“You sound like you’re under some pressure,” Keira said, using a diplomatic tone. “More so than usual.”

“I am,” Elliot replied. He sighed loudly, as though he’d confessed a great sin. “There are people watching, Keira, higher-ups. I can’t go into a lot of it but it may make us change the entire course of the magazine. I would very much like that not to happen. You know Viatorum is like my child. And my husband. I’ve sacrificed everything for this magazine.”

“You and I both,” Keira told him. “But what do you mean by higher-ups? I thought you were the highest.”

There was a long pause from Elliot. “Just find the story, okay?” he said with finality.

“I will,” Keira replied, but discovered the call had already disconnected.

Her anxiety increased. The call had left her feeling even more bewildered. If Nina was right about the magazine facing a buyout or a competitor then there was more resting on her shoulders than she’d even realized. The whole magazine could be affected by how well she performed on this piece. She’d never felt such pressure before. This wasn’t just about her anymore, or her career, but about everyone at the magazine. Elliot. Nina. They were all counting on her.

She got out of bed, filled with resolve. She could do this, tour guide or none. What were the terrifying streets of Naples really when everyone’s jobs were at stake?

Keira packed up her bags, glad to see the back of the dingy hotel room, and dragged her case back down the four flights of stairs. She checked out, her emotions swaying between relief to be leaving and anxiety for the lonely journey ahead.

She clutched her purse tightly against her chest, gritted her teeth, then headed out into the busy streets of Naples, alone.

CHAPTER NINE

It was another hot day and the garbage smell of the streets around her hotel had become even more pungent. Keira tried not to pay too much attention to the items of clothing strewn across the roads, nor the traffic jam of scooters and cars all honking one another in their haste to get wherever they were going. Rush hour must start early in Italy, she thought.

Stepping cautiously along the sidewalk—where there was one—Keira felt like a fish out of water. She was infuriating herself by being so cowardly. She was a New York journalist for Pete’s sake, and yet here she was tiptoeing like a cat burglar! And besides, everyone she passed seemed far too preoccupied with themselves, rushing on their way to work, busy, uninterested in the cowering American tourist sticking to the shadows. Maybe Antonio had blown the whole crime thing out of proportion in an attempt to scare her. It wasn’t like she’d had much of a chance to get to know him; for all she knew he could have a very morbid sense of humor.

She let herself relax a little, her hold on her purse becoming a little less tight. For the first time since setting foot outside her hotel, the knuckles of the hand she was gripping her case handle with turned back from white to pink.