The old courthouse had been abandoned for nine years.
Its clock still worked.
At eleven forty-three, the hands above the entrance cut the rain into minutes I could not afford to lose.
Luca stopped the car beneath a dead streetlamp.
"No lights in the east wing," he said.
"That does not mean it is empty."
"It means Matteo wants us to use the front door."
Nicolò shifted in the back seat. The chains had left dark bruises around his wrists, and every breath seemed to scrape something inside him.
"He always did prefer an audience," he said.
Luca looked at him through the mirror.
Not Father.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
"You stay here."
Nicolò laughed once. "You found me under a chapel after twelve years and now you think I will wait in a car?"
"I think you can barely stand."
"I have bee
