He’d expected Sonia and Emilio. They were supposed to come by and interview Leonora first thing this morning—so he was surprised to see a tall, birdlike man standing on the rug in his mother’s small living room. He wore thick-soled white sneakers with Velcro straps, and black-rimmed glasses perched on wide ears nestled in a rim of grey hair. Narrow shoulders jutted from his collared shirt, and large bony hands kneaded against each other, fingers flexing.
“Federico!” Valerio exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
This was Federico Errichiello, proprietor of a local salumeria, and the last person he’d expected to find in his mother’s house.
“I gotta talk,” Federico said, staring over Valerio’s shoulder to where Orlanda stood.
Valerio gave Orlanda a look. She took the hint and retreated.
“Come to the kitchen,” said Valerio, yawning. “I’ll make us coffee.”
His mind worked as he dolloped coffee grounds into the Moka percolator and sliced bread.
Valerio had met the old man about a decade ago; Federico had been an addict desperate to get clean and excise himself from the criminal network run by his brother, Luca. Impressed by the man’s determination and grit, Valerio had helped where he could. And Federico had done the miraculous impossible: carved out an honest life for himself, an island above the eddies of corruption and criminality surging around him.
Months had passed since Valerio had visited Federico’s shop. The last time had been in the summer—when Valerio had begged for help. The memory stabbed him with guilt. He should have poured out his gratitude or, at the very least, checked in.
His mouth was dry as he put coffee on the table. He wanted to apologize, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he said, “How did you know where to find me?”
Federico shrugged. “You weren’t answering your phone. You weren’t at home, or at the station. I asked around.”
“So, you know what happened last night? At Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo?”
Federico nodded, scooped sugar into his coffee, and stirred. He drank it down hot.
“Everybody knows what happened.”
“What have you heard?” Valerio prodded, suddenly hopeful for a lead on this messy case. But a tremor seemed to run through the old man. He shook his head.
“That’s not why I’m here. Luca wants to call in his favor.”
The coffee in Valerio’s mouth turned to tar.
Suddenly, he knew why he hadn’t visited.
Valerio owed Federico the deepest appreciation for helping him and, in so doing, crossing lines he’d sworn he’d never breach. Valerio had been desperate to find his daughter, and Federico had arranged a meeting with his brother, Luca Errichiello—a Camorra capo, and the vilest man Valerio had ever met.
In his elation at finding Gemma alive, and the renewed closeness this had brought with his children these past few months, Valerio had tried to erase that ugly, shameful part of the story. This was why he’d never visited, never thanked Federico. He hadn’t wanted to remember.
Federico spoke his name and Valerio realized he’d been silent in these thoughts. He shook himself.
“What’s the favor?”
“Don’t know. He wants you to see him. Today. Now.”
“I can’t just drop everything. Detectives are coming to interview my mother any minute now.”
Federico’s shoulders rose, head dropping down. He pushed away from the table.
His voice was low and rasping. “Luca doesn’t take nos.”
“Can you tell him…”
But Valerio couldn’t get the words out. Federico’s head jerked up, eyes full of fire.
“I did my part,” he snarled. “I gave the message. I’m not his errandboy. I’m out. Do you hear? I’m never going back. This is yours now. You made the bargain with the devil. You!”
He stood and teetered unsteadily for a moment before striding out of the kitchen.
