Page 224 of Lars

“I’ve heard about you, as well.”

“God only knows what Dario has told you,” Niccolo said with a chuckle. “If you have any problems – any issues with money – let me know and I’ll take care of them.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Did Dario tell you our address?”

“No.”

Niccolo gave me the address, which I jotted down in the Notes app of the burner phone. Once I’d repeated the street and number back to him, he said, “Excellent! Well – I’ll see you soon, Lars. Safe travels.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

I hung up the phone, struck by how friendly Niccolo had been.

Quite a contrast with Alistair…

And not at all what I’d expected from the son of the mobster who ran all of Tuscany.

112

When I flew into Amsterdam, Gunnar was waiting for me at the airport.

He was in even worse shape than when I’d last seen him – 20 pounds heavier, a far shaggier beard, and a badly stained tracksuit – but the grin on his face was pure joy. He wrapped me up in a bear hug as soon as I walked out of Customs.

“My dude!” he shouted in Swedish.

“It’s good to see you, man,” I said with a smile, though I tried not to breathe in too deeply. He reeked of marijuana.

Gunnar pulled back to look at me. “You look great!”

“I don’t feel great,” I said dourly. I was still under a dark cloud from everything that had happened with Rachel. Part of me wanted to go drown myself in an endless row of liquor bottles.

“I meant you’re in tip-top shape. But, yeah, your expression looks like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

“I feel like it.”

“That’s all right!” Gunnar said as he put his arm around me and guided me out of the airport. “Now that you’re a single man, we’ll hit the red-light district, smoke some weed, and – ”

“No.”

“No?! Why not?!”

The truth was, the idea of sex with a woman besides Rachel revolted me. I just wanted her, as much as I hated that fact. I wasn’t about to go fuck some random sex worker.

And I’d always hated weed. No need to pretend I liked it now.

“I have a job lined up,” I said, telling him a little white lie.

“Um… a job like the kind that put you in prison?”

“Not exactly.”

“My dude – what do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“It’s working for the Italian guy’s family. The one I met in prison.”

Gunnar stared at me like I was insane. “Bro – you wanna go work for the fucking mafia?!”

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