CHAPTER TEN
THE MAUSOLEUM
I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. At the end of the passageway, a crescent-shaped stained-glass window sprinkled rays along the ground. At my feet, sparkling shades of blues, greens and reds streaked towards me. On either side of me, tombs were inlaid into the marble like drawers, with stately black handles on either side. They were all marked with a simple plaque, engraved with gold lettering. A corresponding Roman numeral accompanied each name on a separate line.
I brushed my fingers over the inscriptions as I shuffled along, listening to my footfall against the stone floor.
A heavy bronze door had been pushed open at the end of the passageway. The room beyond was dusky, illuminated by a handful of errant rays coming from the window behind me.
I froze in the doorway.
Someone was sitting on a marble bench in the middle of the room. He had his back to me – facing towards another wall of tombs, where Angelo Falcone’s inscription seemed to glow brighter than the others.
Like a statue cursed to life, Luca turned to face me.
‘Oh.’ That was all I could come up with. Seeing him again, alive and so close, his blue eyes blazing in the dimness, caught me completely off guard. Something was snaking around my stomach, clenching and unclenching, as the memory of our last moments together came flooding back.
‘Sophie,’ he said with unexpected casualness. ‘What brings you to my family’s grave?’
He remained seated, his hands resting on black jeans. His face was still paler than it should have been, but he sat straight with shoulders squared, which made him seem tall and strong, as he had been before. Before I had my hands pressed against the wound in his side.
I cleared my throat. ‘Um, hello.’
He let the silence linger, watching me. I fixed my attention on his boots – shining silver buckles gleamed across black leather. The boots of a soldier.
‘I was just …’ What was I just? ‘I thought I’d come by and …’
I snapped my head up, searching his face for the answer. His eyebrows lifted, disappearing under strands of black hair. ‘You were just …?’ he prompted.
I pulled myself away from the memories, from the past. Wasn’t that the whole point of my being there? To forget. The switchblade. I fished it out of my pocket and held it between us. ‘I came to give you this.’
He flicked his gaze over it, slow, appraising. His brows drew together. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I was just going to leave it outside somewhere you would find it. But then the door was unlocked and I thought—’
‘You thought you’d trespass into my family’s inner sanctum.’
My cheeks were getting hot. I brought my hair around my face to cover them. ‘Something like that …’
He stood up and came towards me. He wore his injury well, but it changed the way he carried himself, dipping him slightly to one side. I could smell his aftershave and see the small lines underneath his eyes. Did he know how well I knew his face now? It was burnt into my brain from that night. I knew the length and thickness of his lashes. I knew the ones near the corner of his eye were pale, while the rest were jet black. I knew the line of his cheekbone, and where it curved above his jaw. I knew too much.
Luca brought his fingers to his lips, pulling my attention to the small scar above them. ‘You’re telling me you came all the way to Graceland Cemetery to give me back my knife?’ He was trying to find the lie in my words.
‘It’s an important knife.’
‘It is.’
‘And I shouldn’t really have it.’
He plucked the knife from my hand and rolled it over. He looked up, frowning. ‘There’s blood on this.’
‘Is there?’ I leant closer until I was almost nose-to-chest with him. I couldn’t see any blood.
‘Here.’ He pressed his fingernail against the base and I stared until a tiny brown spot came into focus. It was just inside the L in the inscription.
I pulled back, grimacing. ‘I thought I cleaned it all.’
When I looked at him again, his face had clouded over. I stepped back, suddenly conscious of how close we had been standing.
‘What did you do with it, Sophie? Did you hurt someone?’
‘Don’t you think that’s a tad hypocritical considering you’re an assassin?’
‘That’s different. I’m trained. You’re … you.’
I threw him a withering look. ‘I know you think that’s some sort of insult, but I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.’
‘Take it as you like.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Who did you stab?’
‘Fine,’ I relented. ‘If you must know, I may or may not have accidentally stabbed myself when I was sleeping.’
‘Ah,’ he said, like the answer to some great riddle had been revealed to him. His face relaxed and he resumed blinking. ‘That makes sense.’ He closed the blade and slid it into his pocket. ‘No more switchblade for you.’
‘I didn’t want it anyway,’ I told him, my tone petulant. ‘I’m clearing out my life of everything that’s been harmful to me.’
‘So that’s why you came,’ he said, circling around me and turning to look at the walls again. ‘To clear out the assassins once and for all. Symbolically.’
‘Yes,’ I said to the back of his head. ‘I’ll have you know it’s a form of therapeutic healing.’ His hair had grown since I’d seen him last. It was still shaggy, but stray black strands swept across his neck now. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and from the back I could see a glimpse of a silver chain disappearing beneath it. I wondered what it was. I wondered why I cared.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. ‘And here I was thinking you wanted to see me again.’
My body erupted in violent incredulity. ‘What? Why would I want to see you again? We’re not even friends. Honestly, Luca, you’re so full of yourself.’
He turned around on the heel of his boot, amusement colouring his voice. ‘I’m joking, Sophie. Don’t have a coronary.’
‘You have a terrible sense of humour.’
‘Maybe it’s too complex for you.’
‘Don’t make me regret saving your life,’ I teased, wiping the smirk off his face and shining a light on that Big Thing we had been so expertly avoiding.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, feigning a sudden memory flash. ‘That.’ He wound his fingers together. ‘I’m not sure I ever thanked you.’
I raised my eyebrows, expectant.
‘Thank you,’ he said, acting shockingly earnest, before flipping his accent into a rolling Italian lilt, and adding, ‘Grazie, sinceramente.’
‘It’s OK.’ I waved my hand around in the air. ‘I got your flowers.’
Luca’s face screwed up. ‘What? I didn’t send you flowers.’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ I deadpanned him. ‘You didn’t send me anything.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see what you did there. Maybe I’ll reconsider.’
‘I imagine it will be a cold day in hell before Luca Falcone gives anyone a bouquet of flowers.’
The corner of his lips twitched. ‘It’s not really the Falcone style.’
‘I guess there’s nothing so sweet as honey,’ I said, only dregs of joviality left in my voice now.
That really did shut him up. He turned around and let his attention settle on the wall again. He didn’t gesture for me to leave, and even though I should have, I didn’t. I lingered, without really knowing why I wanted to hang out in a dusky tomb with a bunch of dead murderers and someone who had once made my skin burn with hatred. Someone I used to fear. I guess I didn’t feel any of that any more. When I pressed my hands against his body in the warehouse and felt his blood, warm and sticky, on my fingers, he became something else to me … human, breakable.
‘So … nice place you got here …’ I came to stand beside him. We faced the wall and I read the plaque directly in front of us.
GIANLUCA FALCONE
DECEMBER 7TH, 1923 – MARCH 20TH, 1995
CXIII
‘Your namesake,’ I said.
‘My grandfather.’
‘He died on the day you were born?’
He turned to look at me. ‘Creepy much?’
‘It’s written on your knife!’
‘OK, stalker. Relax.’
‘You are so incredibly annoying.’
He shrugged. ‘So I’m told.’
‘You should come off that pedestal every now and then.’
He grimaced. ‘But I like my pedestal. I can see everything from up here.’
‘I bet the view’s even nicer from your ivory tower.’
‘It is,’ he said, solemnly. ‘I’d invite you up some time but it’s only for really intelligent people who have a great sense of humour.’
‘Then you must be squatting.’ I turned back to the plaque, renewed curiosity flickering in my mind. ‘Did your grandfather get to see you?’ I asked. ‘Before he died that day?’
‘Yes. Valentino and I were born early in the morning.’ Luca’s voice changed, losing the tinge of arrogance that made it haughty. His family was not a laughing matter. ‘My grandfather held me in his arms for an hour. He wasn’t so interested in Valentino. I don’t know if it was because of his defect or because I was the less screechy of the two of us, but my grandfather convinced my parents that he and I were kindred spirits. He said he felt it. I’m not so sure. How kindred can you feel with a scrunched-up baby who can’t even see properly? Anyway, after he gave me back to my mother, he walked right out of the hospital and dropped dead on the street.’
‘Oh,’ I gasped, feeling my face crumple. That took a dark turn. ‘Was it a heart attack?’
Luca’s smile was rueful. ‘Sophie Gracewell. Naïve as ever. They hit him twice; once in the head, once in the heart. Twin bullets, to represent Valentino and me.’
I clutched at my stomach. Despite my best efforts to remain composed, I was starting to feel a little sick. I focused on the letters in front of me, following their elaborate curves. ‘Who shot him?’
I could feel Luca watching me. ‘The Marinos.’ In his mouth, the name Marino sounded like a curse word. Nic had spoken about them in that same tone when he had asked me about Jack in the garden. ‘We call them the Black Hand. You could say we have a … colourful history with them.’ He stopped, his head dipping like he was staring at something on the ground, and quietly, emotionlessly, he added, ‘It had been a long time coming.’
‘What exactly does colourful mean?’
Luca shrugged, still staring at that same spot. ‘That we’re always killing each other.’
‘Ah,’ I said, feeling horrified and doing my best to hide it. ‘Of course …’
‘We were in a truce at the time … or at least we were supposed to be, but they were still harbouring resentment for something that happened several years before that. And with the twin thing, I suppose the symbolism was too great to pass up.’
‘The twin thing?’
‘Yes,’ said Luca, looking up again, but not at me. His gaze roved around the room, tripping over his ancestors’ tombs. ‘In the eighties, during the second blood war between our families, my grandfather ordered the killing of Don Vincenzo Marino and his family. It was a drastic move, but he thought that would cripple the Marino dynasty and end the bloodshed once and for all. The Falcones got Vincenzo and his wife, but their sons weren’t there. They were twins. No one knows where they went – seems like they just disappeared into thin air. After that, Vincenzo’s younger brother, Cesare, took over, but he was an incompetent boss. The family didn’t respect him the way they respected Vincenzo. Just like my grandfather had planned, the Marinos were weakened without strong leadership, and Cesare agreed to a truce.’ He heaved a sigh. It was heavy and filled with regret, as though he had been there to witness it all.
‘But the bloodshed didn’t end, did it?’ I asked quietly.
‘The Marinos endured the terms, at first, but they obviously didn’t swallow them – maybe the twins’ survival gave them courage, or maybe it was my mother’s sister, Donata, who changed things. She married Cesare Marino when she was barely twenty years old. He was almost twice her age, but she didn’t care. Donata was hungry for money, for the power she couldn’t find in her own family.’ His expression soured as his mind turned to his aunt. ‘The Genoveses were on the way out, and I guess you could say the Marinos had an opening.’
‘And she took it,’ I supplied. I considered the idea of marrying some random forty-year-old mob boss for money and power, and it made my skin crawl. What twisted brand of ambition would make someone want to do that? I remembered Luca’s mother’s words to me in my hospital room: The Genovese women are survivors; we have the blood of Sicily in our veins, entire families who work beneath us.
Luca nodded. ‘Donata became more of a boss than her husband. Within a couple of years, she was running the whole operation. The day Valentino and I were born, Donata sent her Marino soldati after my parents, out of some sick, delayed retribution.’ At my look of confusion, he clarified, ‘Soldiers.’
‘Soldiers?’ I repeated in a voice much higher than normal. In my head I pictured an army of mafiosi marching towards a hospital, and bringing death with them. I swallowed hard. ‘But why?’
‘Donata wanted to orphan Valentino and me, the same way the Falcones orphaned the Marino twins. She wanted to kill her own sister.’
‘That’s ruthless,’ I said. ‘I mean, they’re sisters.’
Something unreadable flitted across Luca’s face. ‘They’re Genovese,’ he resolved, as though that would explain everything. It didn’t, but I stayed silent and after a moment, he picked up the thread of conversation again. ‘My grandfather got a tip-off that the Marinos were going to move against us, so he met them on the streets outside the hospital that day and they took him instead.’
‘God,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ said Luca. ‘He paid the ultimate price in the end.’
‘For killing the Marino boss and his wife?’ I thought about the wife. Had she been someone like me, ushered into the family by her feelings and naïvety, or was she raised the way Nic’s mother and her sister were? Did she marry Vincenzo Marino willingly, knowing what might one day happen to them?
‘For ordering it,’ Luca clarified. ‘The hit on Vincenzo Marino and his wife was Felice’s. His first. Well, first and second.’ A bitter smile twisted on his lips. ‘If you ever want to piss Felice off, mention the missing Marino twins and he’ll go so red you won’t recognize him. The ones that got away,’ Luca said with mock wistfulness. ‘Only Felice would lament the failure to kill a couple of kids.’
‘He ruined their lives,’ I said, bitterness overtaking me at the thought of Felice’s stupid face. His leering grin. His murderous eyes. ‘Wasn’t that enough?’
Luca shook his head. ‘There’s a long history between our families, Sophie. It doesn’t come down to a couple of murders, not of their boss, not of my grandfather. We’ve been warring with the Marinos since Sicily. It started with land, and land became profit and drugs and arms, and territories, and revenge. There have been losses on both sides.’
‘I don’t see how that excuses anything.’
Luca’s voice hardened. ‘I never said it did.’
‘Nic told me once that you never go after members of the Mafia culture, no matter what they’ve done.’
Luca’s laugh was mirthless. ‘Nicoli says a lot of things. That doesn’t make them true.’
‘So he lied.’ I tried to keep the surprise from my voice. I know Nic was more than capable of being dishonest, but when he had sat beside me in his sitting room, pouring out the secrets of his lineage, he had seemed so sincere.
Luca’s forehead creased. ‘I think it’s less about him lying to you and more about him lying to himself. The Marinos have always been different from the other families. We’ve never shared a history of respect with them.’
‘Are you still at war … in a “blood war”?’ I amended, wondering at the sick turn in my stomach, at the way my panic flared at the thought. How strong were the Marinos now? How close were they to the Falcones? Just how bloody was a blood war?
‘No. Not for a while now.’ Luca’s face was pale and drawn; he looked tired of standing, tired of talking. He sat down, tucking his boots under the bench and leaning forward. He steepled his fingers in front of his lips, thinking. I was struck by the memory of Valentino – how alike they were in that moment, one in my memory, the other beside me. I stayed standing, curious now that I was steeped in their history. I circled the room, scanning names I couldn’t pronounce and Roman numerals that made no sense.
‘That’s good, I suppose, that there’s peace,’ I said.
I couldn’t see Luca’s face, but the back of his head jerked, and he snorted. ‘A truce is only as good as its sincerity. Once my mother’s sister has rebuilt her wealth and the Marino membership, she’ll come out of the woodwork.’
‘Maybe she won’t. Maybe she wants peace too. That’s what most people want.’ Well, most sane people.
‘Peace or not, there’s an old Falcone saying: “Never turn your back on a Marino”.’
‘Ah, a family saying,’ I said. ‘Kind of like “A Lannister always pays his debts”.’
He swivelled around, re-planting his feet on the ground closest to me. He cocked his head. ‘What?’
I raised my hand to him. ‘Don’t act like you’ve never seen Game of Thrones, Luca. Nobody likes a liar.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Trust you to lower the seriousness of the conversation.’
‘I was contributing,’ I countered. ‘It’s not like I have a family motto to offer.’
‘What a shame,’ he said drily.
‘If I did, it would probably be something like “When all else fails, play dead”.’
‘That’s idiotic.’
‘Tell that to possums. They know what they’re at.’
‘Well, it’s nice to know I don’t have to worry about you when you’re out there on your own.’ I could almost taste the sarcasm in the air.
My laughter surprised me. It hung in echoes around us, making the room seem bigger and colder.
Luca’s eyes grew in surprise, two sapphires sparkling in the dimness. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Just the thought of you worrying about me. Or, well, anything, really.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘How low your opinion of me is.’
I circled the bench, zeroing in on his grandfather’s inscription. I could sense him turning with me, following my movements. How long had we been in here by now? And why was I so eager to traverse the walls of history in his company?
‘They were hoping I would be just like him,’ he offered into the silence. I pressed my lips together, surprised at his willingness to surrender information to me, to want to talk to me about something real, something important. ‘Gianluca Falcone was the capo di tutti i capi, the boss of all bosses. My grandfather had marked me that day in the hospital, before he died.’
‘Do you want to be like him?’ I asked, turning to study him.
A subtle tilt of the chin, and then, quietly, he said, ‘Isn’t the answer obvious?’
‘He sacrificed himself so that you would have parents to raise you.’
‘One right doesn’t remedy a thousand wrongs.’
‘You should write a book of quotes.’
He wasn’t smiling. I supposed it was obvious then. Glaringly obvious, if you knew where to look – Luca had abstained from the role handed down to him by his father, the role they all wanted him to undertake. He had given it away, but not entirely. He was still the underboss. Conflicted, dreaming, but ultimately trapped. What was there to smile about?
‘What do all the numbers mean?’ I read his grandfather’s Roman numeral aloud. ‘One hundred and thirteen? Is it some kind of ranking system?’
Luca stood up, the earlier exhaustion fading from his face. ‘You can read Roman numerals?’
‘I’m pretty smart, I’ll have you know,’ I said. ‘Not a nerd, like you. But smart, in the ways that matter.’
He traced the number with his forefinger. ‘This is my grandfather’s kill count.’
The room seemed to darken all of a sudden. I stepped backwards and stumbled against the bench. One hundred and thirteen people. One hundred and thirteen funerals. One hundred and thirteen grieving families. So that was what it meant to be the boss of all bosses. Suddenly Luca’s words took on a whole new weight. He was Gianluca II, his grandfather’s prodigy; the butcher’s legacy. ‘And your family want you to be just like him?’
‘Yes, they do.’ An emotionless answer.
‘And, just how like him are you already?’
Luca glanced sidelong at me, his lips twisting. ‘You really think I’m going to answer that?’
I moved away from him, to another, sparser wall, where there were just two plaques and I didn’t have to think about Luca’s Roman numeral. Or Nic’s. The sign on the right was Felice’s, his death-date yet to be marked. The sign on the left simply read:
EVELINA FALCONE
‘Who’s this?’ I asked.
Luca came to stand beside me. His arm brushed against mine. I could feel the static on my skin. ‘This is Felice’s wall.’
Between the plaques, a ruby encased in silver had been inset into the stone. Protruding from the silver in swirling calligraphy were the letters F on one side, and E on the other. Beneath the ruby it said Sempre.
Luca brushed his fingers along the words, translating. ‘Always.’ And then in a quiet voice, he added, ‘Felice wanted to be interred next to his wife.’ He traced the ruby, reverentially, softly. ‘He engraved her tomb the day he engraved her ring. Every dime he ever earned went into those two rubies and then one of them went with her and it broke his heart.’
‘Where?’ I asked, looking for dates and failing to find them. She wasn’t dead. Yet.
‘She disappeared. She was eight months pregnant with their daughter, and one day she went out and never came back.’
‘Why?’ I asked, though in truth it was not hard to imagine. Felice was, after all, a terrible human being.
‘He’s never said.’ Luca shrugged. ‘He still believes she’ll come back to him some day.’
‘Do you?’
His mouth hardened into a thin line. It sharpened his cheekbones and the clean cut of his jaw. ‘He’s a fool.’
‘A romantic, maybe,’ I tempered, wondering at how bad things must have gotten for an eight-month-pregnant woman to walk out on her husband. Still, being married to a sociopath is no easy feat.
‘No,’ said Luca. ‘A fool.’
I got the sense the topic was closed. I let it be, thinking on Felice with fractionally more empathy than before. Emphasis on fractionally. I guess no one can be painted with just one brush. There is light and shade in all of us, pain and hardship, and some of us rise from it while others are darkened by it. Evelina, I thought, wherever you are, you are probably better off.
Luca sat down on the bench again, his legs stretched out and crossing at the ankles. He was watching me. ‘You’re pale.’
‘I’m always pale.’
‘You’re translucent.’
‘It’s the lighting.’
‘You can go now,’ he offered in what I assumed was his attempt at politeness. It needed work. ‘Millie will probably combust if you leave her out there any longer.’
‘How do you know Millie’s out there?’
His laugh was low and breathy. ‘You’re kidding, right? I could hear you coming from a mile off. You bring a whole new dimension to the word “unsubtle”.’
Why was I still stalling? I backed into the doorway, studying him the way he was studying me – unashamedly. But what was he looking for exactly? I watched the way he slumped his shoulders, the way his elbows balanced on his knees, how his dark brows cast shadows over his bright eyes. In that moment he looked exactly the way I had been feeling. Tired, defeated. Alone. Troubled. ‘Do you … spend a lot of time in here?’
He cocked his head. ‘Why? Are you worried about me?’
‘No!’ I practically shrieked.
‘Good. I’d hate to think you were going soft.’
‘Never.’ Well, that’s where giving a crap gets you. With as much haughtiness as I could muster I marched through the doorway, but something stopped me and I dug my heels in. I couldn’t help it; I had to know. I peeked around the doorway, curiosity bubbling up inside me.
He was still staring in my direction.
‘Why didn’t you ask me about my uncle?’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t ask me if I knew where Jack was. But you must be wondering. Especially, you know, after what happened.’
Without so much as blinking, he said, ‘I already know where he is.’
My jaw dropped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Why didn’t you ask?’
I came back into the room, my energy spiking. ‘Where is he?’
‘Well, we don’t know exactly where he is yet. But we have a pretty good idea of who he’s with.’
‘Who?’
‘You better not go looking for him.’
‘Of course not,’ I lied.
‘You’re lying. It’s written all over your face.’
‘I’m not lying, I’m just stressed!’
Luca thought about it for a moment. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he asked, his voice half-sigh, half-frustration. ‘Where is the one place that Jack would go, the one place he would seek refuge from us?’
Oh. Oh. Well that explained the little history lesson earlier.
Luca watched the realization dawn. He pulled his lips back, revealing the feral tips of his canines. ‘And if he is there,’ he said, ‘if they are truly aiding and abetting a known Falcone enemy, then, once again, the truce is broken.’
‘Shit.’
‘The question is,’ Luca said, leaning back on his palms and hunching his shoulders, ‘if we’re right about where Jack is hiding, what exactly is Donata Marino getting out of the arrangement?’
‘So you really haven’t been following me, then,’ I muttered. I didn’t mention Purple Hair. If she was his enemy, the news would just unsettle him. I already had enough to worry about now, without confirming the Marinos had gone ahead and danced all over whatever truce they had had with the Falcones.
Luca’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ He stood up. ‘Why would you say that?’
I backed up a little. Now was not the right time to be pouring fuel on the fire – breaking open that old wound before I knew what it even meant. Besides, I could be wrong … I could be. Purple Hair could be anyone. ‘It’s just … with Nic showing up in my garden the other night, I was wondering if there was a plan or something …’ I trailed off.
Yup. That ought to smooth things over.
Rage flashed across Luca’s face as he took a step towards me. ‘Nic did what?’
Or not.
‘Um, never mind,’ I said, turning into the main passageway. ‘I have to find Millie.’
Luca cut in front of me. ‘You need to tell me about this.’
‘Why?’
He blinked at me. ‘What do you mean “Why”?’
‘Why do you care?’
‘I care about the movements of my brother when they go against explicit family orders and when they endanger someone else. Don’t be so smug about it, Sophie. This is serious.’
‘Oh, I’m smug because I won’t tell you my personal business? Well, excuse me.’
‘Sophie, this isn’t a game,’ Luca warned. I could tell he was fighting to keep his voice level. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why the hell was he always calling me stupid?
‘Oh, this isn’t a game?’ I repeated, seeing red. ‘You think I don’t know that? Did you forget who else was in that warehouse with you? I remember every damn second of that night!’
‘Then take this seriously!’
‘I couldn’t be taking it more seriously if I tried,’ I hissed, raising my palm so he could see the jagged cut. ‘I haven’t slept in weeks. My mother is a zombie. Don’t you dare preach to me about the seriousness of all this. You have no idea what your family has done to me. And I don’t care who you are, you have no right to demand to know my business!’
He came closer, tension rippling from him. ‘I have a right when it involves my family.’
I had to tip my head back to look at him. ‘You’re not my underboss, Luca. I don’t owe you a thing.’
I pivoted around him, expecting resistance, but he let me go, his expression crumpling with something I couldn’t place.
‘Oh, so you yell at me about everything that happened!’ he shouted after me. ‘But you meet him in your garden like some pathetic reincarnation of Romeo and Juliet!’
I swatted his words over my head as I marched away from him.
‘In case you didn’t realize, Sophie, that play was a satire! You’re not meant to aspire to it!’
‘The way you’re talking right now, you’re aspiring to my fist in your face!’ I yelled over my shoulder. I reached the door but he was there in a flash, sliding in front of me. He was so tall. So broad. So immovable. ‘Move,’ I hissed. ‘Or I swear to every god and planetary system I will hit you in your smug face.’
‘Sophie,’ he said. His voice was deceptively controlled, but his blazing eyes told a different story. ‘You saved my life. You threw your body on top of mine to stop Jack from killing me. So don’t think I’m not grateful or appreciative of what you did when I tell you that you are acting like a complete moron.’
He caught my wrist before my hand connected with his cheek.
‘Don’t,’ he growled.
‘Let go of me,’ I huffed.
He released me, and my arm fell to my side with a dull thud. I took a gasping breath.
Luca’s gaze was hard and shining. I felt like it was crushing me. Whatever he was about to say, I sure as hell didn’t want to hear it. I pushed past him and heaved the door open, bounding down the steps.
Millie was lying on the grass by the lake, taking a selfie. ‘Well, finally,’ she groaned, clambering to her feet. ‘What the hell took you so— Holy crap, Soph. Watch out! Luca Falcone is behind you!’
‘I know.’
‘Oh.’ She started circling us. ‘Wait a second … What’s going on here? What were you two doing in there for so long?’
I led the way through the trees. Millie trailed after me.
Luca followed us. ‘I don’t know how many times I have to say it to you before you get it through your skull!’ he pressed. ‘He’s not good for you, Sophie!’
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ Millie jumped in front of me. I halted, and behind me Luca skidded to a stop. ‘Is there some kind of … jealousy going on here?’
Luca rolled his eyes. ‘Per l’amor di Dio. Don’t be ridiculous.’
I started marching again. ‘Maybe it’s OK to care about someone and to have them care about you,’ I snapped. ‘Maybe the world won’t end. Not that you’d know, of course, because you don’t need anyone when you have your precious, arrogant self!’
‘Yeah, that must be it. I’m bitter and alone and I don’t know what love is. And you’re living in your little world of denial and it’s going to end up putting you in the ground because I guarantee no matter how long you hang around him, when the chips are down, he’ll choose his family over you.’
‘Holy Moses.’ Millie was huffing beside me. ‘What the hell happened between you two?’
Luca’s string of Italian curses filtered into hurried English. ‘My brother’s idiocy has, once again, rubbed off on your best friend.’ He wasn’t even panting, unlike me and Millie, who were marching so fast I was fighting the urge to clutch my ribs and double over. ‘Or maybe it’s the other way around.’
‘OK, that’s it!’ I skidded to a halt and closed the distance between us. I prodded him in the chest. ‘Luca Falcone, if you say another word about me—’
‘What?’ He swatted my finger away. ‘What are you going to do to me?’
All the anger bubbling inside me collided. I squashed it, speaking calculatedly and slowly as I stared at the shards of turquoise in his eyes. So I was stupid, naïve, moronic – he had told me a thousand times already – but at least my conscience was clear, and he had no right to judge me when his wasn’t. ‘I’m not a fool, Luca,’ I said, my lip curling. ‘Don’t treat me like one. If you had let me finish instead of flying off the handle, you would know that I sent your brother away when he came to see me. No matter what I feel about him or ever felt, he looks at the world and sees murder and bloodshed, and I deserve a life with love and peace. I’ve been through enough. I’ve seen enough.’ I could feel my voice cracking, so I pushed harder, so he wouldn’t hear it. ‘The truth is, he’s broken,’ I said. ‘You all are.’
Luca faltered backwards. It reminded me, for one horrifying instant, of the moment he had been shot in the warehouse. His shoulders slumped, his arms went slack and he just stared at me. I had wiped the sneer off his face, and still my throat was wobbling. Water was pooling in the backs of my eyes.
Millie tiptoed into the space between us. ‘Oookay,’ she said. ‘For reasons unclear to me, that got a bit heated. Let’s just take it down a notch, and discuss this like adults.’
I didn’t notice how hard I was panting until I tried to catch my breath.
‘Forget it,’ said Luca, turning from us. ‘I’m done. You’re on your own, Gracewell.’
‘Fine. Good.’
He disappeared through the break in the trees.
‘Sophie.’ Millie dropped her voice. ‘I think you have a problem.’
I swallowed another offending quiver and mashed my words together. ‘I know. I’m pretty sure the Marino Mafia family have been following me.’
‘I’m talking about a different kind of problem.’
A single tear slid fast and hard down my cheek. I wiped it away. ‘The switchblade is gone,’ I said. ‘So it’s done.’
She was still staring at the trees. ‘This is not what I meant by closure.’