Nikki wove her Hornet in and out of traffic, moving rapidly through the crowded streets. Her mind was with Valerio, wherever he was. He was a competent and highly trained capo. She told herself he was just fine. So, what was this bad feeling that kept climbing up her throat?
He’d come to her yesterday, asked for her help. There was no precedent for this. Valerio had never asked her for anything. She should have offered more—agreed to whatever he needed. Not long ago, as Nikki fought for her life in a cave by Lago d’Averno, Valerio had defied reason, defied odds, and found her. If he’d waited…hesitated…she would be dead.
—
The address Maurizio gave for Federico was in Forcella. It was a difficult neighborhood, and Nikki always removed her helmet when she rode through, for fear of being misidentified and shot.
The tiny salumeria was filled with rush-hour shoppers.
The proprietor was busy. Old and slightly hunched, with thinning grey hair, papery skin, and thick glasses, the man was impossibly thin. His large bony fingers worked the meat slicer, weighing prosciutto on the scales. Nikki tried to flag his attention, but in the thick crowd, everybody making their order, she had to take a number and wait her turn.
“Are you Federico?” she asked when she reached the counter.
The slight tilt of his head could have been a nod. “What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for Valerio Alfieri.”
He grunted and glanced over her shoulder to the chaotic queue behind her.
“You need to place an order, signora.”
“My name is Nikki. I’m his friend. He’s been missing since this morning.”
He coughed and spoke in a loud voice. “Allora. Sì. Pancetta…what quantity?”
His eyes, huge behind his glasses, were bright and staring. She understood.
“Enough for pasta tonight,” she said.
He nodded, then sliced and weighed the meat, typed and printed a sticker, wrapped and taped the bundle, and dropped it in a sack.
“Next!”
Nikki paid for the meat at the cash register, then walked out of the shop. Two blocks away, she stepped into a doorway and examined the package. Next to the weight of the meat, 213g, Federico had typed,Basilica. Venti minuti.
—
The church closest to Federico’s salumeria was the Basilica della Santissima Annunziata Maggiore. The large Baroque structure was badly deteriorated, and had been shuttered when the Camorra ruled thisdistrict. A few years ago, the city had made an effort to clean up this neighborhood. Syringes no longer littered the sidewalk, but you could still buy contraband from street dealers. The church, which had been used as a dumping ground for decades, was cleared out, and its doors opened to the impoverished community it served.
Not wanting to attract attention by loitering, Nikki strode through the church gates and up the stairs into the dreary interior.
It was empty. Alone in the fading light, she walked halfway up the nave, breathing in the musty odor. Taking a seat in a wooden pew, she glared at the crucifix. Never one for religion, she nonetheless felt irrational anger towards the figure on the cross.
“Don’t let him be dead,” she said.
—
Federico stole silently into the church, the thick soles of his trainers making no sound. Crossing himself, he took bowlegged strides towards Nikki, and slid into the pew beside her. He smelled of meat and cigarettes and bleach.
“You’re Nikki,” he said in a low voice. “Valerio talks about you.”
“Do you know where he is?” Nikki asked.
He nodded. “He went to Paride Silvestri’s house, looking for evidence against my brother.”
“Why? Who’s your brother?”
He stared. “You don’t know?”
