Luca Moretti's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Luca came down from the tower with the informant still nameless. Before he reached his car, his phone buzzed twice. One of his fronts had been hit. The commissioner had moved first. He drove straight there. The brick storefront stood gutted, windows blown to teeth, soot streaking the face of it like dark tears. A small crowd whispered across the street. Luca did not stop. A crowd was a mouth, and mouths fed the wrong men. He pulled his crew into a plain storage garage with a bare concrete floor. Six men, all sweating, all watching the door more than him. Luca spoke flat and slow. No promises. No threats. Just the plan, the payouts, and the rule — nobody talks, nobody walks. He named the lawyer. He named the bail. He let the quiet do the rest. They filed out steadier than they came in. But on the folding chair where one man had sat, Luca found a creased photograph, water-stained, half a face worn away. The man had carried it for years. Leaving it behind was not forgetting. It was goodbye. Luca slid the photo into his coat. The crew was calm for tonight. The informant had just shown him a hand, and now Luca knew where to look.