—
Gianni served beers and prosecco in the living room. He wore jeans, a stylish shirt, and a maroon jacket. He seemed to relish the role of host, ushering everyone to sit, and filling glasses. Nikki was glad to notice how much he’d healed. He looked the same as ever, although he limped a little, and wore a glove on his damaged hand.
“No alcohol for me,” said Massimo with a sigh as Gianni extended a glass. “Too tricky with the insulin. Such a nice house you have.”
“Yes!” Raoul agreed, looking around the space—the new furniture and electronics. “You seem to be doing very well for yourself. How’s the shop these days?”
“I’m looking to expand,” said Gianni. “Mac has some ideas about taking the business international. He’s got some contacts in the Netherlands that we’re exploring. There’s a real market there…. We would need some initial investments, of course….”
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Raoul exclaimed, clapping Gianni on the shoulder.
Nikki wanted to shake her father. Despite his otherwise keen perception, he seemed forever blind to his son’s schemes. He’d already poured tens of thousands of euros into Gianni, and would continue until it bankrupted him. Before she died, Beatrice had warned Nikki to stay away from Gianni’s troubles—but that had proved impossible.
Raoul took a seat on the sofa. Bea climbed onto him. She searched his jacket pockets, coming up triumphant with two small toy cars and a wrapped candy.
In the next room, the voices of Francesca and her mother were raised, arguing about who should put the kids to bed.
“Fons was disappointed you didn’t come this afternoon,” Raoul scolded Nikki. “You need to keep your commitments.”
“I couldn’t come,” Nikki said. “I was called into work. I texted you about it.”
“All we have is our word,” he said. “I thought I taught you that.”
“How are you recovering?” Massimo asked Gianni.
“Fine. Fine…” Gianni replied, red rising to his cheeks.
“Yes, how’s your knee?” asked Raoul. He turned to Mac and explained in English, “I’m sure you know: Gianni was in a hit-and-run last summer. They never caught the driver.”
Nikki nearly spit her prosecco. She hadn’t realized that this was the story her brother had been telling to explain his injuries.
Massimo, who knew better, raised an eyebrow. Then, pointedly to Gianni, said, “With your business going so well, I’m sure you’ve repaid Nikki the money you owe her.”
Gianni gave a dismissive gesture. “Tito forgave the loan—so that’s taken care of.”
“What the fuck? That’s not—” Nikki began.
Gianni spoke loudly over her in English: “Mac is a Dutch naval officer. Covert intelligence. Isn’t that right, Mac? Doing some very important, verysecretwork for NATO.”
Mac chuckled heartily.
“Well,” he said. “That really isn’t something I should talk about.”
“What are they saying?” Massimo asked Nikki. She translated into Italian.
“What sort of idiot intelligence officer brags about his profession?” Massimo said derisively. “That’s the problem with movies. Everybody wants to be James Bond. Real spies aren’t glamorous. They’re despicable moral cowards.”
“What did he say?” Mac asked Gianni.
Gianni laughed. “He doesn’t think much of your profession.”
“It’s a very important job,” Mac articulated slowly in English to Massimo. “The public rarely sees the details of our operations. Unfortunately, we never get the credit we deserve.”
Nikki translated this to Massimo, who snorted.
“Tell us more about it,” urged Gianni. “Just the parts you can share, of course.”
Mac looked as if he’d been waiting for just this invitation.
