Tenzin’s eyes went big and round. “Would I do that?”
“Yes,” Ben said. Then to Zeno, “Yes, she would. Which is usually why Gio doesn’t mind if I tag along on these kinds of things. I’ll keep her out of trouble.”
Tenzin’s impish smile spread.
“Oh yes,” Zeno said. “Obviously.”
❂
THE train to Naples was only an hour. He dozed in the sun, then grabbed another taxi from the station to Piazza Bellini, just south of the Archeological Museum. It was late afternoon, and the black stone streets of Naples were sweltering. He ducked in from the piazza and entered the quiet, flower-filled courtyard with a fountain at one end. The building was old. The furnishings were modern.
“Buongiorno,” the hostess at the front desk said when he opened the door.
Ahhhhh.
A rush of cool air. He stood for a moment, eyes closed, reveling in the air-conditioning.
“Signore?”
“Hey,” he finally said in English. “I have a reservation under Benjamin Rios.”
She smiled and answered in English. “Your passport, please?”
He pulled out a passport and handed it to her. Ben wasn’t sure why he was using the fake passport Gavin had helped him procure last year in New York. He hated using his father’s last name, but it made the most sense. He’d answered to Benjamin Rios for nearly twelve years, after all. Now the name only existed as a useful shadow.
The girl checked him in and handed him the key and a map directing him to his room. It was a small hotel, but it was perfectly located and had terrace rooms, which was necessary when he was traveling with Tenzin.
The hallway was sweltering, but the room was cool. Ben unlocked the french doors leading out to the terrace, closed the drapes, and decided to take a nap.
And woke to Tenzin on the bed beside him.
“This is starting to become a habit when we travel, Tiny.”
“You’re not naked this time. I checked.”
He kept his eyes closed and shook his head. She’d checked. Of course she had.
“This bed isn’t as comfortable as your bed in Rome,” she complained.
“Yeah…” He yawned and rolled toward her. “I didn’t pick it because of the beds. I picked it because it has a private terrace. That way you can come and go as you please. This place seems to be pretty quiet, so I think you’ll be okay.”
“Awww.” She patted his cheek. “You’re such a thoughtful life coach.”
“Please don’t call me your life coach. That would make me feel responsible for any bodies you leave in your wake.”
She laughed.
“Are we meeting Alfonso tonight?” he asked.
“Yes. Despite my somewhat flippant attitude with Zeno, I don’t want to linger in the city too long. I want to meet Alfonso, make the deal, and fly out of here. We have three weeks, and that should be just enough time if we’re smart.”
“Want to fill me in?” he asked. “Now that Zeno’s not here to tattle to Gio?”
“I will.” She frowned. “But not yet. I want to get your impressions of Alfonso’s court without any background information. Is that fair to you?”
He shifted on the bed. “I get it. His chief advisor—”
“Filomena.”
“Yeah, Filomena. Are we meeting her tonight too?”
Tenzin nodded. “She’s the one meeting us at Piazza del Gesù Nuovo at ten o’clock tonight.”
“Do we have time to get dinner?”
“Always hungry. Always, always hungry.”
❂
SHE watched him as he chatted with an artist and munched on the hot sciurilli he’d picked up from a street vendor. She’d sampled a few of the delicately fried zucchini blossoms before she handed them over to Benjamin to demolish.
A group of rowdy street children ran into the square, shouting and laughing. Tenzin watched them spot Ben, his fashionable new clothes and Roman accent making him what the boys thought would be an easy target.
She watched the children slyly kick the ball closer and closer until the artist was yelling at one boy for disturbing his display and one of the others bumped into Ben, the child laughing and apologizing as he dipped into Ben’s pocket…
And came out squealing. Ben clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth and grabbed him by the back of the neck, dropping the fried snacks he’d been eating as the artist rushed to gather the prints that had gone flying with the soccer ball. Ben crouched down next to the boy, pinching his small hand in his own and speaking fiercely as the boy’s cheeks turned bright red.
A few seconds later, the boy was running after his compatriots, who had abandoned him, a five-Euro note clutched in his hand, while Ben helped the artist pick up the last of his prints and a stray dog finished off the sciurilli that had fallen.
Ben walked over to a nearby street fountain and washed his hands before he shook them off and walked back to Tenzin.
“Pizza?”
She smiled and shook her head. “What did you tell him?”
“To be more careful choosing his marks.”
“You didn’t try to warn him away from a life of crime?”
Ben looked down the side street where the boy had disappeared. “I did a lot worse when I was hungry.” He nodded toward a pizzeria on the corner. “Come on. I’ll buy you a slice. Hopefully this Filomena won’t be late.”
Chapter Three