Chapter One #2
She counted, waited until her feet were both on the ground again.
Then, tucking her head to her left shoulder, she shoved her right hip out and, with the same motion, raised her right elbow, creating just enough space to pull herself out of his hold.
She’d practiced the maneuver plenty of times in training, but this was different.
Her attacker was motivated, and gripped harder, swearing and grunting, as she slithered from his grasp.
She’d just gotten free when he caught hold of her bag strap and yanked her inward.
The sudden impulse jolted her and she raised her elbow as he brought her into him, aimed it for his throat.
But he was tall, and the strike glanced off his chest. And now he grabbed her wrist. She was off-balance.
Leaning, she struggled to regain her center as she brought her knee up again and again.
Suddenly, without warning, he released her. She didn’t wait to find out why. She lashed out hard with elbows and knees, then danced backwards, putting distance between them. To her surprise, he didn’t pursue.
Her attacker was frozen, breathing hard, hands raised. He stared at her with bulging eyes, and she recognized him: the rangy man who’d come into the studio tonight. She scanned the street for his companion. He was nowhere to be seen.
For a wild moment, Nikki thought he was surrendering to her. But the truth became evident when she saw the dark shape of a gun pressed to his head, and a low voice growled, “On your knees.”
The bulging-eyed man descended slowly to the hard wet stone, and behind him, Nikki saw the man with the gun more clearly.
He was short and compact, with a neatly trimmed beard and arched nose, his lips in the delicate shape of a crooked cupid’s bow. He held the Beretta with practiced ease, as if it were merely an extension of him. She had seen him only twice before, but knew him immediately.
“Signor De Rosa.”
He didn’t respond, only kept his attention, his gun turned on her attacker. He stepped around the man, facing him.
“You’ve made a poor decision,” said De Rosa to the kneeling man. “Do you know who I am?”
The man nodded, but De Rosa said with slow emphasis, “Use your words. Say who I am.”
“You’re Tito Calandra’s man.”
“Good boy. And do you know who this is?”
He lifted his chin towards Nikki. The man shook his head.
“You are not to touch her,” said De Rosa. “Tell your friends. Tell your friends to tell their friends. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
“Say you understand,” said De Rosa.
“I understand.”
De Rosa gestured with his gun. “On your feet, and out of my sight.”
And just as rapidly as he had attacked moments ago, the man retreated into the darkness.
—
Nikki felt numb as the rain came down on her, as De Rosa’s eyes fixed on her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t sure if it was true. The adrenaline was draining away, leaving her sick and trembling.
She wanted to scream at De Rosa, to tell him to leave her alone, to tell him that she could fight her own battles.
But a hollow space had opened inside, and she stood paralyzed, as if any movement would tip her headlong into it.
Benedetto De Rosa was Tito’s man, a refined contrast to Calandra’s brutal reputation.
“Were you following me?” she demanded.
He stared back for a beat without expression.
“Shall I walk you to your motorcycle?” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Nikki forced her body to move. He kept pace beside her, gun vanishing into his jacket.
At her bike, Nikki shoved her hands into her pockets. They were shaking and she didn’t want to fumble the key—not while De Rosa was looking.
“I’d prefer you not follow me,” she said.
“I understand,” said De Rosa. “There’s something I’d like you to see.”
She inhaled deeply and looked at him. He took a phone from his pocket, scrolled through the pictures, and held it out. Raindrops beaded on the screen, distorting the image.
“Do you recognize this man?” he asked.
Nikki didn’t look at the screen or take the phone as he so clearly intended. If she cooperated, she would be complicit in whatever Tito was up to. Instead, she stared back at De Rosa.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“If you meet him, or learn anything about him during your investigations,” said De Rosa, “we would consider it a favor if you tell us.”
“By ‘us’ you mean Tito.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t trade in favors,” she said.
He studied her for a beat, then retracted the phone, wiped the rain from the screen with a handkerchief, and pocketed it.
“Not a favor, then,” he said. “Consider it…a civic duty.”
Nikki raised an eyebrow. “You want me to report on a police investigation, and consider this a civic service?”
De Rosa’s expression remained unperturbed. “It’s unlikely the police understand how dangerous he is. They won’t know how to deal with him appropriately. What I’m asking from you…to look…to let me know…it isn’t illegal.”
Nikki clenched her teeth. She didn’t like this burden, this sense of Tito pushing his way into her life. If she agreed to this, if she let him take any portion of her integrity, no matter how small, she risked slipping into his gravity.
She resisted. “No. I can’t do that.”
He seemed to consider. “You live in a battlefield. Can you really think your ignorance protects you?”
“Whatever it is,” Nikki said, “keep me out of it. I don’t want to be involved.”
He turned and began walking away.
Nikki pulled her key from her pocket. Her hands were still shaking as she put it in the ignition. She took her helmet from the duffel and was about to pull it on when she heard him speak her name.
Benedetto De Rosa had paused in the yellow light of a window.
“You should stop lying to yourself,” he said. “You are involved.”