"I noticed," Caltabieni said, finishing his glass of Rosatello Ruffino. "And this isn't the first time it's happened, either. We have to choose another place for our meetings." He glanced around the room. "Not safe enough. Let's get out of here."
Nearly out of the restaurant, Caltabieni grabbed Ron's arm. "Don't turn and don't look. Someone is taking our picture. Just walk down the street. Act normal. Don't rush."
The two men strolled down the walkway, peering into the occasional shop window. After a few blocks, Caltabieni turned to Ron. "Talk now," he said. "But make it snappy."
"I need a killer. Expert and reliable," Ron murmured.
"What's in it for me?"
"The usual: five million dollars."
Caltabieni walked briskly now, trying to see if anyone in the street imitated his fast pace. "I'll give you instructions on how to contact my nephew. He's been helpful on a couple of occasions, and he's also in the right place, at the right time." Caltabieni paused and looked up at the sky, his expression thoughtful. "If we succeed, or rather, when we succeed, I may retire, both from my job and from my 'connections.' Finally free!" He looked at Ron with satisfaction. "Of course, you'll have to run the operation well, without leaving any trail."
"Don't worry, I know the system and how to make it work. I've been practicing for the last fifteen years."
"Fine," Caltabieni said, and glanced around. "We better show that we have a goal for today's meeting. There's a retrospective of Modigliani two blocks from here. Let's go there. Modi is one of my favorite artists, as you well know." Caltabieni eyes took on a dreamy glow. "I like the way he paints his women, with those long, delicate necks, and a look in their eyes of anticipation and surrender."