"The shop is calledIl Libro Nero," he says, defeated by his own physiology. "Tell him... tell him the Director sends his regards. And tell him 'The ink is dry'."
"The ink is dry," I repeat.
"Take the gun," he says.
"I have it." I pat the SIG tucked into the back of my waistband. "Three rounds."
"Matteo has guards. Usually two. Don't let them separate you from the door." He pulls me down. He kisses me. His lips are dry, fever-hot. "Come back to me," he breathes against my mouth. "If you don't come back... I will burn this city to the ground to find you."
"I know," I say. I push him back onto the pillows. I cover him with the thin blanket. "Sleep. When you wake up, we'll have names."
I lock the door from the outside. I step into the alley. Into the maze.
Genoa is a claustrophobic nightmare. The alleys are barely wide enough for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder. The buildings tower six stories high, blocking out the sky, creating a perpetual twilight. It smells of fried fish, espresso, and urine. I walk fast. I keep my head down, my hands in the pockets of the oversized coveralls. I look like a dock worker, or a homeless boy.
I navigate by instinct and the few street signs nailed to the corners.Via San Luca.Via di Scurreria.I feel eyes on me. Men leaning in doorways, smoking cigarettes, watching the flow oftourists and locals. I don't make eye contact.I am a shadow,I tell myself.I am the silence between the notes.
I find the Cathedral. Black and white striped marble, imposing and gothic. Behind it, a narrow street plunges down toward the port again. And there it is.Il Libro Nero.A dusty shop window filled with old, leather-bound books. The glass is grimy. The sign is faded gold leaf.
I stop. I check the street. Clear. I check the gun. Still there. I push the door open. A bell chimes.Ting-a-ling.
The smell hits me instantly. Old paper. Glue. And sharp chemicals. Acetone. The shop is narrow, lined floor to ceiling with books. It feels like the inside of a coffin. At the back, behind a high wooden counter, sits a man. He is huge. A mountain of flesh in a stained apron. His head is shaved. His arms are covered in tattoos—complex, geometric patterns of black ink. Matteo.
He doesn't look up from the book he is binding. "We are closed," he grunts in Italian.
"The ink is dry," I say in English.
His hands stop. He looks up. His eyes are small, dark beads buried in fat. He scans me. The coveralls. The wet hair. The dirt on my face. "Who says?" he asks in heavily accented English.
"The Director."
Matteo puts down his tools. He smiles. It reveals gold-capped teeth. "The Director is dead," he says. "I saw the news. Explosion in the tower. Very tragic."
"He got better," I say calmly. "He needs papers. Two sets. Top tier. Bio-metric bypass."
Matteo laughs. It’s a wet, wheezing sound. "Top tier cost money,ragazza. A lot of money. And the Director... his accounts are frozen. The Syndicate put a bounty on his ghost. Five million euros."
He leans over the counter. "You bring me a ghost story. I think maybe... I call the number on the bounty poster."
I don't flinch. "I didn't come to negotiate the price," I say. "I came to pay it."
I reach into my pocket. I pull out the diamond choker. The one I wore at the Gala. I toss it on the counter. The diamonds glitter in the dusty light. Real diamonds. Worth at least half a million.
Matteo stares at it. He picks it up. He pulls a jeweler's loupe from his pocket and inspects the stones. "Real," he mutters. "Stolen?"
"Inherited."
He looks at me again. The greed is warring with the suspicion. "This buys... consideration," he says. "But for passports? Today?" He shakes his head. "I need more."
"That’s all I have on me."
Matteo comes around the counter. He is surprisingly fast for a big man. He blocks the path to the door. "You have more," he says, his eyes traveling down the coveralls. "A pretty girl like you... hiding in those rags."
He takes a step toward me. "You want the papers? Maybe we work out a trade. Flesh for paper."
I sigh. It’s always the same. Men always think they are the hunters. "Matteo," I say softly. "Don't do this."
"Or what?" He reaches out a massive hand to grab my shoulder. "You gonna scream?"
