Corrado smiled faintly. Tatiana was always courteous. Always smiling. Always positive. Maybe that’s why he had invited her to become his partner three years ago. Not because she’d invested any money: Tatiana didn’t have any and couldn’t raise any. But Corrado needed someone to work alongside, someone honest, someone he could trust, someone he could leave in charge of the bar if he had to go away for whatever reason. As he had the week before, when Enzo had shown up in the middle of the night to take Corrado against his will and force him to drive him all the way to Aosta. Who had given that bastard his address in Francavilla? How had Enzo found him? He was being blackmailed by that murderer, and now there was nothing he could do but obey his orders and hope and pray that Enzo would soon vanish from his life.

“What’s wrong?” Tatiana whispered. Corrado smiled at her. “You seem worried.”

What could he say to her? That lately every day was an endless nightmare? That he would gladly board the next flight for anywhere, anyplace at all, on the far side of the planet? Instead, all he said was “This is for you, Luca!” as he handed the espresso to the town constable.

“Well, Tatiana? Are we going to go have this seafood dinner or not?”

“Here’s what you can do, Luca. Finish your espresso, take Ciro with you, and just continue your rounds. Maybe you’ll be lucky and manage to write a few tickets before your shift ends!”

Ciro burst out laughing and slapped Luca on the back. “Come on, Luca, you don’t have a chance!” And the two constables left the bar. Outside they crossed paths with Barbara as she strode into the Bar Derby with a thirty-two-tooth smile.

“Corrado, could you make me two pots of tea? I’ll take them with me to the shop!”

“At your service!” Corrado replied with alacrity. The two proprietresses of the bookshop next door to the café intimidated him. Not because they were stern or authoritarian. Barbara and Simona sold books, and for that reason, in his eyes, they were wreathed in an aura of mystery. After all, everyone orders espressos and panini, but books? And yet the shop seemed to be thriving. As if they were two priestesses of a cult he understood nothing about, he respected them and granted their every whim. “With a lemon, like always?”

“With a lemon, like always!”

“Corrado, as soon as you’re done making those teas, turn on the lights outside, it’s time . . .” said Tatiana; then she gestured to the bookseller, who followed her out of the café. Tatiana wanted a word.

On the sidewalk outdoors, she lit a cigarette. She offered one to Barbara, who thanked her but declined.

“What’s wrong, Tatià?”