Page 37 of Fire and Silk
“Contained,” Matteo replies. “Our men at the station flagged her as a potential disturbance. She’s been warned off. Subtly. But she’s still poking. Quietly. Online too—nothing traceable yet, but she’s watching.”
I hum as I study the picture. Nicola radiates the kind of loyalty that makes people dangerous. The kind of woman who would show up with a bat and a bad plan. Loyal dogs bite the deepest when cornered.
“Stubborn,” I say under my breath.
“Very,” Matteo agrees.
I swipe to the next profile. A military ID. Cleaner lines. Sharper contrast.
“Second—Domenico Salvatri,” Matteo says. “Retired Navy SEAL. Goes byMico. Served with Lira’s older brother, Marco Falco, until the boy died.”
The name drops like a rock in my chest.
“Marco,” I echo.
I stare at the screen. A folded flag. An obituary tucked beside it. The girl lost everyone. That explains some things.
“Where’s Mico now?” I ask, eyes narrowing.
“He lives on Maria Island,” Matteo answers. “Off-grid. South coast. No traffic in or out unless he wants it. But he wires Lira five grand U.S. every month. Has done so consistently for over two years. He was the one who checked her into rehab. Discreet, expensive, thorough.”
I pause.
So he tried to save her… from afar.
And she resents him for it. I saw it in the way her mouth trembled when I said his name aloud.
“She won’t go to him,” I mutter. “But he might come to her.”
Matteo nods , precisely.
The edges of my mouth tug upward. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
I set the tablet down, fingers tapping a rhythm on the arm of the chair. Matteo doesn’t move. He’s waiting for an answer.
“Our men at the precinct have Nicola under wraps,” he says, repeating the earlier point. “She’s still loud. Still insistent. Do you want me to get rid of her?”
I click my tongue softly and shake my head, amusement curling through me like smoke.
“Matt, Matt, Matt,” I say, each word slow and laced with false scolding. “Don’t be so hot-headed. The girl’s just looking for her friend. No harm in that.”
Matteo’s brow furrows slightly. He hates when I take the scenic route through cruelty.
I lean back in the chair, folding one leg over the other, my fingers steepled against my lips. “Tell our men at the station to be especially nice to her. Smile at her. Make her feel heard. Serve her drinks—on me.”
Matteo doesn't smile, but I catch the faint twitch of understanding behind his lashes. “Understood.”
“And,” I say, dragging the word like a blade across silk, “for our dear friend Domenico Salvatri…” I tilt my head. “Let’s lead him to us.”
That gets Matteo’s attention. He straightens, brow raised. “You want him to find her?”
“I want him toknowshe’s safe.” My eyes gleam as I rise from the chair and move toward the decanter. I pour myself a finger of scotch and let the glass roll between my fingers. “Besides, she might get lonely staying here all by herself.”
I sip slowly.
“She needs a friend.”
Matteo watches me for a beat longer, then nods. “Noted.” He collects the tablet from the table and turns to leave.
