Private Rome

Chapter 101

After leaving Matteo, I went outside and waited on the bridge in front of the hospital. I was relieved and happy when Sci, Mo-bot and Justine arrived in a taxi.

Justine jumped out of the vehicle and ran to me but stopped when I took a step back warily.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I almost forgot.”

She embraced me on my good side, avoiding my bullet wound, and we kissed.

It felt so great to be reunited with her, and the smile on her lips told me she felt exactly the same way.

Sci and Mo-bot greeted me warmly when I joined them in the cab. The driver took us through the Eternal City to the Hassler, which had been my home when I’d first arrived in Rome.

It was a relief not to be looking over my shoulder, watching for danger at every turn. After spending the afternoon in our suite where we could finally be alone, Justine and I went to meet Sci and Mo-bot in the hotel’s rooftop bar and restaurant for pre-dinner drinks.

We entered the busy space to find our colleagues sitting with Faduma Salah. The tenacious journalist had filed stories that had given her readers the inside scoop on Propaganda Tre, the Dark Fates and the role of Joseph Stadler and Cardinal Peralta in laundering money for these groups. It was proving to be one of the most sensational scandals in modern Italian history, implicating government ministers like the deceased Stefano Trotta, financiers, mob bosses and clergy.

“Hello, Mr. Morgan,” Faduma said as Justine and I joined them at their table.

“You know you can call me Jack,” I replied, wincing slightly as I caught myself at a bad angle while taking my seat.

“Are you okay?” Faduma and Justine said simultaneously.

“Jinx,” Mo-bot teased.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied. “Just need to get used to taking it easy.”

“You did well,” Faduma said. “You all did.”

“So did you,” Sci replied. “I see your stories being covered everywhere.”

“You did great,” I said. “In fact, Private is still looking for a second-in-command for the Rome office.”

Faduma smiled. “That’s very kind, Jack, but I’m a journalist, not a detective. I have an obligation to my readers, and quite frankly, I don’t like the idea of being shot at all the time.”

“It’s not all the time,” Sci replied. “Just on weekdays.”

Everyone chuckled.

The maître d’ approached. “Your table is ready, Mr. Morgan.”

“If you won’t join our company, at least keep us company for dinner,” I said to Faduma.

She nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”