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.’