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moment," Tessa said, recalling something odd in his words, "What do you mean he died 'here'?"
    "In this office." The article had said nothing of the kind. It was the first time throughout the interview that the priest weighed his words. "However, the police suggested that keeping the death quiet was in the best interest of the church." Tessa and Father Luke exchanged a look. They both knew the men were probably not police, and if they truly were, they were most likely owned and operated by none other "business" interests.
    Then Father Luke whispered something. She leaned forward, letting his breath touch her ear.
    "Veleno."
    Tessa mouthed the English equivalent in response, "poison." Standing, and then taking a half step back, she stared up into the priest's eyes; the interview was over, there was nothing more that would be said.
    She whispered, "Grazie," and left the office. She walked down the hall and returned to the church but did not pause to pray. Eyes lowered, she scanned the sides of the pews as she walked. In Catholic old world tradition, brass plates marked the wood at the aisle, indicating that certain families sponsored various pews. DeMarco, Lorenzo, Perelli...one by one, the catalogue of victims paraded by on the various markers. It was clear they shared a common parish, even if their restaurants and businesses spanned two counties.
    Morgano, Cuzzetto, DeRosa… the markers assuring that though they may be gone… never forgotten, much to the chagrin of some. Her family name did not go unnoticed—something her brother must have done. "The right thing to do," would be his response.
    The choir had adjourned during the interview and the church was now silent as she rested a hand on the heavy handle of the front entrance. That same silence reflected back at her as she emerged into the sunlight with more questions than answers.
     
     
     
     

Chapter 4
     
     
     
    Mathematics
     
     
     
    Ding…
    The elevator doors opened and Tessa stepped into the large open office. She stretched out a hand in a well practiced move, holding out a folder as her editor walked past. The documents she held passed without a break in either stride.
    "Another winner," Tessa called over her shoulder. Then she twirled on one toe like a graceful ballerina, and began walking backwards, adding, "Don't get scared when you read 'double billing the government, a.k.a. the American people'—my sources are good."
    A wave of a hand was the only acknowledgement she got from the editor, who continued to walk towards his office. There wasn't anything particularly thrilling about the man's backside to hold her interest, so Tessa turned in the direction of her cubicle, intent on writing the beginnings of another article.
    "I shoulda been a cop," she mumbled to herself, laughing a little at the age-old joke, "I always meet my quota."
    Scott was sitting at his computer. Tessa didn't pause to look too closely, only noting his studious presence before reaching her own desk and tossing her purse in the bottom drawer.
    The thunk of metal on metal as the drawer closed must have alerted her co-worker to her arrival. Before she could sit, Scott was hovering in the doorway. His hands were in his pockets and he was bobbing up and down on his toes. The lack of eye contact was so out of character she silently wondered if he was putting on an act.
    His next words offered a bit of explanation. "How well do you know the Perelli family—I mean, are they friends or something more?"
    "Friends," Tessa supplied without hesitation, "Maybe more. Why?"
    "I have some information, and I'm not entirely sure how to deliver it."
    At first, she thought he was talking about sharing some random fact with the family, but then he looked at her, and she realized this had nothing to do with the writer and his initial story. It was much bigger, and he was referring to delivering the news to her .
    "It's about Darla," he added, although the words weren't necessary, Tessa was already