Page 52 of Mario
“So is Chicago.”
“Yes,” he says. “But Chicago did not know us yet.”
There is something in the way he says it that makes the words feel less like an answer and more like a door closing, shut firmly enough that I know better than to reach for the handle and try again.
“I should let you get ready for your meeting,” he says, the ease returning to his face as if it had never left.
“Thank you for the files. And the coffee.”
“The coffee was self-defense. You looked dangerous.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
He smiles, gives the folder one light tap with his knuckles, and turns toward the door. “Start with the training policies.”
Then he is gone.
I sit there for one more second, staring at the empty doorway.
Opportunity. Necessity. Chicago did not know us yet.
The words make me a bit uneasy, and I have no idea why.
Then my email chimes.
From: Mario Conti
Subject: Nine o’clock
Ms. Murray,
My office at nine.
M.C.
His office. The site of many of my dreams.
Just great.
At least now when they keep me up at night, they’ll be accurate.
I look at the time.
8:12.
I sigh.
Chapter Six
Mario
I see her on the camera coming down the corridor five minutes before 9:00.
She does not look at my door.
She looks straight ahead, her shoulders back, her briefcase in one hand and a tablet in the other. She is wearing a navy dress today with a structured jacket over it, dark stockings, and heels muted on the ground as she walks determinedly to my office.
Every step she takes is deliberately professional.
