“Judge Baldi is reviewing your checking accounts. And recent transactions. He’s pretty sure that somewhere in there we’re going to find a withdrawal of at least twenty-five thousand euros, money that you gave Daniele Abela, plus something for his worthy colleague Tolotta. And a lavish tip to Amelia, too. Or am I wrong?”

“Dead wrong!”

Rocco pointed his finger at the desk. The perfume was still there, surrounded by its wrapping paper. “You don’t give gifts worth a hundred seventy euros to an escort if you’re contacting her for strictly professional considerations. That right there is a gift that you give to a woman you love, or someone to whom you owe a debt of gratitude. You want me to tell you the way I see it?”

Pietro Berguet’s face had become a shard of gray slate.

“Maybe the first encounter was just a product of chance, or maybe not. The fact remains that you somehow learned about her family ties and the plan formed spontaneously in your mind. A clean and simple plan. A disreputable piece of shit like Cuntrera—how many different people wanted him dead? You wanted to take revenge for your daughter, and that’s understandable. Only you overdid it.”

Pietro burst into nervous laughter. “You’re leveling a very serious accusation against me. And I believe that, at this point, our conversation is going to have to end here. From now on, we’ll speak only in the presence of my lawyer!”

“Certainly, Dottor Berguet, of course. But you know something? Make sure you have a good lawyer, because Amelia Abela is already talking with her lawyer. The young lady has everything to gain by giving us a hand. And you have everything to lose. That’s not all, either. We’ve just arrested the brother with the swag. As for his worthy confederate Federico Tolotta, it’s only a matter of time. Now, please accept a piece of advice from someone who knows the inside of this country’s prisons very well. Two prison guards, two correctional officers, are not going to have an easy time behind bars. Whatever house of detention they might happen to wind up in. Let me just put it this way: in the interest of improving the treatment they can hope to receive from the courts, those two would be willing to sell out their mothers. So you understand, Dottor Berguet? You’re up to your neck in shit.”

“It’s time to say good-bye, Dottor Schiavone.”