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In Rome, the past never stays buried for long. When a dangerous man, Cold Hands, is released from psychiatric detention and quietly returns to the city, Commissioner Rosco and his team are drawn into a shadowy investigation where old crimes, hidden grudges, and new threats begin to intertwine. Beneath the surface of ordinary lives, secrets fester in hospital wards, along the Tiber, and in the darkest corners of the capital. Seemingly unrelated crimes gradually intertwine within a hypnotic, subterranean world of hidden Rome, mysterious lakes and ancient legends, revealing a larger pattern that is difficult to recognize. As tensions rise, Rosco must protect the fragile happiness he has finally found while facing a menace that knows how to wait, watch, and strike. Atmospheric, gripping, and rich in psychological tension, Cold Hands is a suspense novel set in a Rome of buried memories and lurking danger.
Who will read the novel will discover the unbelievable seductive settings, on the shores of Rome’s underground lakes, in which a disturbed mind stalks its prey. They will enjoy this important step in the overall journey of the work, which intertwines serial crimes with murders of a different nature, even with the ancient legends that abound in the Eternal City.
Through the MultiDimensionCrime approach, the novel invites readers to enter a world where atmosphere, emotions, and events become almost tangible, entering the mind of the killer, the desperation of the victims, while investigating with the squad in increasing twists and suspense. The novel, set in the Eighties, is also published as an Extended Book, an innovative publishing format experienced by Morellini Editore, that enhances the reading experience. By scanning the QR code printed on the back cover, readers can explore the locations featured in the story, immerse themselves in its atmospheric world, and listen to a curated soundtrack of 1980s music that brings the novel’s setting to life. A journey that doesn’t end with the last page!
Rome in early spring—there’s nothing more enchanting, even for Rosco, who slid behind the wheel, still heavy with sleep, having skipped breakfast yet again. Another night spent with the little one waking up over and over, until he’d earned his rightful place in the big bed. And yet, for Rosco, there was nothing sweeter than feeling that warm little body pressed close, so bossy and so tender—a tiny tyrant to whom he gladly surrendered.
But by morning, Marilena had reached her limit. With gentle hands, she’d scooped up the boy and, for the umpteenth time, tucked him back into his crib. Then she’d slipped back under the covers—a mistake, as it turned out, because now Rosco could smell her, and it had been ages since he’d been this close to her. The child was sleeping soundly now, dawn’s timid light beginning to seep through the shutters, and Rosco could make out the outline of Marilena’s body as she breathed deeply, on the verge of drifting off again. He couldn’t resist the urge to caress her hips, and when she turned toward him, he kissed her lips, then her neck, and finally began to suckle her nipple. She wasn’t nursing anymore, and the scent of her skin had returned to what it once was, before— a whiff of stale caciotta cheese, during those endless months of round-the-clock feedings.
