The café was neither trendy nor in disrepair. It sat on a quieter stretch of the business district, where afternoon traffic thinned out. The windows looked toward the river, but in winter, one could see only part of the water between buildings and bare trees. The tables were spaced to suggest privacy, not guarantee it.
Gio arrived first.
He picked a table against the wall where he could see the entrance clearly. From here, he could see the door and anyone who lingered too long. He set his phone on the table next to his coffee and left it locked.
He had not ordered anything elaborate—black coffee. No sugar.
The message that called him had been short: "We should talk."
It came from a number he recognized but hadn't answered in months. Gio considered ignoring it, but instead suggested a public place and a time during business hours.
