“I hope you have a good day. One last thing, though. If you’d been satisfied to live your life instead of becoming a fucking out-of-control vigilante, today really would have been a wonderful day for you. Edil.ber would have won those contracts, everything would have gone back to normal, Chiara would have forgotten, and there would be a smile on your wife’s lips again. You’re just an idiot and a loser, Berguet. A miserable, small, insignificant man.”

“I won’t accept lectures on morality from you!”

“It wasn’t a lecture on morality. It was a mere statement of fact.”

“Get lost!”

LUPA JUMPED RIGHT AT HIM, MANAGING WITH AN EXAGGERATED leap to actually lick his face. Sitting on her Ikea sofa, Caterina observed that reunion with a serious expression.

“Did you miss me, little one? Have you already eaten your dinner?”

The panting of the dog and the chirping of the cuckoo clock marking the hour were the only sounds. There was a lovely scent of violets, and every corner of the little apartment had a story to tell. Books, photos hanging on the wall, two small African statuettes, and a collection of teacups.

“You have a nice place here. I understand . . . Italo would just clash with it.”

“You’re not getting off so easily . . .”

“Easily how?”

“The name!” said Caterina. She was still wearing her uniform. Rocco looked at her and she brushed back her hair. “Rocco, I want to know!”

The deputy chief went over to the window. “His name is Enzo Baiocchi. He’s a bandit who escaped from the prison of Velletri.”

“And why does he have it in for you?”

“It was July 7, 2007. My wife and I had gone out to get a gelato. I’d lost a bet, a silly trifle, a game we liked to play. On our way back, a car pulled up next to ours. Inside were two men. Corrado Pizzuti was driving, and Luigi Baiocchi, Enzo’s brother, was in the passenger seat. I barely had time to turn around. Baiocchi had a pistol in his hand. He fired two shots. Instinctively I ducked. Marina didn’t. She didn’t duck. The first shot went right through her throat. The second hit her in the left temple. She didn’t even have time to understand what . . .” His voice died in his throat. He shut his eyes. He bit his lip. Caterina had turned pale. She couldn’t even move a finger, as she knit her hands together. Rocco resumed his story: “. . . what had happened to her. She was gone in a flutter of wings. One moment she was sitting next to me . . . A second later I was holding her head . . . and her blood was flowing down my hand. I was trying to close up the wound with my fingers.”