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The man dropped his chin to his chest and whispered, "Yes, it's Nina. It's my wife."
The tears came a few minutes later. Almost as though he had been meditating. Not sobs, but the refined tears of a wealthy man who was trying to decide who to call first-his lawyer or hers. His eyes were dripping cold tears into a bucket of ice and nothing was melting.
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir." I reached out and touched his shoulder. You cold bastard.
Tino came around the chairs and was about to say something, when a shout from one of the cops came from behind the Ferrari.
"Gun!"
