“And I wouldn’t trust those two, either,” he said. “They come from the intelligence ministry.”

“The head deputy is an old friend, I thought.”

“They are all friends,” said my brother. “Lodovico, if you remember—he worked for the ministry, too.”

––––––––

That evening, Paolo and I went down to the ocean. The gulls swooped low, scavenging in the fading light. People tended fires along the beach. We strolled down the retreating shoreline toward the far rocks. Not too far away stood the house of the swimmer who had invited me to his party. I caught a glimpse of him mingling with his guests in front of the fire ring.

“I’ve been offered a deal,” Paolo said.

I stopped then, not wanting to go any closer. The swimmer had seen me, I thought, standing in my white shorts alongside Paolo by the darkening shore.

“What do the senators want?”

“A bit of everything.”

“What do you get in return?”

“My capitulation to their demands will be announced as a reform. I’m not only cooperating but even leading the way.”

“It’s blackmail. You’re being forced.”

“I’ll hold onto my seat. I won’t go to jail.  For kickbacks—how the contracts were assigned.”

“And your money?”

“It’s not the assets they want—or not all of them—so much as control.”

“This will satisfy them?”

“The moralists still need to be appeased.”

“How?”

“Someone must go to jail.”

“Who?”

Paolo said nothing. I pretended ignorance in these matters, but I understood. Half the members of the Italian Senate were lawyers, and the various committees they served upon awarded contracts. The beneficiaries changed, the owners, the go-betweens, even the rules. Who was corrupt, what was legal—these definitions changed, too, especially when it came to the control of assets, the trickling of government money through private channels. The legislature, Orsini’s colleagues, might honk and holler, but underneath they were loath to punish one another. What they wanted more was their own private deals. In the meantime, someone had to pay the price.

“Johnny?”

“The laborers—Trenitalia, the housing hub—and some of the supplies . . . they came through outside channels.”

“He worked for you.”

“Your brother was taking money—from the laborers, and from the contractors. He did it without my knowledge. He did a lot of things without my knowledge.”

I didn’t believe this last part. My brother was no saint, but whatever he had done, I doubted Paolo had been unaware.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I can’t protect him anymore. You know how it is with Johnny. He says something, he smiles. You’re not sure what he means, quite, and then the next thing—well, something happens . . .”

Overhead, the clouds moved, shifting shape, and the fog roiled in a white mass against the blackness. There were bonfires up and down the shore.

“What am I supposed to do?”