Page 83 of Valentino

A pause. Bruno's pauses are never empty. They're loaded magazines, each second another round chambered. "How long till you reach Trastevere?"

"Four hours."

"The lawyer I'm sending should have information within twenty minutes. Our contact inside Bergamo's questura was notified about the operation. They brought in a federal prosecutor from Rome, which tells you the scope."

"The scope of what."

"Trafficking, Valentino."

The word detonates somewhere behind my sternum.

I don't think about it. My fist hits the passenger headrest with every pound of force my shoulder can deliver, and the seat mount cracks with a sound like a dry branch snapping. The headrest lurches forward at a sick angle, foam and plastic splintering against my knuckles. Pain flares white across my hand and I don't care. I hit it again. The mount gives completely, the headrest dangling by a strip of fabric.

Luca pulls the car onto the shoulder without a word. Gravel crunches under the tires. The engine idles.

Amanda is awake. I know before I look down. Her body has gone rigid in my lap.

"Valentino." Bruno's voice, steady as a metronome. "Listen to me."

"He was in our house," I say. The words scrape out of me like rust. "He was in the room with her. He was supposed to be watching her and instead he was⁠—"

"We don't know that yet."

"We know enough. We know the FBI doesn't mobilise a federal prosecutor for a parking violation, Bruno."

I'd stopped Elio from getting closer to her because I was jealous. Because the thought of his hands on her made me violent. Not because I'd seen it. I'd been so focused on keeping him away from her body that I'd missed what he'd been doing with his access to everything else.

"My lawyer will have details in less than twenty minutes," Bruno says. "I need you calm when that call comes."

"I'm going to kill him."

"You're going to drive to Trastevere and wait for information."

"Bruno—"

"That's an order." A beat. Then, quieter: "From your Don. Not your cousin. Hear the difference."

The line goes dead.

Amanda sits up. Slowly. Her eyes are swollen from sleep, and she is the most dangerous thing in this car, which is saying something given there are two loaded weapons within arm's reach.

"What's going on?" she says.

Her voice is hoarse.

"When I have the full picture," I say, "you'll get it."

She pulls her knees up and wraps her arms around them, tucking herself into the corner of the backseat like the car just got colder. "Valentino. I heard you on the phone. I heard trafficking. I heard you say you were going to kill⁠—"

"Elio's been arrested."

The words come out hard and fast. I'm watching her face when they hit.

Her lips part. Her eyes go wide. One hand flies to her mouth, and all the color drains from her cheeks.

"No," she whispers through her fingers.

"Police picked him up at the Bergamo safe house fifteen minutes after we left.The case has reached into the States, so the FBI is in it too. Liaising with the Italians, since they have no authority of their own here. Prosecutor from Rome. They've been building a case."