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CHAPTER ONE

FRANCESCO CALVETTI BROUGHT his MV Agusta F4 CC to a stop and placed his left foot on the road as he was foiled by yet another set of red lights Barely 7:00 a up

What he wouldn’t give to be riding with nothing but the open road before hi him

He thought of Sicily with longing His island had none of the grey dreariness he was fast associating with London This was supposed to be spring? He’d enjoyed better winters in his homeland

He yaidely, raising his hand to his visor out of pure habit After all, no one could see his face with his helmet on

He should have gotten Mario to bring hi driven by anyone irritated him, especially in a car Francesco was a man for whom drive had multiple definitions

The light changed to green Before twisting on the throttle and accelerating s to his visor

What a country At the h a saturated cloud

As he approached yet another set of lights, a cyclist on a pushbike just ahead caught his attention—or, rather, the fluorescent yellow helhts at the moment they turned aone for it She’d had plenty of time

But no, this was clearly a law-abiding woht at the line The car in front of Francesco, a large four-wheel drive, drew level on her right side

She had the thickest hair he’d ever seen—a shaggyhalfway down her back

The light turned green and off she set, sticking her left ar down the street in that direction The car that had been beside her also turned left, forced to hang a little behind her, with Francesco joining the convoy

The road ahead was clear The cyclist picked up speed

It happened so quickly that for a ined it

Without any indication, the four-wheel drive in front of hi quickly, but with the spatial awareness of a cauliflower, because it clipped the cyclist’s wheel, causing her to flip forward off the saddle and land head-first on the kerb

Francesco brought his bike to an ih ht