I understood, I thought, the general intent of my brother’s plan. He meant to separate Frank and me—to give me time with Orsini. I could have stopped it simply by stepping out of the closet, but I thought of Paolo’s dark eyes, watching from the landing above. I stayed tucked away until my brother and Frank Paris finished talking and only then walked down the long hall back into the central room. Orsini and the remaining guests observed my entrance. Before I could get close, my brother caught me by the arm, speaking under his breath, something about a gate, a wooden gate, down the Vicolo del Gallo. Go there and I’ll let you in. He spoke as a ventriloquist might. His lips barely moved. The gate on Vicolo del Gallo. Then he spoke more openly, for all to hear.

“Your taxi is here,” Johnny said to me.

I scrutinized Frank.

“The taxi,” Johnny repeated.

Frank stood with his wry smile, his battered nose, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

Frank bowed his head, scrutinizing his glass. I saw how it was. He wanted to come home with me, but the cards tempted him, and the whiskey, and maybe the redhead, too. More than that, he’d already promised, and he had no choice but to play it out. The redhead smiled, and Jimmy Luciano, the grandson of the American gangster—he smiled, too. No doubt her jewels had come from him. And no doubt the man had no intention of losing anything that belonged to him.

I kissed Frank good-bye.

Outside, there was no taxi. Nor could I find the gate my brother had mentioned.

8.

I shouldn’t have left the party alone. It’s easy for a foreigner to get turned around in Rome, especially at night, in the old part of the city. Mount Giordano, where Orsini lived, was a maze of narrow alleys and gray walls atop an old hill that had been mounded up by hand around the time of the Crucifixion. The area had been built over many times since. During the day, specialty shops were open along here, but these stood shuttered now. The walls of old palazzos and their aging tenements slouched one against the other.

I still couldn’t find the gate.

I might have tried retracing my steps back to the main entrance of the palazzo, back to the party—but I didn’t want to appear foolish. So I decided to find my way to the Corso Vittorio, where I might hail a taxi home.