Inferno(17)

He flinched. ‘OK,’ he said, his voice small and quiet now – barely as audible as the branches rustling around us. ‘Look, I know I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but I was worried about you. I wanted to see you, and sometimes when I get an idea in my head it sort of has to play itself out. It doesn’t mean I’m not still aware of everything that’s happened, all the pain you’ve suffered because of me. Because of my weakness.’

I could almost pinpoint it – that feeling of falling back into him. Already, I had inched closer. I could sense his warmth pressing against the air, his eyes the only thing I could focus on. It was dangerous. It was the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing. ‘If we can only be together at night, hidden like this, whispering so no one can hear us, then we shouldn’t be together at all.’

‘There’s always the future, though.’ His lips parted, his breath hitching as the idea took over him.

I pressed my thumb into my palm and felt the dull sting of the blade’s cut, trying to clear my mind. ‘There will never be a future where my father didn’t kill your father. Where you didn’t try and kill my uncle.’ My voice hardened. ‘After I screamed at you not to do it.’

He shook his head angrily. ‘There will be a future, when this is all behind us.’

‘Behind you, maybe,’ I told him, stepping back so that my back grazed the stray branches of a bush. ‘But not behind me.’

He came towards me, pushing the warmth back into the air. ‘Do you want to talk about it, then? I’ll talk about it until my voice runs out. Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry a thousand times? I am sorry that it hurt you and that it changed the way you look at me. I hate that you look away when I try to get your attention. I hate that you pull away from me when I get close to you. I hate that I can see the moment when you remember your uncle and your voice turns cold. I hate that what my family stands for drove a wedge between us. I hate that that’s how we were brought together. I hate that I’ll always question whether it would have worked if we had been from the same world. I hate that I hurt you, but I had to do what I did. I can’t apologize for that. Jack would have killed Luca. He would have killed me. It was about my family. It was about protection. It’s no different to what your dad did.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ I reeled from his final words. ‘You can’t compare the two like it will get you off the hook or something. You know what my dad did was an accident. That was different.’

‘Was it?’

Had the wind stopped blowing? Suddenly I was back at Felice’s house, staring into Valentino’s cold cerulean eyes, listening to him question everything I knew about my father, about his intentions, about his soul.

Venom dripped from my answer. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

A shadow flickered across Nic’s face, bleeding deeper into the pools beneath his eyes. He ground his jaw and swallowed the words forming in his throat.

My voice went deathly quiet. ‘Do you have something to say?’

‘Never mind.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m tired. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’

‘You’re not the only one who’s tired, Nic.’

‘I know,’ he said, switching back to the Nic I was used to. Calm, quiet, focused. He lifted his arm as if he was going to reach out to me, but then caught it in mid-air and curled his hand into a fist again. ‘It’s hard seeing you and knowing it can’t last. I just … I had to.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I guess we can’t go on pretending the warehouse didn’t happen.’

I shrugged. ‘He survived. You all did. For that, at least, I’m thankful.’

Nic unclenched his teeth. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘What?’

‘Do you know who’s hiding Jack?’ he repeated, his voice softer. Honeyed. As if softness could ever mask his meaning.

I blanched. ‘Nic, this is not something I’d ever discuss with you.’

Something happened – so quick I almost missed it – but his chin snapped up, and his eyes flashed with something. ‘Just give me something, Soph, so we can be prepared. Please.’

‘No,’ I cautioned. ‘Don’t put me in this position.’

‘Is he with the Marinos? That’s what Valentino thinks. But I said there’s no way they’d take him in. It’s Eric Cain, isn’t it? He’s got connections with the Irish mob in Boston. Or are there more? Has the Golden Triangle Gang re-banded?’

‘Is that why you came here?’ I asked. ‘To sweet-talk me into revealing my uncle’s hiding place?’