Mia POV
The knock comes at seven in the morning.
Not three hard knocks like before. Four. Measured. Spaced. A pattern like a code.
Luca is off the couch before I have fully processed the sound. I watch him move across my living room and understand for the first time really understand, in my body and not just my brain that the man who ate my pasta and listened to me talk about my mother is not the whole picture. He crosses to the door in total silence. No hesitation. No fear. He checks something through the peephole and his shoulders drop exactly one degree, which I am learning means not a threat in whatever language he speaks.
He opens the door.
There are three of them in the hallway. Suits that did not come off any rack. Hands clasped in front of them. Eyes that do a single sweep of the apartment taking inventory, clocking me, filing me and then go back to him.
The one in front presses his fist to his chest.
"Don Ferrante," he says. "We found you."
