Page 8 of Deception

“Porca vacca,”I whisper, snapping a few more shots.

She’s selling insider info!

My mother would throw a fit if she heard me using that language. But most news channels would pay a pretty penny for a story like this. Not mine, but maybe Mario will put me in touch with one of his contacts…

I jot down my notes, the names and locations on my way back to the office, excitement putting a bounce in my step. This could be something, a little boost to get me on the right track to actual reporting.

“Isabella! You get me those photos I asked for?” His tone catches me off guard as I cross the bullpen, souring my high a little.

“Don’t I always?” I brush off Mario’s surly nature and bushy mustached scowl.

I slip into his office, taking a seat across from him as he sits back down.

“I’ll Dropbox the rest for you as soon as I get back to my desk, but here are the roughs.” I slide the photos to him.

“Ohsi, cavolo! This is the good stuff! You’ve got the front page again, Isa. Not only the proof of an affair, but a smooch too? You’re a champion!”

“Thanks, boss, but that’s not all. You’re not going to believe what happened after this.”

He perks up, looking intrigued. “Please tell me they have a third in their relationship! A three-way would practically sell us right off the shelf!”

“Um … no. I followed Mira Petrona.”

“Oh, really?” I’ve got him, he raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yeah, she went to another meeting right after she hooked up with Vitelli.”

“Are you telling me she has another lover? She's sleeping around withtwocelebrities? Who's the other guy? Is he a famous movie star? Musician?”

“No. It’s even juicier than that. She met with Valdo Anders, from Enco Financial. She's selling insider information to her husband’s rivals. The wife of the CEO!”

Mario's wide-eyed expression goes vacant right before he flaps his lips, sifting through the photos and throwing them right in the trash.

“Nope. No way. Not this crap again.” He shakes his head, scowling. “Isabella, how many times do I have to tell you to stop digging up dirt that doesn't sell papers?”

“It does sell papers. This is groundbreaking stuff. This is headline news.”

“Sorry, I meantourpapers. We don't sell headline news, Isabella. We sell shit.”

“Maybe I don't want to sell shit.”

“Too bad. That's what I payyou for. You give me dirt on people. But notthiskind of dirt. Give me the juicy stuff. The kissing and fucking in dark corners. Give me topless girls closing the hotel curtains on an affair, get me models having nip slips at the beach.” He crosses his arms and gives me that flat stare I hate.

“Come on, Mario, it wouldn't be that far off base for us to publish this.”

“You know what I'm gonna say. I'm happy to have you around. You take great photos. You do good work, you make deadlines. What you do on your own time isyourbusiness. But when you keep spending company time doing this shit, it's hard to justify that to my superiors.”

“Mario, come on! Just look at the pictures. This is insider trading! Collusion or industrial sabotage. Don’t you know the editor of the Corriere della Sera? This could be a front-page story in the actual paper.”

“Oh, so you’re too good for our little enterprise now?”

“Don’t give me that crap Mario. Help me out.”

“No can do, Isa. You gotta quit pushing the envelope here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, give me a nasty scoop. I’ll keep the good photos of Mira and Vitelli and pretend the others don’t exist. Now get out of my office and find me some alien abduction wack job or Frank Sinatra's back from the dead type story to put on page four!”

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