A Thousand Tombs by Molly Greene

after and coveted and obsessed over often remained just out of reach.
    Such is life.
    Key in hand, she approached the safe deposit box annex, spoke – in a muted voice, of course – with the woman manning the desk, and was escorted to the bank of boxes that contained hers. They did the dual-key thing. Once Gen was alone, she took out the velvet bag and placed the coin with the rest of the items she valued.
    Her will was there, and the documents that contained her living trust. She needed to update those; Ryan was named as a beneficiary. She should assign her assets to her niece, Emily. But her family had more than enough. Maybe Madison’s baby, after it was born. A college fund. She’d have to think about it.
    Gen also kept her grandfather’s wedding ring there. She opened the jewelry box and fingered the wide, solid band of gold, and thought about the fabulous Frenchman who’d worn it for almost seventy years. “I miss you, Grand-père ,” she whispered, then put the ring away and closed the box and left.
    She was thinking about Vitelli and how like her own granddad he seemed, strong and quiet, and gentle just beneath the surface. Or was it her imagination, wanting him to be like her father’s father? Possibly. She was wondering what the harm of that might be when she realized that if it turned out he was lying, she’d be hurt.
    Just like Mack with Luca, she could be setting herself up. Way to not get attached, Gen. Way to take your own advice.
    She was back out on the sidewalk when she reminded herself that pain came with the territory, and not just on the job. If you lived and breathed, you got hurt. The only way to avoid it was to be one of those mystic hermits that lived out their lives in caves in Nepal.
    No thanks.
    She shouldered her purse and turned down the street. She’d worn flats on purpose today. Downtown was a parking nightmare, so she wouldn’t move the car; she could more than manage a few blocks on foot.
    Her next stop was all about the Italians.
    After a little digging with the uniform who’d interviewed her at Vitelli’s, Officer Lee informed her that the Carabinieri team had been granted the use of an office among the Homeland Security folks. Gen was going to pay them a visit today, just to be neighborly.
    She found the building, took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor, and was stopped by the gatekeeper in the anteroom. The woman accepted her business card, spoke quietly into the phone, and directed Gen to take a seat. She’d just settled in when Giovanni Luciano appeared, wearing a pleasant smile that didn’t hint of anything but nice to see you .
    She noticed his hair again. Luciano’s hair was like a mane, it was that good. It was the icing, the final flourish, the topper on a handsome Christmas tree.
    Mack had great hair, but this guy had the best she’d seen on a man. Better than that actor, Patrick Dempsey. Although Mack reminded her more of Dempsey than Luciano did, when it came right down to it.
    He beckoned. She followed him down the hall to a glass-walled office with a nice high-rise view. He sat down behind the desk and indicated that she should take one of the chairs across from him.
    “What a pleasure,” he said.
    “I had business downtown, so I took a chance you’d be in.”
    “I am glad that you did.” Luciano did not ask how she knew where to find him. “I have been thinking about you.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, obviously, I’ve been thinking about you, too.” Gen glanced around the office; only one desk. “Where’s your partner today?” she asked.
    Giovanni kept his eyes on hers. “Following up on some information.”
    “Really.” She batted her lashes. “If it wears pants, I’ll bet she’s all over it like a cheap suit.”
    He pretended confusion, but she doubted her insinuation eluded him. “I’m sorry, I do not understand.”
    “No, it’s me who should be sorry.” She meant it; her comment was unprofessional. “That was American