“You are not to touch her,” said De Rosa. “Tell your friends. Tell your friends to tell their friends. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
“Say you understand,” said De Rosa.
“I understand.”
De Rosa gestured with his gun. “On your feet, and out of my sight.”
And just as rapidly as he had attacked moments ago, the man retreated into the darkness.
—
Nikki felt numb as the rain came down on her, as De Rosa’s eyes fixed on her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t sure if it was true. The adrenaline was draining away, leaving her sick and trembling. She wanted to scream at De Rosa, to tell him to leave her alone, to tell him that she could fight her own battles. But a hollow space had opened inside, and she stood paralyzed, as if any movement would tip her headlong into it.
Benedetto De Rosa was Tito’s man, a refined contrast to Calandra’s brutal reputation.
“Were you following me?” she demanded.
He stared back for a beat without expression.
“Shall I walk you to your motorcycle?” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Nikki forced her body to move. He kept pace beside her, gun vanishing into his jacket.
At her bike, Nikki shoved her hands into her pockets. They were shaking and she didn’t want to fumble the key—not while De Rosa was looking.
“I’d prefer you not follow me,” she said.
“I understand,” said De Rosa. “There’s something I’d like you to see.”
She inhaled deeply and looked at him. He took a phone from his pocket, scrolled through the pictures, and held it out. Raindrops beaded on the screen, distorting the image.
“Do you recognize this man?” he asked.
Nikki didn’t look at the screen or take the phone as he so clearly intended. If she cooperated, she would be complicit in whatever Tito was up to. Instead, she stared back at De Rosa.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“If you meet him, or learn anything about him during your investigations,” said De Rosa, “we would consider it a favor if you tell us.”
“By ‘us’ you mean Tito.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t trade in favors,” she said.
He studied her for a beat, then retracted the phone, wiped the rain from the screen with a handkerchief, and pocketed it.
“Not a favor, then,” he said. “Consider it…a civic duty.”
