"Signore." Tano's voice is barely audible over the audience's chatter. "Benedetti is approaching."
The house manager appears at our box door, his earlier nervousness replaced by something approaching panic. He knocks with the tentative rhythm of someone hoping to be ignored.
"Enter."
Benedetti slips inside, closing the door behind him with excessive care. "SignorDeSantis, I hope you are enjoying the performance."
"I am."
"Excellent, excellent." He wrings his hands, the gesture revealing sweat stains on his shirt cuffs. "Is there anything we can provide for your comfort? Perhaps refreshments, or?—"
"I want to speak with Miss Costa after the performance."
Benedetti's face cycles through several shades of pale before settling on the sickly yellow of aged parchment.
"I... that is..." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically. "Signore, Miss Costa maintains very strict policies regarding backstage visits. No exceptions, even for our most distinguished patrons."
I turn in my chair to face him fully. The movement is minimal, but it carries enough threat to make him take an involuntary step backward.
"Are you refusing my request?"
"No! No, of course not,Signore. It's simply that... the rules..." His voice trails off as he realizes the futility of his position. Rules mean nothing when they conflict with the desires of men who write their own laws in blood and fear.
"The rules," I repeat, allowing the words to settle in the air between us. "Tell me, Benedetti, who pays your salary?"
"The theater board,Signore."
"And who sits on the theater board?"
His shoulders sag in defeat. "Several prominent families, including the Costas."
"The Costas." I nod slowly, as if considering this information for the first time. "Emilio Costa, specifically. A man who understands the importance of accommodation when it serves his interests. Do you think Emilio would want his family's opera house to be remembered for its inflexibility toward visiting dignitaries?"
The threat is unspoken but unmistakable. Benedetti's loyalty to Emilio's rules crumbles under the pressure of immediate self-preservation. He has seen enough of Rome's underworld to know that refusing a DeSantis request carries consequences that extend far beyond theater politics.
"I will... make the arrangements," he whispers.
"Discretely."
"Of course,Signore. Complete discretion."
He retreats from the box with the desperate speed of a man fleeing execution. The door closes behind him, leaving us alone with the murmur of conversation from the theater below.
"He'll tell Luca Romano," Bruno observes, his voice carrying the flat certainty of professional experience.
"Yes."
"Romano will contact Emilio."
"Eventually." I return my attention to the stage, where stagehands are preparing the set for Act Two. "But not immediately. Romano will try to handle this himself first. He'll hope to resolve the situation without involving his benefactor."
Tano shifts behind me, leather creaking as he adjusts his position. "And if he can't?"
"Then Emilio learns that his control over Rome has limits."
The house lights dim again, signaling the end of intermission. Conversations fade as the audience settles back into their seats. The orchestra begins Act Two with ominous brass that matches my mood perfectly.
Rosaria returns to the stage transformed. Her burgundy gown has been replaced by a simpler dress that suggests Tosca's growing desperation. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, the careful perfection of Act One replaced by calculated dishevelment that serves the character's emotional journey.
