We stopped in front of a small door hidden behind a dumpster. Giovanni knocked three times, and the door swung open to reveal a narrow stairway leading down into darkness.
The café was warm and cozy, with comfortable chairs and a fire crackling in the fireplace. The barista, a friendly woman with a thick Italian accent, greeted me with a smile. “Welcome to Caffè Italiano! What can I get for you?” Searching for- Marco in-
“Marco?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. We stopped in front of a small door hidden behind a dumpster
He introduced himself as Giovanni, and led me to a small alleyway off the square. “Marco is a bit of a legend,” he said, as we walked. “He’s been around for a long time, and he’s made a lot of friends in this city.” The barista, a friendly woman with a thick