Said he'd been trying to reach Luca but couldn't get through. Wanted to know if I had another number."I put my pen down. "What did you tell him.""That I didn't." He folds his arms. "Which is true. But Alessandro." He leans forward. "This guy knows things. When I met him at Settimo he knew about the engagement. About Nico. About the timing of everything. That's not casual knowledge.""People talk.""Not like that." Enzo shakes his head. "It was specific. The kind of specific that comes from research not gossip." He looks at me steadily. "I don't like him.""You don't like anyone new.""I don't like anyone new for good reason." He points at me. "Exhibit A sitting right behind that desk."I look at him."Luca said the same thing," I say. "That Damiano i
Luca Mariani POVMilan smells different from Naples.Naples smells like salt and old stone and something fried coming from somewhere always. Milan smells like money and rain and the particular ambition of a city that never fully sleeps and never fully wakes up either.I stand outside my apartment building with my bag and breathe it in and try to decide how I feel about being back.I feel nothing clean. That's the honest answer.I go inside.***The apartment is exactly how I left it. Which is obvious because nobody else has a key and I've been gone two weeks but there's still something strange about walking back into your own space and finding it waiting exactly where you put it.I drop the bag. Sit on the bed.Naples was real. My mother's hand on my face. Sofia's food container smell cutting through the ward air. My father's heavy breathing in that warehouse room while I changed his clothes and tried not to think too hard about what his life has become.That was real.This is also re
Damiano Romano POV"Talk to me about the brother.""Matteo Rossi." Lorenzo's voice comes through the phone even and unbothered. "What about him.""Everything in this file." I drop it on the hotel bed and walk to the window. Milan at night does what Milan always does — looks expensive and indifferent. "You told me Alessandro. You told me Luca. You didn't tell me the full weight of what Matteo Rossi actually means in this city.""Does it change anything.""It changes how carefully I move."A pause. Then: "Move carefully then."He hangs up.I stand at the window with the dead call in my hand and look at the city and think about the photograph in that file. Matteo Rossi at forty feet looking like he owns the air around him. Which he probably does.I've dealt with dangerous men before. Not this particular kind. The kind that has a name the city knows without needing to say it twice.I put the phone down and get dressed.***The bar Enzo drinks at after work is called Settimo. Ground floor
19. .Luca Mariani's Pov. The corridor outside the ward smells like every hospital corridor in every city. That particular mix of cleaning fluid and recycled air that I have apparently decided is just part of my life now.I lean against the wall. Phone to my ear.It rings twice."Luca."Alessandro's voice comes through immediately and something about hearing it after two weeks of avoiding it does something unexpected to my chest. Not guilt exactly. More complicated than guilt."Hey," I say.A pause. Short. He's deciding where to start."Where are you," he says."Naples. Hospital. My mother's session runs another forty minutes.""How is she.""Stable." I look at the window at the end of the corridor. Naples afternoon light sitting heavy and golden on the rooftops outside. "She's stable.""Good." Another pause. Longer this time. "Luca I went to your apartment."I close my eyes briefly. "I know.""The door—""I know Alessandro."Silence."Did he threaten you," he says. Quiet. Direct. N
Damiano Romano POV: Volkovino restaurant is the kind of place that doesn't put prices on the menu. Which means whoever is paying isn't worried about the number at the bottom of the bill. I ordered their pasta and the good wine.I swirl the glass and watch the door. After having refiled my glass f
Luca Mariani POVI sit at the stool by my mother's bed. The dialysis machine beat frantically. The world outside the window is different — the light here is warmer, heavier, the kind that sits on everything like it has nowhere urgent to be — but in here it's the same ward, same smell, same chair th
Matteo Rossi POV"Is this how my boys behave when I'm not watching?”“Mother?” Alessandro's voice came out loud as his eyes shone. “Welcome Mama.” I let out a grin, bending slightly. I watch her scoff, walking towards the door that led out of my chambers. "Marco.""Don Rossi.""Tell me those are
Alessandro Rossi POVThe wine is a 2019 Barolo. Half empty. The papers spread across the coffee table have stopped making sense twenty minutes ago but I'm still staring at them anyway.Frankfurt projections. Rome property assessments. Three sites, two viable, one that needs a decision by Thursday o







