The letter arrived on a rainy Monday morning. Miss Phryne Fisher was curled up on the window seat in her parlour, balancing on her lap a cup of tea and the newspaper, half-heartedly wondering if any of the headlines warranted her to get dressed, when Mr. Butler laid the heavy envelope into her hand. He looked worried, which may have been the first indication that something was wrong. A look at the fine paper was enough to give Miss Fisher a glimpse of what news it might bring, but in an act of bravery she slit it open anyway, ensuring the smile stayed attached to her still bare lips as she read:

The honour of your presence is requested at the marriage of

Mrs Concetta Fabrizzi

to

Detective-Inspector John Robinson jr

Saturday, the eighteenth of October

nineteen twentynine

at half after nine o'clock

St Ambrose Church, Brunswick

"Thank you, Mr Butler," she heard herself say trough the fog. The servant had no choice but to retreat with a polite word and a last, concerned look at his mistress. Phryne sat still, holding the prescious paper between trembling fingers. The smile had slipped in the absence of an audience. She'd expected the letter, of course. Only a week ago, Jack had sat opposite her, fidgeting with his tumbler as he had all night and confessed that he was engaged to be married. And she had made sure to congratulate him sincerely. Then she had claimed a rather insincere headache and ushered him out the door before her composure had had a chance to crumble.

Of course, he would get married again eventually. Jack was the marrying type – which she was very much not. It was just a surprisingly quick development really. She'd always rather thought she'd see it coming, have time to prepare herself. Concetta's appearance had blind-sided her, not least due to the fact that he had known her longer than herself. And now he was going to marry her. On Saturday, the eighteenth.

"Mr Butler?" she called. He materialized in the door a moment later.

"Miss Fisher?"

"Do I have any prior engagements next Saturday?"

"I do not believe so, Miss."

Disappointment slipped briefly over the dazed features.

"Right. In that case, I will attend the Inspector's wedding."

"Very well, Miss."

Mr Butler vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Phryne took no note of his absence. She twisted the heavy paper between her fingers, wondering absent-mindedly just how much money Jack would have had to lay down for the invitations alone. Riches were hard to amount in his chosen profession and the ones he had collected had probably suffered in the divorce from Rosie Sanderson. She wondered briefly is she could offer her assistance but abandoned the thought immediately. No, she would not take too keen an interest in this particular attempt at matrimony.

Her blurry eye caught on the even curls of ink. It wasn't Jack's hand, her detective's mind pointed out. Concetta could be no stranger to what they shared, though surely she knew no details. But she was neither spiteful enough to declare Miss Fisher a bridesmaid, nor cruel enough to exclude her. Jack had chosen and he had chosen well. This fact pained Phryne the most and yet gave her the deepest satisfaction. Concetta would make him a good wife. She would send him out into the dangerous world with a packed lunch and the assurance of her understated worries and at night he would return home to her hot meals and warm arms. He would be happy. Or at least, content. It was more than she herself could offer.

With that last realisation she sat down her cup, brushed some crumbs from her morning gown and pulled herself up to her full height. Jack would get married. And she would be a graceful guest, wishing the happy couple well. She was almost entirely certain she could handle that. She'd managed to hold on to her resolution until she'd reached the door and the telephone began to ring.

X

Alessandro Bricelli was a little shorter than she had imagined him by his voice, but he was a handsome man, his beard neatly trimmed, the clothes not expensive yet neat. There was a thin smile when she sat across from him on the table, but his dark eyes remained haunted.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Fisher," he said in his soft, deep timbre, slightly coloured with the leftovers of an Italian heritage. She nodded curtly.

"I had very little choice in the matter," she said, setting down her bag and gloves. "You sounded very mysterious on the telephone and you will find I am too curious a woman to pass up on such promise."

She gave him a winning smile, which he mirrored to some extent. He truly was very handsome.

"Sadly what I have to tell you is not pleasant," he continued, then paused, wringing his hands over the table. He reminded her somewhat of Jack, she suddenly realised. He looked up sharply.

"I'm lead to believe you are familiar with the Camorra?" he asked. Phryne squinted at him, too many questions on her mind to voice them all.

"I've dabbled," she answered, truth and carefully.

"Well, in that case I am certain you have noticed that they are dangerous," he whispered, his eyes darting across the small restaurant, as if worried that the walls may have ears. Phryne thought about this. She hadn't given much mind to the dangers they'd walked in at the time, but she knew that Jack had been scared. The Inspector wasn't scared of much. And now he was intent on marrying Concetta, granddaughter of the Padrino. While Phryne knew that the engagement had happened only under the condition that she would turn her back on her family, that didn't release the knots rapidly building in her stomach.

"Surely you haven't brought me here to warn me of the dangers of this city," Miss Fisher said, smilingly.

"No, I have brought you here because I need your help," Alessandro said in a rush. "I myself have managed to steer clear of them, but my brother Marco, the fool, he has been working for them. They are planning something, I know."

He stopped, his eyes darting around the tea room, but the people around them were busy devouring scones and sandwiches and paid no mind to the couple in the dark corner.

Miss Fisher remembered to breathe in time before she opened her mouth to speak.

"Do you have any details?"

"No, nothing. Just things I've overheard and this..."

He pulled a small booklet from his shirt pocket. Phryne turned the leather bound item between her fingers before she flipped it open.

"It's my brother's 'work book'," Alessandro whispered. "He writes all the relevant details on his jobs in there. Contacts, spots, he's using it for finding the weak spots to attack."

Phryne riffled through the pages. There were lots and lots of notes, dates, places. Nothing of it made any sense to her at present.

"So, what is it that you would like me to do?" she asked, after closing the book gently.

"There is a woman..." he said slowly. Phryne raised a thin eyebrow at him and he lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "A childhood friend, no more. But I care for her."

"You believe her in danger?" Phryne asked.

"My brother... he mentioned her name on the telephone the other night. I am scared that she is involved in some way. Whatever it is, I want her out of it."

There was something in his eyes that startled Phryne, but she had no time to ponder it. He pulled a picture from his pocket, laid it in front of her. Her heart stopped. From the black and white photograph a familiar, beautiful face looked back at her. It was several years old but there was no doubt that it showed Concetta Fabrizzi.

"Will you help me?" Alessandro asked.

Miss Fisher nodded dimly. There was no room for words, only one thing occupying her whole mind.

Jack!