The property was exactly as the maps had described it.
And nothing like she had imagined.
From the outside it was simply a building. Old stone. Iron gate. A narrow street in a quiet Roman district that looked like nothing was happening inside it. The kind of place designed specifically to look like nothing was happening inside it.
The car stopped at the gate at eight fifty five.
She was wearing the navy dress. Her hair was up. Dante was beside her in the car — dark suit, that presence that required no introduction anywhere — and he had said very little since they left the hotel.
She had said equally little.
Tonight required Sofia Caruso.
She breathed in through her nose. Out through her mouth.
Then she became someone else.
The entrance hall was warm and candlelit. Old paintings. R
