She shook her head. “Not for me. You?”
“Divorced. Two sons,” he said. “They have good hearts—but my youngest has a wild streak like his father. Needs to get it out of the system.”
His smile was heavy.
Their coffees arrived.
“Sixteen years, isn’t it?” Sandro said.
Almost exactly. Last week was the anniversary she hated. The date she never forgot.
“After Adriano,” Sandro continued, “I should have visited your parents more. They were always good to me.”
“They left Naples,” Nikki told him. “Moved back to the mountains. Benevento.”
“That’s understandable,” he said. “It was an awful time. Adriano was the best of us.”
She nodded, but couldn’t speak.
“I heard you went to London,” he said. “Then I lost track of you.”
They talked about Izzy and Preston, about the years Nikki had spent building a life in London, her martial arts training, her return to Naples, her work at Incendio, then Phoenix Seven. It felt so natural telling him, and Sandro listened with careful attention. Only whenshe’d nearly finished did Nikki realize how much she’d said. Her neck burned—a sudden hot flush of exposure.
Out the window, rain pooled in the slick black paving stones, and a parade of trainers and umbrellas marched past.
“I’d always seen you following in his footsteps,” he said. “I should have known better. You were always your own person.”
“What about you?” she urged.
“After Adriano…I thought about quitting the service, but I’m glad I stayed. I’ve done well for myself.”
“I’m glad for you,” Nikki said.
He nodded towards the window. “Rain’s clearing. I need to get back soon.”
He set a file on the table.
Nikki flipped it open. Printed photographs. The white-haired man from Valerio’s picture.
Sandro’s voice lowered. “He’s known as ‘the Ghost’—we believe his name is Yasen Lazarov. Former Bulgarian special services. We learned about him during a joint operation two years ago. He’s wanted by INTERPOL. Red notice. Cop killer. Dangerous fucker. You aren’t mixed up with him, are you?”
“Not me. A friend.”
“Tell your friend to be careful,” he said. “We’d love to get Lazarov under lock and key. Would your friend talk to someone on my team?”
“I’ll ask,” Nikki said.
He slid his cup aside and pushed back from the table. “I’m glad to see you, Nina.”
“There’s one more thing,” Nikki said, and he settled in again. “My father’s been visiting your offices recently.”
“Yes.” His smile was kind. “It’s been good to see him again.”
“Did he happen to mention what he’s working on?”
He nodded, then leaned in, dropping his voice. “He’s telling everyone about your mother’s theory: that Adriano’s death was an assassination. Aconspiracy.”
Nikki cringed at the unadorned description.
