CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pier Paolo Manetti looked even more like an opera star in real life than he did on television.
The Fifth Horseman watched him from across the restaurant in Florence, a short, portly man with deep laughter lines, curly black hair that was almost certainly dyed, and a jovial round face that smiled and smacked contentedly as he dug into a generous helping of pasta.
Manetti looked older and stouter than he had on his famous television show, Misterio 2000, but it was undoubtedly him. There was no mistaking those exaggerated mannerisms, that crazily unkempt hair that somehow managed to give him style, or that waxed moustache that came out to points on either end, nearly doubling the width of his already wide face.
There couldn’t be two of those moustaches anywhere, not even
