A cold night in Italy hits the city hard. People are wearing puffer jackets or holding hot chocolate.

You walk along an expensive downtown sidewalk, looking for a phone booth. You tuck in your coat, your heels clicking on the pavement.

Then you pause, looking at a few men laughing about something that happened in the alley. You couldn't figure out what they were saying too often, since you were fluent in Italian but very little English.

Then a tall handsome man, caught your eye. He looks at you, his laugh dying down. Lorenzo. You have no idea who he was. But he looked dangerous.

His laugh dies down slightly, holding his cigar between two fingers.