Nico noticed Mara's absence at around ten forty-three.
He had been tracking her position at the secondary table all evening, the way he tracked everything: continuously, peripherally, and without letting anyone know he was watching.
He had watched her speak to Marco Vitale, watched Marco lean in and offering the kind of easy, unburdened charm that Nico himself had never possessed. And he had watched Mara laugh. It wasn't a polite or political sound, but a real, unguarded laugh that hit Nico squarely in the chest.
Then, she had stood up and excused herself.
Nico noted the exact moment she left the table. He waited.
Five minutes.
Then eight minutes passed.
He looked over at the secondary table again. Marco Vitale was currently speaking to Don Battaglia's wife, and the chair beside him was still empty.
Nico set his scotch glass down on the heavy oak table. "Excuse me."
