Epilogue Giada
Three months later
The nine transfers form a pattern no one intended to create.
I move the last page beside the other eight and align their bottom edges. Every payment went to a different company. The amounts vary. The dates do not. Thirteen days separate each transfer, except the sixth, which arrived after twelve.
Mattia stands across the conference table with his palms braced against the dark wood. Dario occupies the chair beside him. He has not spoken since he entered the room.
"The sixth payment was early," I say.
Mattia looks at the page. "A day early."
"Yes."
"Is that important?" Mattia asks.
"I have not determined that yet. It is irregular."
Luca sits at my right. His charcoal suit fits him perfectly. The silver tardigrade pin rests on his lapel, eight short legs spread above his heart.
He wears it with every suit now. He wears it to every meeting. No one asks about it.
"The companies share no officers or addresses," Mattia says.
"Their registered agents share a client." I turn the ninth page toward him and point to the name near the bottom. "Vance Thorne."
Dario speaks at last. "The developer."
"His name has surfaced in property records tied to Lombardi," Luca says.
I place the pages in date order. "That may have no connection to these transfers. This name is the only supported connection I have."
"We'll examine it," Mattia says.
"You will give me the additional records when you receive them."
Mattia looks toward Luca. I keep my hand on the records.
"My wife asked you a direct question," Luca says.
"That sounded more like an order," Mattia says.
"It was," I say.
Dario's mouth moves at one corner. Mattia collects the copies and leaves the originals in front of me.
"You'll have them within the hour, Mrs. DiCenzo."
"Thank you."
Dario rises. His finger stops near Luca's lapel, far enough away that he does not touch the pin. "Still wearing that."
"My wife gave it to me."
"You told me," Dario says.
"You asked again."
Dario leaves with Mattia. The door closes behind them.
I add a yellow tab to the early transfer. The work satisfies a part of my mind nothing else reaches. Columns remain where I put them. Numbers do not hide an insult inside a compliment. When a sequence breaks, the break has a cause, even if I have not located it yet.
Luca pushes a cup toward me. Earl Grey. Two sugars. The tea has cooled enough to drink.
The conference-room door opens. Polina enters carrying two paper bags. She sets one beside my files and keeps the other.
"Lunch," she says. "The pasta is plain. The vegetables are separate."
"Did you bring the lemon biscuits?" I ask.
"Two packages. One for your house and one for mine, so you have a reason to visit me."
"I already visit you." I open the nearest container.
"Then I get more biscuits."
I move the financial records away from the bag. Polina sits across from us and takes out three containers. She no longer waits for Luca to arrange our lunches or asks him what I prefer. She asks me. Last week I told her the restaurant changed its pasta, and she agreed the new kind was inferior.
"Are you coming on Thursday?" she asks.
"Yes. I chose two films. You may reject one."
"Only one?" Polina asks.
"You rejected both last time."
"They were documentaries about microscopic animals."
"They were different species."
Polina passes me a fork. "One rejection. I agree."
Luca rises. "I have been dismissed from my own conference room."
"This is not your conference room," I say. "It belongs to the organization."
"A vital distinction."
He bends beside me. "May I kiss you?"
"Yes."
His mouth presses against mine. He does not shorten the kiss for Polina, the open door, or the men moving along the corridor outside. His thumb rests along my jaw, firm, warm, and familiar.
"Home in ninety minutes," he says against my mouth.
"I have two hours of work remaining," I say.
"Ninety minutes."
"Agreed." I move my tea away from the files.
"I married a ruthless negotiator."
"You married a woman who can divide one hundred twenty minutes by two."
Polina laughs. Luca kisses my forehead and walks out wearing the tiny pin. Two soldiers step aside for him. Neither looks at his lapel.
Polina opens her container. "He calls you his tardigrade in front of everyone now."
"Yes."
"Do you like it?" Polina asks.
"Yes." I separate two pieces of pasta that have stuck together. "The meaning belongs to us."
She touches her fork to mine once. It is a strange toast, but we created it, so the meaning is ours.
After lunch, I carry the records to my quiet office two doors down from Luca's.
Ninety-three minutes later, Luca enters my office and closes the file beneath my hand.
"You exceeded our agreement," he says.
"Mattia delivered the additional records."
"Then I will punish you."
Heat gathers between my legs. "At home?"
"Wherever my wife prefers."
I place the Vance Thorne file in the locked drawer. "Home."
Our house contains more color than it did on my wedding day. My books occupy shelves in the sitting room. My blue mug lives beside Luca's black one. Susan asks before changing any meal we have planned, and the kitchen contains a separate toaster no one uses for seeded bread.
The room across from ours is mine.
Its door seals out most sound. The walls are pale blue. A long table stands beneath the window for my microscope and specimens. Books fill one wall, and a wide chair in the corner provides pressure on three sides when I sit in it. No one enters without asking: not Susan, the guards, or Luca.
I use the room whenever I want silence. I sleep across the hall.
Thirty-seven minutes after we arrive home, a knock lands against the closed door. Luca waits outside. He does not enter.
"Come in."
He steps into my room and loosens his tie. The tardigrade remains fixed to his jacket. "The office had many people today. Do you need more time alone?"
"No. I stayed because I wanted to finish this column. Now I want you."
His fingers stop on the knot of his tie. "Say that again."
"I want you."
Across the hall, our bedroom holds my thick socks beside his shoes. A book about freshwater microfauna rests on his bedside table. My pillow occupies the place beside his. I chose every item in this sanctuary. I choose his bed each night.
Luca reaches for his jacket button. The silver pin moves beneath his fingers.
"Leave it on," I say.
"The pin?" Luca asks.
"The jacket. The pin remains attached."
His attention settles on me. "What are you planning?"
"Several things inappropriate for the office."
"My wife has become a menace." His hand closes around the open edge of his jacket.
"Your wife has been waiting ninety-six minutes."
He reaches for me and stops. "May I?"
"Yes. Firmly."
One arm closes around my waist. His other arm presses across my upper body and holds me against his suit. The pin rests near my cheek but does not touch it. I put both arms around his neck.
"Better?" he asks.
"Yes."
His mouth covers mine. The fabric of his jacket scratches my palms, but the pressure of his body gives me what the crowded office took away. His tongue enters my mouth. I pull him closer.
He lifts his head. "Dinner first."
"No."
"You skipped part of lunch."
"I ate enough."
"My tardigrade requires food."
"Tardigrades can enter a tun state when conditions are hostile."
"The conditions in this house are excellent."
"They will improve when you take me to bed."
His hold tightens around me. "You made a schedule for tonight."
"I changed it. I have authority in this house."
"Absolute authority." His palm presses harder against my waist.
"Correct."
He bends and stops before touching me. "May I carry my wife to bed?"
"You may."
He hooks me behind the knees and lifts me. I laugh against his shoulder while he carries me away from my spreadsheets, his tiny silver pin above his heart.