POV: Vitelli
The phone skidded across the marble table and stopped right in front of Carlos Vitelli's coffee cup.
He didn't flinch. Didn't look up from the newspaper he was reading. He turned one more page, finished the paragraph he was on, then folded the paper with the slow, deliberate care of a man who had learned long ago that rushing anything was a sign of weakness.
Then he looked at the phone.
On the screen was a photograph. A park. Snow. Two people standing close together, laughing at something out of frame. The man on the left had a face Vitelli had been paying good money to find for the better part of three years.
Leonardo Moretti. The Ghost.
Vitelli picked up his coffee and took a slow sip.
"Where did this come from?" he asked.
The man standing across the table, his lieutenant Danny Reese, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "A private investigator named Briggs. He was running an auction. We bought in early."
