It was the photo they’d taken in front of the Lagoon, Buccellati’s yacht. A picture of the whole team, standing in the sunlight. Fugo’s expression indecisive, Buccellati’s somewhat embarrassed, Mista and Narancia grinning from ear to ear, and Abbacchio stoic. They were all so full of hope that day.
He was silent. He sat in silence for a long moment, his head down. Thin drops started falling on his lap.
