Chapter 135

• I stared out the cracked window of the safehouse bedroom, watching the narrow Roman street vanish into shadows. The dying winter sun threw the walls into gloom.
• Streetlamps were flickering to life, making the cobbles glisten with a damp, miserable light. I could hear Raphael in the kitchen, talking on the burner phone in that clipped, sharp Italian he used when he was scared but didn’t want anyone to hear it.
• Elizabeth was behind me, sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress. I didn’t have to turn to know how tense she was. Her anger was a pulse in the room, thick enough to choke on.