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Italian security service is going to do if they find out you’re freelancing for the Vatican? They’ll run us out of the country. Again .”
    â€œI tried to explain that to Donati.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œHe invoked the name of his master.”
    â€œHe’s not your pope, Gabriel.”
    â€œWhat should I have said?”
    â€œFind someone else,” she replied. “They’re three lovely little words you need to learn.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t say that if you’d seen Claudia’s body.”
    â€œThat’s not fair.”
    â€œBut it happens to be the truth. I’ve seen many dead bodies in my life, but I’ve never seen one that had fallen more than a hundred and fifty feet and landed on a marble floor.”
    â€œWhat a terrible way to die.” Chiara watched the rain pattering on the little terrace overlooking the Spanish Steps. “How certain are you that Donati is telling you the truth?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout his relationship with Claudia Andreatti.”
    â€œIf you’re asking whether I think they were romantically involved, the answer is no.”
    â€œYou grew up with a mother who never told you about the things that happened to her during the war.”
    â€œYour point?”
    â€œEveryone keeps secrets. Even from the people they trust the most. Call it female intuition, but I’ve always felt there was more to Monsignor Donati than meets the eye. He has a past. I’m sure of it.”
    â€œWe all do.”
    â€œBut some of us have more interesting pasts than others. Besides,” she added, “how much do you really know about his personal life?”
    â€œEnough to know that he would never do anything as reckless as having an affair with an employee of the Vatican.”
    â€œI suppose you’re right. But I can’t imagine what it’s like for a man who looks like Luigi Donati to be celibate.”
    â€œHe deals with it by giving off an aura of absolute unavailability. He also wears a long black skirt and sleeps next door to the pope.”
    Chiara smiled and plucked a bruschetta from the tray. “There is at least one fringe benefit to accepting the case,” she said thoughtfully. “It would give us a chance to take a look at the Church’s private collection of antiquities. God only knows what they really have locked away in their storerooms.”
    â€œGod and the popes,” said Gabriel. “But it’s far too much material for me to review on my own. I’m going to need help from someone who knows a thing or two about antiquities.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œIf the Office hadn’t got its hooks into you, you’d be a professor at an important Italian university.”
    â€œThat’s true,” she said. “But I studied the history of the Roman Empire.”
    â€œAnyone who studies the Romans knows something about their artifacts. And your knowledge of Greek and Etruscan civilization is far superior to mine.”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s not saying much, darling.”
    Chiara arched one eyebrow before raising the glass of wine to her lips. Her appearance had changed noticeably since their arrival in Rome. Seated as she was now, with her hair tumbling about her shoulders and her olive skin aglow, she looked remarkably like the intoxicating young Italian woman Gabriel had encountered for the first time, ten years earlier, in the ancient ghetto of Venice. It was almost as if the toll of the many long and dangerous operations had been erased. Only the faint shadow of loss fell across her face. It had been left there by the child she had miscarried while being held as ransom by the Russian oligarch and arms dealer Ivan Kharkov. They had not been able to conceive since. Privately, Chiara had resigned herself to the prospect that she and Gabriel might never have a child.
    â€œThere is one other possibility,” she