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So, I spot her—legs long, eyes sharp, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—happy as a kid with candy, but pissed too, ‘cause why’s this so damn hard? Walk up, voice low, “Hey, darlin’, you workin’?” She smirks—*smirks!*—like she’s Simin judgin’ Nader in court. “Depends,” she says, all sassy. Surprised me, that sass—thought she’d be tired, broken maybe. Nope, she’s runnin’ this show.

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We’re running through the streets of Arcore, calling for Pino. I swear, I’ve never seen so many people staring at us. We hit up Piazza Manzoni, and there’s this cute little fountain. I’m thinking, “If I don’t find that dog, I’m gonna drown my sorrows in that fountain.”

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