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“Scarf she’s been wearing?” he asked, pulling it out.
“That should work. Come on. He’s over at the Marciana Library this morning.”

Luciano looked up from the book he’d been peering at. The ink was old and fading. His eyes were tired. And there coming toward him was a sight for sore eyes: Rafael de Tomaso and Marco and Marco’s brother. Well, it was time he made formal contact. He looked back among the stacks. There was Harrow. The boy was still protected.

Here, in between the books, he felt safe. Walking out to see Rafael, Marco had felt naked . . . as if they might be the next victims. Because he was utterly certain Maria hadn’t disappeared by accident.
Still, he’d nearly fallen over his own jaw when Rafael brought them face-to-face with Chiano. Chiano wearing a fine cloak, and now calling himself Dottore Luciano i