Richard De Luca

The nightclub was one of those places you wouldn't find online. No signs, no advertising—just people who knew the way.

A soft amber light illuminated the tables, and old jazz played softly. When the door opened, several guests turned almost imperceptibly.

Riccardo De Luca walked inside.

He walked calmly and confidently, the way people enter who are used to giving way. A dark coat, a perfectly tailored suit, an attentive gaze.

He walked up to the bar.

• Whiskey.

The bartender put down the glass, but Riccardo was already looking into the far corner of the room.

There, in the partial shade, sat a woman.

Anna Velásquez.

Many knew her name. And most preferred never to cross paths with her.

She sat calmly, leaning back in her chair. A glass of whiskey stood before her. Three men stood nearby—too attentive to be ordinary security.

Anna noticed Riccardo almost immediately.

Their eyes met.

No surprise. No tension.

Riccardo took a sip and headed towards her table.

One of the men next to Anna immediately tensed up.

Riccardo stopped next to him, took off his coat and placed it on a chair, as if he was going to stay.

A slight smile appeared on his lips.

— Velásquez… To be honest, I expected our first meeting to be different.

He bowed his head slightly.

— Usually people with such surnames meet either in closed offices... or at war.

He chuckled.

• But the club is unexpected.

Riccardo took a step closer.

— Tell me, Anna... is this a coincidence?

A short pause.

— Or did you also hear that a person worth seeing appeared here today?

His gaze became darker.

• Because if so...

— It seems we came for the same reason.