“His name is Yasen Lazarov,” she said. “Also known as the Ghost. He’s wanted for the murder of a Bulgarian police officer.”
“Where did you get this information?” De Rosa demanded.
“I won’t disclose that,” she said.
“Bulgaria,” he said. “Is that what the authorities think?”
“You think different?”
“He’s a link,” said De Rosa. “As the old man says, Errichiello needed sharper teeth. The question is: Who is the big dog with those sharp teeth? I want to know who this Ghost is working for.”
“My friend was surveilling the billionaire Paride Silvestri,” said Nikki. “Lazarov was there—and also at Errichiello’s place.”
De Rosa looked interested. He glanced between Nikki and Federico.
“Tell me everything.”
Twenty-Nine
Trapped in the dark, mind foggy, pain pulsing through his body.
The smell was intolerable. A choking, foul odor—human waste and something worse. Valerio took short, shallow breaths to stop himself from gagging.
Then there were the flies. Swarming. Crowding his face and hands, coming into his mouth when he tried to breathe.
Valerio did his best to calm the rising panic and assess his situation.
He started with his injuries. His face, head, arm, and belly hurt—but most urgent, most likely to kill him, was his leg. He didn’t think the bone had been hit. The bullet seemed to have torn through the muscle. He felt it, trying to tell if the bleeding had stopped. But everything was wet, and he wasn’t sure how much of this was blood.
—
He turned his attention next to his prison. His eyes adjusted to the pitchy blackness, light filtering through chinks in the masonry above. He was in a rectangular structure about four meters across, with a cement floor and drain in the center—where the smell originated.
He scooted to a corner of the structure and, grunting, straining, used the walls to push himself up, balancing on his left leg. Experimentally, he touched his right foot to the ground. Pain shot through—so intense, he shouted, eyes watering, and nearly collapsed.
Maneuvering unsteadily along the wall, he began a slow investigation.
Concrete blocks formed the walls to about head height—and, reaching above, Valerio felt heavy wood beams. Outside, beyond the frenzied insect buzz, he heard birdsong. Along one wall, two metal rings were fixed into the concrete, grooves worn into the block below,where the rings had dragged across the surface. Valerio pulled hard at the fixtures, trying to loosen or twist them around. They didn’t budge.
Suddenly, everything seemed to tilt and tumble, a sort of disorienting nausea. He lowered himself, and sat with his back against the wall. His mouth and body were parched—an aching burn and a straining for water that eclipsed the other miseries.
The small space was humid and cold, and his teeth chattered. But he was also feverish.
He tried to slow his breathing, push down the panic. He couldn’t afford to numb up or lose his mind.
—
He continued investigating the edges of the structure, running his hands along the space between the cement floor and the blocks forming the outer wall, looking for weaknesses—perhaps a crack he could exploit, or a loose block. He didn’t find this, but after several minutes, he came across a small, delicate piece of wire. He held it up, squinting, but couldn’t make out what it was. He ran it between his fingers. It took him several moments to realize: It was a woman’s earring.
Understanding settled like a boulder in his belly.
The iron rings affixed in the walls and the drain in the floor should have told the story—but he’d somehow refused to see it. This delicate earring was the clue that made it impossible to interpret this any other way. He wasn’t the first prisoner here.
Who had she been—the woman with the earring? Had she been imprisoned here last week while he met with Luca—only steps away—his only concern ridding himself of his obligation?
—
He lost consciousness. The first time, it was like falling asleep, but so rapid he couldn’t be sure. Then it happened again. And again. He didn’t know how to prepare for or prevent it. And each time he awoke in agony, disoriented, struggling to think.
