“Yet, you asked for my help, and I gave it. And who knows what may happen to your daughter next?”
Valerio’s rage flared. “Is that a threat?”
“Not at all,” Luca said, picking something out of his teeth. “I only mean that young ladies have a way of wandering into a fox’s den. You may wish to request my services again.”
Valerio thought of Gemma, the knock-kneed little girl who transformed every day, becoming a woman. It should make him happy. Instead, he burst with near-constant dread, and a profound helplessness.
“What’s your favor?”
Luca sipped.
“It’s a very small thing, really. Not much at all.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“An eighteen-year-old boy was arrested yesterday. Gaetano Mancusi. Sweet kid. His mother works for me. Housekeeping. He was pulled over on a routine traffic stop. The idiot was carrying a very small—extremely small—amount of cocaine. Well, they arrested him. But the little fool wouldn’t tell them about himself. So, they looked into his phone. And what do you think they found there?”
He seemed to expect a response. Valerio didn’t give one.
“Well,” Luca continued, “an app on his phone led the police to where Gaetano was living with two other boys. They found more drugs at this location. So all three boys are arrested. Gaetano says that these were not his drugs. I believe him. He’s a good kid. I think the other boys are to blame.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’d like you to speak with the magistrate…ask to release him until trial. You see, his mother is alone. She has cancer. Gaetano is her only son. She relies on him.”
The anxiety in Valerio’s chest was slowly easing. He’d been bracing, expecting something illegal or unethical. This was neither.
“And you can’t help her?” he said, looking at the elegant garden and house.
“I can hire lawyers to reduce his sentence,” agreed Luca calmly. “But what she really wants is her son back. Jail is no place for a young boy. You’ve been to Poggioreale. You must know that’s true. Would you want your son there?”
Even without Luca’s request, Valerio would have advocated to keep a teenager out of Poggioreale. He’d done this sort of thing before. The overcrowded jail was a law unto itself; young men, trapped with the wolves, were brutalized.
“I can’t get the charges dropped,” Valerio said. “The magistrate decides that. We can only give our recommendation.”
Luca nodded. “I understand. Look, relax. What I’m asking from you is completely legal. One friend to another.”
“Not friends,” said Valerio.
Luca raised an eyebrow. “As you wish.”
“I’ll need to confirm what you’re saying.”
“Of course. Speak with Gaetano’s mother. You’ll agree, I’m sure, that you should talk to the general prosecutor’s office.”
Valerio examined him. Luca Errichiello’s smooth, well-fed face looked nothing like the ancient, tortured apparition that was his brother. For years, Valerio had watched the anguish and fear of the old addict, and the daily labor he performed to keep up the small storefront salumeria. It contrasted disconcertingly with the luxury and ease of this life—and Luca’s neutral, disinterested face.
“This is all you want?” Valerio asked.
“You do this for me, and I’ll consider your debt paid.”
“And you leave my family alone.”
“You have my word.”
Valerio was cautious. Alert. But relief eased his burning mind.
Luca’s lips twisted. It could have been a smile. “You should see yourself. What did you think I would ask?”
