Mafiosa

‘Are you feeling sad?’

‘A little,’ I admitted.

She handed the jar to me and I unfurled another piece of paper.

‘When my dad told us we were moving to Chicago I cried for six nights straight. If I had known you were waiting somewhere on the other end for me, I would have leapt on to the plane and never looked back. I thank the universe every day for giving me a friend as good and loyal and kind as you.’

‘Oh,’ I said, wiping a rogue tear. ‘That’s so lovely. And now I’m crying.’ I dived at her, wrapping her in a big hug that pushed us both backwards on the bed. ‘Thank you,’ I said, squeezing her tight. ‘Thank you so much, Mil. I love it! It’s so wonderful and thoughtful and perfect.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She blew her hair out of her face. ‘Sheesh, anyone would think you’d never got a gift before.’

‘None like this.’ I sat up and placed the Mason jar on my bedside table, smiling at all the loveliness inside it. All those tiny bright sparks for me. I would read them all tonight, just in case.

‘It’s about hope,’ Millie said. ‘It’s about happiness. It won’t always be like this,’ she said quietly. ‘I just wanted you to remember that.’

I couldn’t look at her face any more. I was sitting beside my best friend and I was lying to her. Even by not saying anything, I was misleading her. ‘Thank you.’ I knitted my hands together, studying my fingernails. Tomorrow, one way or another, there would be blood on them.

She grabbed my hand, covering it with hers. ‘We’ll always have each other, Soph. And that’s the most important thing of all.’ Her smile held the promises of tomorrow.

‘You’re so sappy, Mil.’ I pulled her in for another hug, keenly aware that it might be the last one I ever gave her. I was determined to make it count.

‘Oh, you love it.’ She hugged me back just as strongly, until my breath came out in laboured wheezes.

‘I know,’ I huffed, blinking back the tears.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

STARLESS NIGHT

Christmas Eve passed mostly in silence. Gino made a snowman in the back garden and Dom kicked its head off before he could stick a carrot on for the nose. They ended up brawling on the ground, making an impressive, if inadvertent, pair of snow angels. Elena watched them from the window, a sad smile painted across her face.

CJ came along and demolished the rest of the snowman, and Dom chased him all the way to the barn before wrangling him into a headlock and smashing a snowball into his hair. Gino rolled to his feet and started rebuilding his snowman. Nic went outside with a carrot and helped him. I watched from the window, drinking hot chocolate and feeling a pinch of sympathy for Gino. Like Luca, he didn’t belong here either, but he was too blissfully unaware to see it. At least, I hoped he was.

‘They’re good boys,’ Elena said quietly. It was the first thing she’d said all evening. ‘They’re like their father.’

I realized she wasn’t talking to me.

Dinner wasn’t exactly a joyful affair, but Elena and Paulie still managed to make an incredible spread for everyone. ‘The Feast of the Seven Fishes,’ Gino told me, ‘is going to be unlike any eating experience you’ve had up until now.’

He was right.

It was my first Italian Christmas Eve, and despite the thundering fear of all that still lay ahead, I found my appetite was in surprisingly good shape, probably owing to the mouthwatering selection of food neatly arranged across the dining room table. There was salted cod and clams casino, deep-fried calamari, lobster salad, marinated eel, salmon rillettes with breadsticks for dipping, and my favourite dish – grilled shrimp with chilli, coriander and lime. There were salads and baked bread, a seafood stew, and bowls of freshly made tagliatelle in a creamy mushroom sauce. For dessert, Gino made rainbow cookies with gelato, and Elena made cannoli – pastry shells stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese that melted in your mouth.

There was so much decadence and care in every dish that I found myself wishing that, just once, my father had embraced his roots so we could have experienced something like that when I was growing up.

We sat down to eat at nine p.m. Luca raised his glass – water – and we all followed suit, a mismatch of whiskies and red wine and vodka soaring towards the ceiling.

‘Salute,’ was all he said. He had been quiet all day, hidden in his office, going over plans and layouts.

‘Salute,’ we replied as one.

‘The Last Supper,’ said Gino. He smiled at his mother – it was the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. Elena shut her eyes tight, and when she opened them again they were clear.

No one answered him.

We picked up our forks and started eating.

After dinner, I stayed behind with Dom and Gino to clear up. Luca had arranged for a priest to come out to the house to celebrate midnight Mass – a Christmas tradition the Falcone family refused to miss, even if we weren’t able to risk going to a church to experience it. After Mass, there was confession for those who wanted it. Every single Falcone availed themselves of it. The significance wasn’t lost on me.

I was washing a pot in the sink when Luca appeared behind me, his hand light against my lower back. I jumped, and it fell from my hands. He grabbed it by the rim before it could clatter into the sink.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, just above my ear.

It took everything in my power not to lean back into him and close my eyes. We hadn’t been this close since Valentino passed away.