“He’s a gallery owner. I want to go talk with him, maybe he’ll hold a show for me. He has a gallery in Turin and another in Milan. And he’s a partner with one of the biggest art salons in Berlin.”

“Fine, you go get busy with Giuseppe Verdi. I’m going home.”

Anna looked at him askance. “Why?”

“Because I’m starting to feel like throwing up. Because this place disgusts me and shit is oozing out of the walls, because I don’t want to have anything to do with these people, and because I consider that the fact you brought me here amounts to a grave insult. See you later!”

He turned on his heel and left Anna standing there with the plate of stuffed grape leaves in her hand.

“PLEASE GIVE ME MY COAT, IT’S A LODEN.”

“Right away,” replied the attendant, ducking behind a brocaded curtain.

He could feel the floor burning under his feet. The music of Fausto Papetti was echoing in his head. The lights and the smells of food were suffocating him.

“Is this it, Signore?”

Rocco grabbed it. He checked to make sure his wallet was still in the pocket. The attendant smiled. “Don’t you trust us?”

“No! I don’t, and if you want some free advice, go get a job somewhere else.”

“I have three children.”

“Then just keep your dick in your pants!”

AS HE WENT BACK OUT ACROSS THE GARDEN, HE PERCEIVED a presence, someone observing him. The deputy chief turned to look back at the villa. At a second-floor window a blond head was looking out. Smoking a cigarette. The face was in shadow, but then the figure leaned out and caught the light. It was Max. Rocco raised a hand to wave. Max waved back lazily.

“Well? Aren’t you going downstairs to the party?”

Max shook his head no.

“Why not? There’s lots of lovely people!”

Max shrugged his shoulders and withdrew to his room, shutting the window behind him.