“If I am not back in an hour, destroy your phone,” I said.

I did not wait for his answer.

I pushed the door open and stepped out into the freezing rain.

The water soaked through my hair instantly, running down my neck in cold drops.

I walked quickly down the wet pavement, my heels clicking against the ancient cobblestones.

A yellow taxi rounded the corner, its roof light shining through the heavy mist.

I waved it down and slid into the vinyl backseat, which smelled of stale tobacco and cheap pine air freshener.

“San Giovanni Decollato,” I told the driver in my broken Italian.

He nodded, shifting the car into gear as the transmission whined.

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the dark ruins of the city slide past.

I opened the leather binder again, using the light from the passing streetlamps to read.

Alessandro’s handwriting was small and precise, written in blue ink that had faded slightly over time.

Every transaction, every bribe, and every betrayal was recorded in these pages.