I call Petra at seven the next morning.
She picks up on the first ring, which means she was already awake, which means she already knows something. Petra has a network of information that operates faster than any news outlet and twice as accurately.
"The gossip blog," she says, before I open my mouth.
"You saw it."
"Gio sent it to me at midnight. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I need your honest opinion about something."
I walk her through option two. The controlled narrative. The public appearances. The careful, managed version of a situation that is anything but careful or managed. Petra listens without interrupting, which is how I know she's taking it seriously.
"Do you trust him?" she asks when I finish.
"I don't know him well enough to trust him."
"That's not a no."
I look out my
