“What do you want, Damien?”
He cocked his head, studying Alan. “You look good. Rested. The Mediterranean lifestyle suits you.”
“Cut the small talk.”
“Fair enough.” Damien reached into his jacket. Pulled out a manila envelope. Set it on the table between them. “I brought you something.”
Alfonzo stared at the envelope without touching it. “I’m retired.”
“Are you?” Damien’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Because from where I sit, you look like a man hiding. And we both know you can’t hide forever.”
Francesca returned with the wine and a bright smile that didn’t quite mask the concern in her eyes. “Anything else I can bring you, gentlemen?” She spoke in English.
“We’re perfect, thank you.” Damien lifted his glass in a mock toast. “To old friends and new beginnings.”
Alan didn’t touch his wine.
Francesca hesitated. “I’ll be at the bar if you need anything.”
When she was gone, Damien leaned forward. Tapped the envelope. “Open it.”
“No.”
“Alan—”
“I said no.” Alan pushed his plate away. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. I’ve got a life here. Simple. Quiet. Nothing explodes, nobody dies.”
“Including . . . Francesca?” He glanced at the woman.
Alan just stared at him. Then, “Don’t.” His voice came out rough. Dangerous. “Don’t you dare.”
“Poor Timea is dead, and you’ve moved on.”
His mouth tightened.
“She still haunts you. Still makes you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, doesn’t she?” Damien’s tone was conversational, almost gentle.
Damien gestured toward Francesca, now polishing glasses behind the bar with slightly more force than necessary. “You can play house with a sweet Sicilian girl, pretending you’re someone else, but you haven’t moved on. You’ve run away.”
“Sometimes running away is the smart choice.”
“Not when the people who killed your wife are still out there.”
He shook his head. “I’m not... I’m not going back to that life.”
“You may reconsider.” Damien tapped the envelope with one manicured finger. “You might be surprised.”
Don’t ask.But the words came out anyway. “What are you talking about?”
Damien’s smile turned razor thin. “Open the envelope, Alan. See for yourself.”
A beat. Another.Fine.His fingers trembled as he broke the seal. Pulled out a stack of photographs and documents.
The first photo made his stomach drop.
Senator Isaac White, from Montana. Shaking hands with a man in an expensive suit outside what looked like a government building. The time stamp showed a date three weeks before Timea’s death.
“Keep going,” Damien said quietly.