Romiro
What the fuck did you do?
Alessia’s been cursing you for two hours straight. You’d better look both ways before crossing the road.
She said, and I quote, “Tell that brooding bastard he’s lucky geography is keeping me from breaking his face.”
I stare at the screen. The cigarette burns out on its own. Another message blinks through before I can type a reply.
Romiro
You alive, or am I talking to your ghost?
I text back.
Me
Working.
The dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Romiro
So you’re not denying you did something.
I toss the phone onto the desk and stand. The window behind me catches the morning glare, throwing light across the glass shelves. Empty bottles. Old books. Too many reminders of things that used to mean something.
When the phone buzzes again, I pick it up, exhale through my nose, and answer.
“What?!”
Romiro laughs. “Good to hear your charming voice too, big bro.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
A pause. I can hear the muffled noise of traffic behind him.
“You gonna tell me what you did to piss Alessia off this bad? Because she’s been pacing our apartment like she’s planning a murder. And considering who she’s engaged to, I’d say she’s fully capable.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “She’s emotional.”
“She’s pissed,” he corrects. “And when Alessia’s pissed, there’s usually a reason that starts with a name. In this case, yours.”
I don’t answer.
He hums. “Let me guess. Something to do with a certain Folonari?”
“Stay out of it.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“Romiro.”
He laughs under his breath. “You’re predictable, Nic. You disappear, drown yourself in work, and then act surprised when your name ends up on Alessia’s hit list. What did you do? Tell Mara something stupid?”
“I told her the truth.”
