“No, what is it?”

“When you stand up to someone face-to-face, there are two things you need to remember. The first one is to brush your teeth. The other is never to turn your front toward them. Never ever. Always at an angle, turned to one side. Always . . .” And with an extremely rapid move, he grabbed Paoletto’s testicles until the other man shouted in pain. Seba was clenching them so tight that the enormous bouncer slowly sank to his knees. Seba’s gigantic hand was a hydraulic press, the veins swollen with blood and the skin red with effort. Brizio didn’t stir from the sofa. He limited himself to observing the scene. Paoletto continued shouting, “Let go of me! Let goooo!” but Seba wasn’t listening. It wasn’t until the complexion of Paoletto’s face veered toward a purple hue that the Marsican brown bear released his grip. Buglioni remained on the floor, curled up, his hands on his testicles and a mask of gasping pain on his face. He rolled back and forth on the living room carpet, cursing the Holy Trinity. Slowly Seba climbed up on top of him, immobilizing both Buglioni’s hands with his knees. Towering over him, he spoke in a calm voice: “The pistol. Who did you give it to?” And he accompanied the question by pulling back his fist, a brutal iron mace, ready to smash down into Paoletto’s face.

“I gave it back to my . . . my brother . . . Flavio. He’d given it to me in the first place.”

Seba nodded. He stood up. He brushed his trousers off at the knees. “If I find out that you called him, we’ll be back. And we won’t be waiting for you sitting on your sofa.”

“What he’s saying,” said Brizio as he stood up, “is that if you see us again, you’re about to die. Ciao, Paoletto.” And he stepped over him and went out the door. Sebastiano shot one last glance at the bouncer still sprawled on the floor, then followed his friend.

“IF YOUR DOG WANTS THAT CARPET, I’LL GIVE IT TO HIM AS A gift.” Judge Baldi had leaned over the edge of his desk to observe the painstaking work Lupa was doing to unweave the imitation Bukhara.

“Lupa!”

The dog stopped chewing and laid her muzzle on the floor, gazing up guiltily.

“Please excuse her.”

“So, what about these papers?”

Rocco extended the sheaf of paper that Chiara Berguet had handed over to him. “Here. There’s lots of interesting stuff.”

“How did you happen to lay your hands on them?” Baldi grabbed the documents and started reading through them.

“Max, the Turrinis’ son. He photocopied them and gave the copies to Chiara. Because he may not be a rocket scientist, but he did understand that there’s something rotten going on in that house, and clearly he was disgusted by it.”