Chapter 1
The expression on Agusto’s face made his feelings clear. He was not going to change his mind. His white coat, spattered with red stains, was sweat-marked and creased after a long stressful night but his eyes were as sharp as a skewer.
Still, Rami had to try. After all, it was a matter of honour.
“No need, Agusto. I have my Harley and a raincoat. It’s only a fifteen-minute ride.”
“You think I want to call a cab for your benefit? Do not flatter yourself, you young mule! Tell me what happens if you get wet and catch a cold. No, I’ll tell you. The number one restaurant in Naples loses its second chef because you are damn well staying away from this kitchen with any unhealthy bugs. I am protecting my investment. Now I am sick of arguing with you. All I want is to rest my feet and drink a grappa. Take a cab, go home and leave me in peace. See you tomorrow.”
Rami gave in. His exasperated head shake disguised a smile. “Up to you if you want to throw money away on taxis. You’re the boss.”
“I am. And if you remembered that more often, we could save ourselves a lot of hot air. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Give Isabella my best wishes.”
“I will.” Agusto unbuttoned his tunic and pulled off his bandana. “And, Rami, if the weather is as shitty as this in the morning, get a cab back. NO arguments! Just keep a receipt. Go, you stubborn goat, have I not suffered enough?” He hurled his chef’s attire into the laundry bin in the alcove and bounced his way through the doors to the dining area.
In a second, the kitchen became a haven of calm. The stainless steel surfaces shone, empty and sanitised. The ovens, now cool and silent, gaped at him with sooty mouths. The room was as soothing as church. Rami reflected for a moment on how the source of all the tension and bustle which accompanied every service had only just left a few seconds ago. Agusto’s presence was a whirlwind, filling every space with a charge of energy so ferocious, one’s senses could scatter to the four winds.
After retrieving his raincoat, Rami let himself out of the back door. His Harley was parked in the open garage, next to Agusto’s Ferrari, but one glance at the raindrops pounding the pavement convinced him a taxi was indeed the best choice. The wind lashed his cheek as he stood under the awning and he hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long.
“Buonasera,” said a voice behind him.
Rami turned with a start. The man wishing him a good evening had come from the garage, but his face was unfamiliar.
“Buonasera,” he replied. “This is private property, you know.”
“I know. I’m your driver, here to take you home.”
“Ah, I see. I was trying to hail a taxi, I didn’t realise he’d already ordered one.”
“The car is over there. Shall we?”
They dashed across the road, heads bowed against the vicious weather. The driver opened the back door and Rami got in. It was a luxury limousine, with wide leather seats and a divider between driver and passenger. Trust Agusto to choose a high-end service.
Rami wiped his face and watched the restaurant disappear as the car pulled away into the traffic. Weariness crept over him. It had been a long and tiring night, and the yearning for his own apartment intensified. Home. Car horns and sirens competed with the thundering sound of the rain on the roof. Street lights and shop signs melted into an indistinguishable blur through the windows and the scent of furniture polish made him think of his grandmother.
After they passed the entrance to Galleria Borbonica, the car turned left instead of right and Rami frowned. He rapped on the glass divider.
“Scusa! We’re going to Miracoli. You need to take a right.”
The driver looked into the rear-view mirror and gave him a thumbs-up. But he made no effort to turn right, passing several other opportunities to join Via Toledo. With no indication, he pulled into the kerb, causing other drivers to hoot furiously.
The rear passenger door opened and a man in a long coat slid in beside Rami. His face was handsome and young, although not one Rami knew. His Italian was formal and he had an odd accent, as if he was foreign or from the north, which amounted to much the same thing.
“I apologise for this interruption, but it is imperative I talk to you.”
“What about?” Rami’s voice gave away his mistrust.
“Let’s call it your annual appraisal.” The man smiled and offered Rami a cigarette.
“I don’t smoke,” he lied. “Who are you and why are you in my taxi?”
The man leant forward and tapped an extraordinarily long fingernail on the divider. The driver glanced in the mirror and with his right hand, drew open the small communication window.
“Did you tell him this was a taxi?” There was a nasty smile in the newcomer’s voice.
“No. My exact words were ‘I’m your driver, here to take you home’. No one mentioned a taxi.” The car turned right. Finally.
Rami’s fellow passenger laughed. “Perfetto! We are indeed here to take you home.” The driver made no comment and closed the divider once more.
“Signor Ahmad, no need for alarm. This is just a friendly conversation.”
“Again I ask you, what about?”
The man continued smoking, as if he had not heard. Rain hammered on the roof and the driver continued in the direction of the city centre, far from Rami’s own neighbourhood. Ahead of them at the lights, a man ran across the road, a newspaper over his head, splashing through puddles and soaking his trousers.
The man beside him rapped on the divider and when it opened, he spoke in a cheerful tone. “Dino, you hungry?”
“Always got room for some of grandma’s cooking, Luca.”
Ice trickled down Rami’s spine. They knew. He swallowed, feeling the noose tighten. “Thank you for the lift, but I think I would prefer to walk from here.”
Neither man reacted. The man called Luca continued to smoke while Dino navigated the traffic and the foul weather. Rami guessed where they were going. The Spanish Quarter. Luca opened the window and tossed out his cigarette. Without warning, he lunged at Rami, grabbing a fistful of his raincoat and pulling him close. His breath smelled sour and of smoke.
“You can’t have the foot in both stirrups. Time to make a decision.”
“What are you talking about?” Rami tried to prise the man’s hands off him. His question was genuine, borne of confusion rather than innocence. He needed to know which organisation these guys represented.
Luca released his coat and pushed him backwards, leaning on top of him as if coming in for a kiss. His forearm pressed against Rami’s throat. “Listen to me, sfigato. You’re not the first to try this trick. It happens when people get greedy. Not anymore. We know what you’re doing and it stops right now. How it stops is up to you.”
Rami sensed the car coming to a halt and Dino switched off the engine.
Luca increased the pressure on Rami’s windpipe. “No more last chances. Tell us who you’re working for and where the money’s going. Otherwise, I’ll let Dino off the leash.”
“I work for Agusto Colacino at Ecco. You know that!”
The door behind his head wrenched open and Dino dragged him out of the car by his hair. Rami’s torso hit the cobbles, knocking the wind out of him.
Dino placed a foot on his chest and actually snarled, like a Doberman. Rain smeared Rami’s glasses so that he sensed rather than saw Luca loom over him, blocking out the street light.
“You think we have any interest in a stronzo like you? Grow up. All I need is the name of your boss. Fair warning: if you say Agusto Colacino one more time, Dino will kick your teeth out. Who are you working for? Just give me his name and you can go home.”
Rami heaved in some air. “Her name,” he rasped. That earned him a few seconds. Dino removed his foot and Rami managed to scramble onto all fours, still gasping for oxygen.
He took several breaths until Luca’s rain-stained brown shoes stepped into his sightline.
“The name.”
Rami said three words.
That was all it took. The shoes disappeared, doors slammed and the car drove off. If Rami hadn’t rolled away as fast as he did, he would have been under the wheels.
He struggled to his feet and reached in his pocket. Phone and wallet both gone. Thankfully, he’d left nothing incriminating in either. With no cash or cards, he would have to walk. He made for the lights, checking over his shoulder several times. No one was around.
At one in the morning, soaked, physically and mentally exhausted, he turned into Via Vergini Crocelli which housed his apartment block. His long, wet walk had not helped him find a solution. Still he found himself between the devil and the deep blue sea. He would need to sleep on it, and hope against hope that a solution came to him in his dreams.
He trudged the last twenty metres home to his apartment, unlocked the gate and stepped into the courtyard. His mind fogged by his fruitless mental circles and glasses blurred by raindrops, he neither saw nor heard his assailant. The first thing he felt was a blade piercing his ribcage.
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