Page 35 of The Fixer
“Barely. Eggs?”
“You don‘t have to cook for me.”
Somebody grant me patience. “Okay, orsacchiotto mio.I won’t tomorrow. But right now, I have enough food for two people. If you don’t eat the eggs, they’re going to end up in the trash.”
His lips twitch. “You’re cranky in the mornings,” he says. “Good to know. Yes, I’ll have some breakfast. Thank you.”
We eat in silence. When he’s almost done with his meal, he looks up. “You made eggs,” he says.
“Umm, yes? Why do you sound surprised?”
“I thought you‘d eat something more Vietnamese.”
“Ah. I’m a second-generation immigrant, Leo. My parents were born in Italy. Some days, I eat eggs, sometimes it’s French toast, and sometimes it’s bánh mì or bún. Why? Do you not like Vietnamese food? I don’t have to cook it when?—”
“I love it,” he cuts in. “Valentina and Dante were over for dinner on Saturday, and Valentina brought a Vietnamese feast. She said they were your recipes. If we hire a chef, I want to make sure they know how to cook the food you enjoy.”
“You want to hire a chef? For the two of us? That’s ridiculous. I can cook.”
“We have the money.”
“Youhave the money,” I correct. “Cooking relaxes me. But if you want to hire someone to clean this place, I’m not going to protest.”
“I’ve got Marta scheduled every Thursday morning.” His blue eyes lock onto mine. “Don‘t ever change what you eat because of me, Rosa. Don‘t ever change anything about yourself. You’re perfect exactly the way you are.”
Then he washes both our plates, puts them in the drying rack, and leaves. And I‘m left staring after him with an open mouth.
19
LEO
Tomas intercepts me when I get to work. “What now?” I ask wearily. “Let me guess. It isn’t enough that Max Guerra is in Venice, so Rocco Santini decided to join him. You’re here to tell me there’s a war waging in the streets.”
“No.” He enters my office and sits down. “This is something else. Goran and I tossed a coin to see who got to tell you about it.”
“You’re being very mysterious, Tomas.”
“Not for long.” He hands me a USB key. “Play this.”
“There isn’t a virus on it, is there?” I ask suspiciously. Valentina, our resident hacker, constantly warns us not to plug strange USB keys into our laptops. According to her, it’s one of theeasiest ways to hack into a computer. If she were here, she’d have a fit.
“It’s clean.” Tomas pauses, Valentina’s admonishment undoubtedly ringing in his ears as well. “I think.” He gets up with a roll of his eyes. “Damn it, she got in my head. Hang on. Let me find a spare laptop.”
He returns in a minute with a brand-new computer. “Not connected to our network or the Internet,” he announces. “Okay, let’s try this again.” He boots up the laptop, skips past the various customization prompts, and inserts the USB key. “This is a recording from a security camera in Rosa’s MMA gym yesterday.”
I come to attention. “What happened?”
Tomas takes his time getting to the point. “Ignazio was on duty and had eyes on her,” he says. “He saw this interaction. He was just getting ready to intervene when?—”
“Tomas,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “What the fuck happened?”
In reply, he plays the video.
Rosa enters the gym, and a man immediately accosts her in the foyer, blocking her way to the changing room. He says something, and she responds, her body language screaming discomfort.
Then he puts his hands on my fiancée’s shoulders and starts to massage them.
I see red.