CHAPTER TWO: THE WEIGHT OF THE TABLE

The Greco estate was not a home; it was an observation deck. The walls of floor-to-ceiling glass meant there was nowhere to hide from the sun, the sea, or the gaze of the men Rocco kept on the perimeter.

I woke to the sound of a helicopter. The blades cut through the morning mist like a serrated knife. Rocco was already dressed, standing at the foot of the bed in a suit of charcoal wool that made his blue eyes look like frozen lake water. He was checking a ...