“Is he?”
“Seems so.”
“And where will they be dining?”
A few seconds passed before the answer appeared on Father Keegan’s phone. “Pipero, Holiness.”
“On a Friday evening? How do you suppose Nico was able to get a reservation?”
“He must know someone.”
“Do you think that I could get a reservation at Pipero on short notice on a Friday evening?”
“No, Holiness. Not a chance.”
46
Ristorante Pipero
The restaurant was located on the Corso Vittorio, directly opposite the Chiesa Nuova, the original home of Caravaggio’sDeposition of Christ. Owing to a last-minute cancellation, the Art Squad had been able to obtain a table for two. General Ferrari decided that handsome Luca Rossetti was best suited for the assignment. At present he was sitting in the back of an unmarked Alfa Romeo parked next to the church. Gabriel sat at his side, a laptop on his knees. The winking blue light on the screen indicated that His Eminence Cardinal Bertoli was in his office on the third floor of the Apostolic Palace. His Milanese financial adviser, Nico Ambrosi, was stepping off a train at Roma Termini.
“Just the way you and your boss planned it all along,” said Gabriel.
“Not even the general could have imagined it would end like this.” Rossetti shook his head slowly. “This is going to be one of the biggest scandals in the history of the Church.”
“Exactly what I was hoping to avoid.”
“Your friend the Holy Father isn’t to blame.”
“I’m not sure his enemies will see it that way.”
Rossetti’s phone pulsed with an incoming text. “Ambrosi is five minutes away.”
“Tell your colleagues to give him a wide berth.”
“We know how to follow people.”
“Do you remember the night you tried to follow me home from Harry’s Bar?”
Rossetti rubbed his jaw. “I’m lucky you didn’t kill me.”
“It was an innocent mistake.”
“It was an assault.”
“I broke my damned hand on that granite head of yours.”
“I’ll have you know my head is made of the finest Italian marble.”
A chauffeured Mercedes sedan slowed to a stop outside the restaurant.
“That was fast,” said Rossetti.
“I believe that’s your dinner date, Luca.”
The driver opened the rear door and Veronica Marchese, in a shimmering black pantsuit, stepped into view. Rossetti regarded her admiringly. “She’s very beautiful.”
“And quite unavailable.”
