Silvestri was a different matter.
Valerio was surprised by the trove of information: articles andphotographs spanning decades. With wealth that traced back to a foreign exchange trading firm in the Virgin Islands, he was rumored to be a billionaire. He owned villas in Sorrento, Rome, and Florence, where he hosted lavish parties attended by international elites as well as local and national government dating back to the Berlusconi administration. Movie stars and businessmen beamed beside him in photographs, his pearly teeth flashing against a deep, unnatural tan. At a recent art exhibition hosted by Silvestri, NATO men and women in military dress uniforms mingled with the black-tie crowd.
Silvestri’s past was elusive. The name was Neapolitan, but the earliest records Valerio found were from the 1990s. One journalist claimed he’d been raised in Argentina and migrated to Naples, but Valerio couldn’t corroborate it.
On paper, Silvestri was a saint. Not so much as a parking ticket. The financial police had investigated him a handful of times, but he’d come up squeaky clean. There was a solitary police report from 2008: a complaint from a woman named Agnese Cuomo, its contents sealed by a magistrate. Valerio recognized the name of the officer who had taken the complaint: Giuseppe Riccio—known by his friends as Beppe. Beppe had retired years ago, but Valerio found him on Facebook, and sent a message, inviting him for a coffee and catch-up. To his gratitude, Beppe responded almost immediately with a yes.
—
Valerio checked his watch. It was nearly lunchtime and he was hungry. He tapped his hand on the desk and thought for a minute before picking up his phone.
He’d kept the thing on mute and noticed now he’d missed several more calls from Luca Errichiello. Well, fuck him.
Valerio dialed Ravenna’s number. She didn’t answer. He thought about her for a moment—the way her eyes had flashed when she stood at his door. He texted, asking her to lunch.
—
He was just leaving the station when his phone rang. Giorgia.
“Are the kids with you?” she asked.
“They’re off with their friends.”
“Why did you let them do that? They were supposed to come home. They need to do their chores.”
“That isn’t fair,” Valerio said. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of them last night. You can’t push them away when it’s inconvenient for you—and then demand that they come back.”
“And you can’t just give them whatever they want!” she retorted. “They think you’re so wonderful—but that’s because you’re always forcing me to be the mean parent. You don’t respect me. Your family doesn’t respect me—and they know that.”
“If you need them home for chores,” said Valerio, “then call and arrange that with them.”
—
Cosimo’s pizzeria was busy with the weekend lunch rush, but Cosimo waved at Valerio when he entered, and one of the servers hurried another customer out of a table.
He had just taken a seat when Ravenna came through the door.
Valerio had only ever seen the nurse in her scrubs and sneakers. Today she was dressed in a pair of well-cut jeans and black boots, tight dark ringlets framing her face. She removed her winter jacket to reveal a long burgundy blouse draping against her soft curves, a gold chain around her neck. Valerio rose to his feet and was surprised when she came close enough to kiss his cheeks. She glowed with warmth and smelled soapy.
They sat, and Valerio wanted to say something nice about how she looked, but words wouldn’t come.
She leaned across the table and spoke quietly. “Who are we interviewing first?”
“What?”
Her face creased. “I thought that was why you wanted to meet—to investigate Gaetano’s death.”
Valerio hesitated. “I am investigating. But you shouldn’t be…. As I told you, it isn’t safe. You should stay away from this.”
Cosimo was suddenly at the table, looking between them.
“Valerio, introduce me to your beautiful friend!”
“Ravenna.” She offered a hand. “And you are?”
“Piacere, Ravenna. I’m Cosimo.” He took her hand in both of his. “Welcome to my restaurant. You’re a lucky woman—dating one of Naples’ finest! And he is certainly lucky to have the pleasure of such charming company!”
He winked at Valerio, who, like a teenage boy, had the irrational urge to duck under the table.
