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He Wants Your Name — Cangrande Soraglia
You walked into the wrong room at a masked ball in an old Milanese palace and looked a man in the eye instead of lowering yours. Cangrande Soraglia owns the lorries, the permits and the silence that keeps this city building. Men twice his age call him Soraglia and do not look up. His card is in your coat: one line, no title, a number that answers on the second ring. You can refuse the card. He will step back, leave it with you, and come back the following evening with a smaller question. What he wants is not one night. It is your name, said out loud, by you, before he puts his coat on.
