"Of me?"
"Of you."
"What did you see?"
He looks at me for a long second.
"A Ranger. A cop. A man who walked into a warehouse he should not have been in and saved my consigliera with a fight pattern I have not seen on a non-operator since I left the teams." He looks at me steadily. "A man who moves the way I move."
"You're a SEAL."
"I was a SEAL. I am the head of security for my family now."
"For ten years."
"You read the file."
"I read the public version."
"The public version is fifteen percent of the file."
"I know."
"How long have you had one on me?"
"Three weeks active. Two years passive. The cop on the wrong side of my family's line who kept closing doors and not opening them."
"Christ, Mr. Moretti."
"Head of security. That is the work."
I look at him. He has known the geometry of my life for two years. I have known the geometry of his for six. We were each other's blind spot, and the mirror was waiting on the other side of every file.
He reaches into his jacket. Slowly. Both hands visible. He pulls out an envelope. White. Sealed. The kind of private lab in Midtown issues a result only after the fee has been paid in cash.
He puts it on the table between us. He does not slide it. He puts it down.
"What is that?"
"A DNA result. Hair sample. Pulled from the passenger seat of the BMW my consigliera was driving when she took you out of Long Island City on a Tuesday night. Sample pulled forty-eight hours ago. Result ready Sunday night. I have been carrying the envelope in this jacket since Sunday night. I have not opened it."
"Why?"
"Because I was going to look at the man it was about before I read it."
He picks it up. Slides it across.
"Open it. Or don't. The result is the same either way. But know this before you decide."
He looks at me.
"Our mother died never knowing what happened to you. She was told you died of heart complications at six hours old. She lit a candle at Sant'Antonio every February 12 for the rest of her life. I want you to know that before you open the envelope, or do not open the envelope. I want you to know it because if you do not open the envelope, no one is ever going to tell you again."
I do not move.
He waits the way Alessandro waited. The waiting is a Moretti thing.
I open it.
