POV: DANTE
Luca found the seam at two in the afternoon.
He came out onto the terrace with a laptop under one arm and the look of a man who had been waiting all day to say something. Dante was sitting in the shade with a cup of coffee he hadn't touched. Through the glass door behind him, he could see the bedroom, the bed, the shape of Isabella asleep under the blanket. Her breathing was slow. The doctor had called twice that morning and said the same thing both times: holding.
"I've got something," Luca said.
"Sit."
Luca sat and opened the laptop on the table. "The trail I've been following. The Malta import firm, the Naples supplier, the courier. I thought it was a dead end, but I kept going." He turned the screen toward Dante. "Look at the closing date."
Dante looked. It was a corporate filing, a page of numbers and stamps. "What am I looking at?"
