Chapter Two
Two
Valerio wished he hadn’t worn his good shoes.
It had been pissing rain all afternoon, but as he left work the clouds dissipated and he saw patches of blue.
The streets were dry as he walked to his apartment to shower and change.
Unfortunately, the pause in the rain had only been the weather god taking a deep breath before a howling tantrum.
Valerio was midway across the city when the skies unleashed a biblical flood.
Gutters overflowed and cars, maneuvering in the heavy traffic, sluiced walls of water onto pedestrians.
Valerio jogged through the deluge and ducked under the awning of a nearby gelateria, his best shoes ruined. He was joined by three tourists wearing backpacks and sneakers, then a bedraggled woman in heeled boots, and finally, a muttering vagrant hauling his stinking bags.
Valerio opened the dating app and texted an apology for the necessary lateness.
Then, while he waited, he scrolled again through the profile.
Her name was Maria. Photos showed a lovely face, luminous skin, beautiful eyes with thick lashes, full lips, and long dark hair.
He particularly liked one full-body shot displaying a very nice figure in a tightly fitting black dress.
—
The past few months had been the thirstiest of Valerio’s life. He’d always found it easy to attract women—but something had been off since the summer, after the end of his last relationship. He’d met a few women, but some fundamental spark had been missing, and the experiences were forgettable.
Work had kept him busy enough, distracted so he couldn’t brood over the lack in his life. He and his partner, Maurizio, had been working an extortion case for the past few weeks, and they were close to making an arrest. But he was tired of eating alone, watching TV alone, going to bed alone.
The dating app had been his daughter Gemma’s suggestion. At work, when he brought it up, Maurizio scoffed at the idea.
“Dating apps are a scam,” he warned. “There are podcasts about it: Only the top ten percent of men see any action at all—the rich ones and the gym rats.”
“I go to the gym,” protested Valerio, who had been making a particular effort lately and proud of it.
“You know what I mean,” said Maurizio. “The twenty-five-year-old gods.”
Valerio conveyed Maurizio’s arguments to Gemma. She rolled her eyes.
“It’s how everybody does it,” she told him with an emphasis bordering on exasperation. “Everybody!”
For his profile, he snapped a picture of himself in the bathroom mirror.
He also posted a photo aboard his sailboat, Calypso, and one at the gym.
Then he posted another from his cousin’s wedding last year, where he was wearing a suit and looking quite dapper.
Within hours, Maria had reached out with a wink emoji.
Her beauty and obvious interest in him did plenty to ease his reservations. After nearly two weeks of increasingly tantalizing texts, he was eager to meet her.
“She’s clearly too good for you,” Maurizio teased. “Wait and see…she’s probably a catfish.”
—
By the time Valerio pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant, his slacks were sopping, toes like cold pebbles inside wet shoes.
Despite a last-minute purchase of a flimsy umbrella from a street vendor, rain had invaded his jacket and run down the collar of his shirt.
The ma?tre handed him a cloth napkin, and Valerio mopped his face and neck as he followed the server back into the space.
Maria had chosen the location, a restaurant called Cigno, in a good neighborhood.
This turned out to be far more elegant than the places he’d suggested—local haunts where he could get good pizza and good wine at a good price.
The room was dimly lit, the walls black.
White-topped tables stood out in individual spotlights—bright flowers on a dark sea.
The back wall was uneven slate and hanging plants, with a ceiling-to-floor waterfall.
The icy breeze from the waterfall chilled his already wet shirt and he shivered.
But Valerio’s tribulations were forgotten as he approached the bar, where a vision of beauty perched, sipping a glass of wine. She wore a pair of high-waisted silk slacks, a blouse in shimmering gold, and a delicate gold chain. She set down her glass and rose to her feet as he came near.
“Valerio?” she said, tilting her head.
“Piacere, bella, a pleasure to meet you in person!”
He leaned in to kiss her cheeks, and his face plunged into the fragrant fall of her hair. She smelled sweet, like candied apples.
—
“It’s my favorite raw vegan place,” she told him as they followed the waiter to a table beside the wall of water. “Healthy—and ethically sourced.”
The menu was singed into the surfaces of polished wooden boards.
Valerio ordered a glass of red, and eagerly perused the list. The prices nearly made him spit, but the cold weather had primed his appetite.
He just wanted to eat. Besides, he was proud to be with this stunning woman.
The eyes of other men were on them, jealous of his good fortune.
“What do you recommend?” he asked Maria.
“Oh, it’s all nice!”
At her encouragement, Valerio ordered the lasagne, and Maria, pesto spaghetti.
He reminded the waiter that he’d forgotten to bring the bread.
“Oh, we don’t serve bread,” came the reply.
“It’s a raw vegan restaurant,” Maria gently reminded.
“Bread is vegan,” he said.
“But it isn’t raw,” said the waiter. “Can I perhaps interest you in an appetizer? A house favorite is our zattera di verdure—tartare of shredded radicchio, mango, pine nuts, and paprika served in charming avocado boats.”
“That sounds delicious,” said Maria.
“Okay,” agreed Valerio, who hadn’t moved past the disconcerting news that bread wasn’t served. His stomach made an uncouth grumble.
“Tell me about yourself,” Maria encouraged when the waiter retreated. “You seem like a very successful man. What do you do?”
Valerio shrugged, trying to remember what he’d put in his profile. Certainly nothing about his police career. He worked for the anti-corruption unit, Sezione Falchi Squadra Mobile, and this was something you just didn’t advertise.
“I work for the city,” he said.
She leaned forward, eyes glimmering with candlelight. “I’d love to hear about it.”
He wished he could tell her, impress her with his clever investigations, his stakeouts and strategies, the criminals he’d gotten to confess. But that would have to come later, when he knew her better.
“I do my part,” he said. “Some of it’s dull. But it can be satisfying.”
The wine came, and Valerio was grateful for the familiar flavors, and the heat in his empty belly.
—
He redirected the conversation to Maria, and was surprised to learn she was younger than the twenty-seven years she’d claimed on her profile.
“I say that to weed out the creeps,” she told him. “I’m actually twenty-one.”
“That’s very young!” he realized.
Gemma had just turned sixteen in October.
She laughed. “I’m legal, if that’s what you’re worried about!”
His neck flushed with sudden heat. That particular concern hadn’t occured to him. He did the math: He was old enough to be her father. The uncomfortable thought lodged like a sliver into his mind.
—
The appetizers did little to take the edge off Valerio’s hunger, and by the time his meal arrived, he was disappointed that the lasagne serving was little larger than a deck of cards. But the real insult came when he took a bite.
“It’s cold!” he exclaimed. It tasted awful, too. Where was the crust of cheese, the hot noodles and tomato sauce, the creamy ricotta, the hearty chunks of meat? He wanted to spit it out, scrape it off his tongue. “What is this?”
The waiter hurried back to the table. “Is there a problem, signore?”
“This isn’t lasagne. What is it?”
“This is a raw vegan restaurant, signore. The noodles are comprised of thinly sliced zucchini, with a delicate sauce of crushed tomatoes, garlic, and cold-pressed olive oil. The cheese is homemade from cashews…”
Valerio struggled to chew and swallow. The gritty white paste masquerading as cheese coated his mouth.
“Cashews?”
“Sì, signore.”
He glanced at Maria, who showed signs of embarrassment. He felt suddenly very old and very tired. He didn’t belong in a place like this, where people ate air. What he really wanted right now was a big slab of steak, and butter, and a whole loaf of bread to sop up the juices.
“Very well,” he said.
He drank wine, ordered another, and did his best to choke down the cold vegetables.
What he couldn’t eat, he pushed around on his plate.
Maria showed every sign of enjoying a pasta made from raw squash and pesto.
He led her to talk about her work as a model, and her blossoming career as a social media influencer.
She seemed intelligent and engaged, and mature for her age.
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m so much older than you?” he asked.
“I’ve always been attracted to older men,” she told him.
Learning how young she was had unsettled him at first. He’d hoped to find a girlfriend closer to his own age—someone who had seen enough of the world to understand him and his work.
Now it occurred to Valerio that being with a younger woman might be its own sort of adventure.
She was so full of life and enthusiasm. He could introduce her to new experiences and ideas. The idea had a certain appeal.
—
“This is the first time I’ve tried internet dating,” he confessed when the meal was nearly complete.
Her smile was friendly. “I can tell. You’re so sweet.”
“How long have you been doing it?” he asked.
“Not long,” she said. “My last relationship just ended.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Grazie.” She reached out, brushed his hand with her fingertips. “But I’m glad I met you. I like you, Valerio.”
This warmed him. He took her hand. “I like you, too. Shall we get out of here? Head back to my place?”
Maria nodded and he signaled for the waiter.
He would take a taxi to keep Maria out of the rain. He mentally plotted their route, and thought about the storefront kebab shops he’d passed on his way here. He would ask the driver to stop by one of those, and get a big greasy meat wrap.
Maria said, “My last daddy was such a sweetheart. I’ve been so lonely since he moved back to Brussels. But you’re a sweetheart, too. I can tell.”
Some heavy gear clunked in Valerio’s mind, and everything ground to a stop.
“Your last daddy?”
She nodded. “If it’s okay with you, it’s probably best to set the ground rules about this relationship before we move on to the next stage. I’ll need twenty-four hundred a month for basic living expenses, and a monthly spending allowance of twelve hundred.”
It took a moment for Valerio to process what she was saying, and by then, the waiter had arrived with the bill.
He stared. “You’re a prostitute?”
He hadn’t meant to speak so loudly. The words just fell out.
“No!” Maria gasped, face flushing.
The waiter set down the bill and hurried away.
Valerio leaned in, and spoke more quietly this time. “Then why are you asking for money?”
Her body was tense, expression taut. For a moment, he thought she would bolt out of the restaurant. But she seemed to make a deliberate effort to calm herself. She breathed deeply, gave a Mona Lisa smile, and leaned forward.
“Every relationship is a transaction,” she said. “I just prefer to keep my relationships well defined. I prefer dating mature men. They’re more practical about this, they appreciate what I can offer, and they can afford to keep me happy. If you keep me happy, I’ll keep you very happy.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Like I said, my last relationship just ended. He was a NATO officer and he’s moved back to Brussels.”
Valerio took out his wallet, placed on the table every euro he had with him. It was barely enough to cover the bill.
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he told Maria. “But you’re also young—and this is a dangerous game you’re playing. The men who do this…they may think you owe them more than you want to offer. You could get hurt.”
Now she really did get angry. Patches of red rose in her cheeks. She stood, and spoke in a clipped tone.
“You don’t know the first thing about me. I’m not some naive, stupid girl. I don’t need your lectures.”
—
Valerio watched as she strode away, smelling the last tones of her sweet perfume. His phone rang.
It was his mother.
He picked up. “Ciao, Mamma.”
His words were answered by a panicked wail.
Valerio stood from the table and strode to the restaurant entrance. Through the glass doors, the rain came down in sheets.
“Mamma,” he begged. “Please, Mamma! Talk to me! What’s happened?”
The screaming stopped, and Valerio listened to his mother’s labored breathing, then a grunting sob.
“So terrible,” she moaned. “So much blood!”
“Where are you?” he shouted. “Tell me where you are!”
Without thinking, without waiting to shrug his jacket across his shoulders, he pushed through the glass doors and stepped into the street. Rain battered Valerio’s body, and poured in icy rivulets down his shirt as he ran.