—
When Cosimo had taken their orders and hurried away, Ravenna said, “I know you think I should be careful…and I will. But I can’t just sit back and do nothing. I’ve never been able to just look away. I don’t think you can either.”
She picked at the corner of the paper tablecloth as she spoke, folding it back on itself in tight little patterns. Her fingers were nimble, bare nails trimmed short. Her forearms were muscular—Valerio guessed from the manual labor of her job.
“You’re a nurse,” he said.
“Sì.”
“Why did you choose nursing?”
“I grew up in a big family—always scrapes and bruises and accidents. When I was ten, my brother broke his arm and I triaged it. I liked being able to know what to do when something bad happened. I think it was my way of being in control—not feeling helpless.” She leaned forward. “That’s what you do, too, isn’t it? Help people?”
“I don’t help people,” Valerio said frankly. “I’m a cleaner. It’s an ugly job, but functional. I find the filthiest places and clean them out. If I do my job well, nobody ever notices.”
Ravenna said, “That’s not true. Of course we notice!”
“I’m not saying it to complain,” said Valerio quickly. “But the world is full of so much filth. I can only cage a few rats and clean up their shit. It isn’t much. It doesn’t really fix anything. There are always more rats.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because I want you to understand that this is dirty and dangerous, but I’ve been trained to take this risk—I’ve spent years doing it. Iknow what I’m dealing with. If you wanted me to help with nursing, I’d hurt people and probably hurt myself.”
“Not if I showed you what to do,” said Ravenna. “You could rely on my expertise.”
Valerio sighed, and found that he had started folding the edge of the tablecloth as well. He stopped and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Last night, you came to my house—and told me what you thought. You accused me of killing Gaetano. It was very brave of you. It was also very stupid. If I’d really been one of Errichiello’s men, you might be dead now. I promise, I’ll investigate what happened to that boy—but you need to stay away, for your own sake. And for mine. I don’t want to worry about you.”
A tight, hot knot closed his throat. He clenched his teeth.
Ravenna stared at him. “You’re worried about me?”
Cosimo was back with their drinks—acqua frizzante for Ravenna and a Peroni for him.
For a moment, Valerio found that it was difficult to look at her, but he forced himself.
She was crying. Fuck. He’d done the wrong thing somehow. He didn’t know how to fix it, so he sat uncomfortably with his beer.
Gradually she stopped, and wiped her eyes with a thin, waxy napkin.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay, what?”
“I can stay away. I can trust you to do this—and I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t go around asking people questions or accusing them of murder. But can you at least tell me what you’re doing? Can I help with something—anything at all?”
Valerio exhaled and shrugged as he considered. She’d known Gaetano—at least peripherally. There could be value in having her identify connections in the boy’s life, as long as she stayed out of the way.
“What do you know about Paride Silvestri?” he asked.
“That name sounds familiar. Should I know it?”
The pizzas arrived. While they ate, he told her about the photo on Ines Mancusi’s fridge—and what he’d learned about Silvestri. Ravenna took out her phone and started searching.
“Wow,” she said, taking a bite of pizza and scrolling. “It’s like the Oscars. Everybody in Hollywood has been at his parties…. Oh! That’s a gorgeous dress.”
She held the phone up for him to admire a starlet in a slinky purple dress standing on a beautifully pillared balcony overlooking the sea.
