Viper

Gina laughed. 'Not for Bruno. My father saw to it that he was no more in maximum security than you and me sitting here in this lounge. No one stood in his way. A hand was never raised against him.'

'Still – prison – it poisons minds. It's not natural to be locked up, you must give him time.'

'He doesn't want time,' she snapped. 'What he wants is nothing to do with me. He's said as much.'

'He doesn't mean that. He's just confused.'

'Ha! Bruno, confused? Have you heard yourself?'

The sharpness in her friend's voice silenced Tatiana. Tra moglie e marito non mettere dito, she told herself. Never interfere between husband and wife. But curiosity is a terrible thing and she ached to know more. She lit a cigarette for herself. 'Have you – you know? Sex – have you at least tried?'

Gina looked sad. 'I've tried. He hasn't. He doesn't want to come near me. Says I'm fat and I disgust him.'

'Fuck him! Figlio di puttana!'

Gina smiled at her friend's support. She was embarrassed, but it was good to get it off her chest, have someone to talk to about it. 'I don't know what to do. I'm not a weak woman. At least, I certainly don't think I am -'

'Of course you're not, don't be stupid.' Tatiana thought for a second. 'Has he got someone else?'

Gina shot her a knowing look.

'Okay. They always have someone else. But someone special, someone you think he favours?'

'There were – in the past – many specials.'

'Did you confront him about them?'

'Sure. Every time I found out.'

Her friend didn't ask how many times that was. 'And what did he say?'

Gina looked at her nails. Looked anywhere but in her friend's eyes. 'I went to see the women first. Paid them off.'

'What?'

'Si. I am that stupid and that desperate. I paid the women to leave Napoli.' There were tears in the corners of her eyes. 'But at least the money came from our joint account and so at least my bastard husband paid as well.'

They both laughed.

'And now? Do you think he has someone now – so soon after being released?'

'I don't know.' She played with her cigarette and then shook her head, 'No. No, I don't think so.'

'Check his phone. Text messages sent as well as those received. They always forget to delete the ones they send.'

Gina smiled. Men were certainly stupid.

'Do you still love him?'

'What a question!' It settled on her mind like oil on water. As she thought about it, she glanced again at Enzo. He'd completed his task and had now confiscated one of Umberto's astronauts. 'He's the father of my child, the man I married. That's everything, isn't it?'

Tatiana shook her head. '"Per amore, hai mai fatto niente solo per amore?" You know this song?'

'Andrea Bocelli. "For love, have you done anything only for love? Have you defied the wind and cried out, divided the heart itself, paid and bet again, behind this obsession that remains only mine? " Yes, I know it. It is very beautiful. Beautiful and sad.'

Beautiful and sad – words that Tatiana thought also summed up her friend. 'But do you still love him like that? Do you love him so much you will do anything and everything, lose it all and then try again, knowing you could lose, lose and lose again?'

Gina looked up from the cigarette she was nervously flicking in an ashtray. 'I do still love him. But I wish I didn't. Does that make sense?'

Tatiana reached out a hand. 'Gina, you can't go on like this. You must protect yourself. If you want to avoid years of madness and tears, you only have two possible choices.'

Gina's eyes begged Tatiana for answers.

'Leave him. Take Enzo and leave him.'

'Not an option,' she sighed deeply. 'You know our way. You know my father. Marriage is for life; families are sacred.'

'Your father doesn't want to see you unhappy.'

'He doesn't want to see me divorced either. You know how things are.'

'Then you must choose the second option.'

Gina tapped her cigarette, the filter red from her lipstick. 'Which is?'

Her friend raised an eyebrow. 'Find yourself a lover.'

A cry from the corner of the room turned both of their heads. The boys were fighting.

'Hey, hey! Stop it!' Gina got up and went over to separate them.

Blood poured from Umberto's nose. He was crying. Tatiana pulled him close to her, wiping blood, tears and snot from his face.

'Say sorry, Enzo,' insisted Gina. The six-year-old pulled his shoulder free of his mother's hand. Then he smiled and spat in his playmate's face.

Like father, like son? Is the die already cast? Gina asked herself. Was her beautiful boy already destined to grow up to be as cruel as his father?

24

Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna The winter light faded early and temperatures plunged way below zero. Heating pipes in the carabinieri barracks coughed and banged into life like the lungs of a geriatric smoker. Sylvia, Jack and Massimo continued their case conference over the best pizza Jack had ever tasted.

'A lady in Cisterna makes it for us,' explained Sylvia. 'If she could only take the calories out then I would eat this five times a day.'

'It is good – really good,' enthused Jack. 'But tell me a little more about Francesca.'

Sylvia raised her eyes. 'You've seen the photographs, I'm told in real life she was even prettier. A quiet girl. Lived alone in a rented apartment. Had a degree in art but that only got her a job as a hairdresser. The salon had shut down just before she disappeared. Neighbours thought she'd moved elsewhere to find work. No trace of a boyfriend. At least, not in the block. She comes from a good, respectable family, nothing untoward there.'

'Not like her namesake?' asked Massimo.

Sylvia smiled at the suggestion. 'Not at all. Her parents are about as law-abiding as you can get.' She turned to Jack. 'Di Lauro is an infamous name in Naples.'

'Let me guess. Camorra, the dreaded System?'

'You got it. Paolo Di Lauro bossed the Secondigliano sector throughout the nineties. He was a real wise wise guy. He established strong trading links with gangs and businesses in China, helped exponentially extend the System's power base. He ducked out before the end of the last century but the Di Lauro dynasty lives on. Some years ago they were involved in an incredibly bloody battle with other clans. They won because they're the bloodiest. They beat a sixty-year-old Camorrista to death with baseball bats, shot a woman Capo in the face in public.'

'A woman Capo?' queried Jack.

'Certainly,' said Sylvia. 'Women have been getting top jobs in the System long before they got even lowly ones in the carabinieri.'

Massimo raised an eyebrow. 'Like the Black Widow.'

'He means Anna Mazza,' explained Sylvia. 'She bossed the Moccia clan for at least two decades.'

It was an eye-opener for Jack. The Camorra regularly made the headlines in newspapers around the world, but he hadn't realized the full length and breadth of its activities. 'To be clear, though, our girl, Francesca, she has no Camorra links at all?'

'None whatsoever,' said Sylvia. 'It's just pure coincidence that she shares the same surname. It's also the name of a famous Italian fashion designer and a well-known photojournalist.'

Jack moved on. 'And how have her parents taken the latest news?'

'I've seen them recently. They're devastated. They'd feared something bad but had always hoped the phone would ring and she'd breeze back into their lives. Her father's a sales manager for some computer company. He and his wife split up some time before Francesca vanished.'

'No record. No hint of abuse, or anything?'

She shook her head. 'Not a thing. He's a decent man. I'm sure of it.'

Massimo opened a second box of pizza and ripped off a small slice. 'You said Creed knew Francesca personally. Did he give you details about their relationship?'