“I know, but if you have this, I’m going to feel a little less worried. I haven’t been sleeping well for days on your account. It’s a Ruger semiautomatic. Seven shots, 9 mm, it’s small and it weighs less than a pound.”

Rocco took it.

“The release is on the left side, the magazine has an angled heel on the grip.”

“You sound like a salesman,” said the deputy chief.

“Most important of all, this little girl is a virgin.”

“Listen, Furio, even if you leave it with me, I’m still not going to use it.”

Furio grabbed him by the lapels. “Listen up and listen good, you dickhead. This isn’t playtime. Somebody’s out to kill you, and you’d better get that through your thick skull. Keep a weapon within reach, always. I’m sick and fucking tired of going to funerals!”

Rocco looked his friend in the eyes. Then he nodded. “All right, Furio. All right.”

Furio straightened the lapel of Rocco’s loden overcoat. “Excuse me.”

“Speaking of pistols. Have you heard from Brizio?”

“Yes, he told me everything. That the gun used to shoot Adele was previously used in an armed robbery in Cinecittà.”

“Which means that the bastard comes from Rome. At least that’s a lead.”

“You’ll see, we’ll track down the guy that used this gun, Rocco.”

“Right. So, you want to get a drink? Ettore is still open.”

“Sure, but just one, I still have to drive . . .”

They emerged from the portico and headed toward Piazza Chanoux. “You know who I ran into this evening?”

“No.”

“Walter Cremonesi.”

Furio froze in the middle of the street. “I don’t believe it.”

“I swear.”

“And what is he doing here?”

“Making wine.”

“Do you believe it?”

“The way I believe that Catanzaro can win the Scudetto.”

“So was it him who shot Adele?”

“I don’t know. But I have to assume so.”

“Keep an eye out for him. That guy is a cobra.”

“No, he’s a black mamba, it’s obvious that you don’t know a fucking thing about animals!”