He couldn’t be sure Errichiello wouldn’t threaten the kids again. That was the biggest worry. But Giorgia’s love life was difficult enough for him to track; it should keep Errichiello’s men guessing.
—
The open road was a relief. In the bright sunlight, the growl of the bike beneath him, Valerio’s mind loosened, and he was better able to remember, and to reason.
His thoughts churned, returning to Luca Errichiello, and that mundane malevolence: a calm, detached affect that never once signaled intent. Sitting by the pool, chewing salami, the unremarkable man in the hat had seemed tranquil. Bored, even. He’d played on Valerio’s sympathy—discussing the plight of the jailed teenager and his sick mother—and, all the while, he planned to slaughter the boy.
Errichiello lived by the mathematics of the schoolyard bully. The nuances and depths of other men—their passions, loves, complexities—would always be reduced to two levers: pleasure and pain. Luca was probing, testing tolerances, trying to compress Valerio into these dimensions. If Valerio capitulated, Luca would use it against him the rest of his life.
Stupidly, Valerio had already demonstrated that he could be controlled by threats to Gemma and Davide. The real question was: How would Luca use this information? He guessed that depended on Luca’s plans for him. If he saw him as disposable—good for only one job—Luca would lean heavily on this weakness. But Valerio guessed that Luca wanted to play the long game with him: a well-positioned asset within the police for decades. It was better for Luca if Valerio became a willing tool, and this required a lighter touch.
Luca’s primary leverage was blackmail. Valerio’s actions to freeGaetano made him look guilty and could very well cost him his job and pension, not to mention prison time—if the evidence were twisted to make it seem Valerio had been complicit in the murder. But Valerio guessed that Luca wouldn’t pull this trigger yet, since that would destroy Valerio’s value before he could use it.
By refusing Luca’s calls yesterday, Valerio had signaled that he wouldn’t respond to the threat of exposure. Predictably, Luca had moved next to physical violence. Valerio wanted to make it clear that he wouldn’t respond to this either. He needed to get free before Luca escalated again.
—
Silvestri’s Sorrento home, perched on a rocky cliffside far from the center of town, was an elaborate stucco mansion. Valerio rode past the gate, following the winding road until he reached a turnoff where he could stash his bike and unpack his gear. From there, he hiked—sticking to the roads at first, then climbing stone steps into the hills, and hopping a fence into an olive grove. At last, he found the angle he wanted.
Silvestri’s villa was the grandest in the neighborhood and commanded the best view of the bay: a profound blue, deepening at the horizon, where the hazy outline of Capri loomed like the head of a massive sea monster. Behind the villa, nestled among silver-leafed olive trees and flowering bushes, on a marble deck overlooking the water, two women in fur-trimmed coats and boots sipped coffee.
During today’s visit to the police station, Valerio had borrowed a Nikon D6 with a telephoto lens—a camera he and Maurizio had recently used on a job. He took pictures of the property, zooming in well enough to capture the faces of the women before they returned inside.
Then he waited.
Two hours passed.
He ate a panino he’d brought from the Autogrill—more out of boredom than actual hunger. Not much happened except he was cold and started to feel a sunburn on his bare head. He also had several interactions with a large black beetle that seemed interested in his bags.
He was about to pack up, when movement caught his attention. Aman in black combat gear stepped onto the deck. Valerio took several pictures. Five minutes later, the man stood suddenly at attention. Someone had joined him—Luca’s white-haired thug, Ivan.
A clench of unease rolled through Valerio, his mind returning to last night: Ivan’s face, close in the dark, and the rancid breath. His heart raced as he snapped photos. Here was the first solid proof that Errichiello and Silvestri were connected!
When the men disappeared inside, Valerio moved. He sprinted across the mountainside, ducking beneath olive branches, until he reached a new vantage overlooking the front of Silvestri’s property. Then he dropped to his belly and waited.
Thirty minutes later, a green three-wheeled Ape truck pulled up, and the gate slid open to let it in. A barrel-chested man in work boots climbed out. Ivan frisked him while the other guard searched the vehicle. Then the man started unloading demijohns of wine and carrying them into the house before driving away.
Valerio snapped shots of him and the sign painted on the Ape: Cantina la Sirena. He also took photos of the large dark SUV parked in the driveway, zooming in on the license plates.
Fifteen minutes later, Ivan and the other man reemerged, got into the SUV, and drove away.
Valerio returned to where he’d stowed his things. His body was stiff, back aching from his time on the ground. He checked his phone: three missed calls from Errichiello. Loading his bags on his motorbike, he steered down the winding mountain road.
—
By the time Valerio arrived back in Naples, he was nearly an hour late for his appointment with Beppe. He’d texted about the delay but still felt guilty as he parked and jogged up the stairs to the front door of the concrete apartment.
—
Valerio remembered Beppe Riccio as a fat man. Well, not fat exactly, but chubby. With rosy cheeks and a broad smile. This was topped off by a shock of frizzy hair. He’d had the sort of easy personality that seemed to match: optimistic and cheerful.
The man who met Valerio at the door was barely recognizable: lean and sinewy, with sunken cheeks and a completely bald head.
“What happened to you?” asked Valerio before he could stop himself. “Are you sick?”
Beppe let out that familiar jolly laugh. “Went on a diet, man! No carbohydrates. No pasta…pizza…beer. Started running. You should try it.”
“No pizza? Are you insane?” Valerio chuckled. “I hear the pope excommunicates people for that.”
