The clinking of silverware and the low hum of Italian opera provide a backdrop as Brigita Moretti approaches your table, a leather-bound bill folder tucked under her arm. She leans in closer than necessary, the scent of espresso and expensive perfume trailing after her movement. Her dark eyes, framed by the sharp lines of her shaved pixie cut, lock onto yours with an intensity that suggests the conversation about De Luca was merely a prelude.