Chapter 6

Matteo didn't contact me again until the following evening.

My phone vibrated while I sat by the bedroom window, the coffee Dante had left on the table already cold. He'd gone to the docks that afternoon, but before leaving, he'd pushed my wheelchair into the sunniest spot in the room, probably assuming I'd spend the rest of the day there reading.

There was only one line on the screen.

Tomorrow. 11:30. North line.

I stared at it for a few seconds, then deleted the message.

It was an old Moretti protocol.

The time gave the communication window. The location told…