Inferno(18)

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then why ask when you know how sour it will make things?’

‘Because if we don’t know who’s hiding him, we don’t know who might be coming for us.’

‘Has your family been following me?’ I asked, as the purple-haired girl dropped into my mind. ‘Do you think I’ll lead you to him or something?’

‘What are you talking about?’ he countered, bewilderment creasing his forehead. ‘Of course we haven’t. I promised you we’d never do that again.’

‘And yet here you are, still trying to get information out of me!’

Nic muttered an Italian curse. ‘Come on, Sophie. I was just asking.’

I turned from him. ‘I’m going inside now.’

‘Wait.’ He skirted around me, his frame suddenly wide and tall in the doorway. ‘This kind of went off-track.’

‘Did it?’ I asked, crossing my arms in front of me. ‘Or did you just forget to be less obvious about it this time?’

He took a step, and before I knew it, his hands were on my arms. His shoulders slumped, defeated. ‘I’m an idiot. I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I just wanted to see you.’

I knew if I stayed this close to him for another minute, if I let my defences drop any further, then I’d be the world’s biggest idiot. ‘Goodnight,’ I said, sliding out from beneath his grip.

By the time I’d shut and locked the kitchen door behind me, he was gone and the sensor light had flickered out. I pressed my forehead against the window and wondered how badly he had wanted to see me tonight and how deeply he needed to know about Jack. Had it been desperation or longing that drove him to me?





CHAPTER EIGHT

THE MANSION



The next phase of my mildly successful social rehabilitation was to meet Millie at the diner after her morning shift ended. I had texted her about Nic’s garden visit right after it happened. The entire incident was, in my best friend’s measured response, a ‘giant no-no’, a mistake that necessitated ‘further and immediate action’. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get the Falcones out of my head, but I was glad she was willing to help me.

It was surprisingly difficult to navigate the familiar streets of Cedar Hill, counting the breaths as I heaved them out, trying to make myself look ahead instead of at the pavement.

I clutched the switchblade, trying not to think of my mother who was still at home, tethered to our house. I tried not to replay the watery smiles, the shifting gazes, the way she kept looking past me for the possibility of danger.

At the end of Lockwood Avenue, I stopped walking and peered up at the turrets of the old Priestly house. The driveway was empty and a chain hung around the gates, linking them closed. I pushed them as far apart as they would go and slipped through. I still had time to kill, and even now, after all this time, there was something about the house that called to me. It was time to say goodbye to it for good.

Stray leaves littered the porch. I had to stop myself from brushing them away. They would only gather again. The back garden was as it had been during my last visit. The grass was almost as tall as my knees, and chunks of old fountain and wooden tables were strewn across the lawn. I pressed my nose against the patio doors, studying the kitchen. The last time I was here Valentino was sketching at the table, Felice was pontificating about an Italian murderer and I was hovering in the middle of a lethal family rivalry without knowing it. The family crest was hanging somewhere else now.

I stumbled backwards. My throat had grown tight, and out of habit I clutched at my ribs. I couldn’t tell if my visit was helping or not, but the sudden sense of closure was overwhelming.

I circled the house again. In the driveway I stared up at the old turrets, feeling a stirring sadness in my bones. It felt peculiar, standing alone in the grounds of a place that had brought such great passion and grave danger into my life. Jack’s dealings with the Falcones were forged long ago in the underbelly of Chicago, but my time with the Falcones had taken root here, in the driveway of this lonely old mansion.

I pulled Luca’s switchblade from my pocket and rotated it in my hand. Underneath, the jagged cut in the centre of my palm glowed red. This knife was the last piece of them. I could leave it here with the rest of my memories, but somehow it didn’t seem right. To drop it in a place they would never revisit seemed like cheating. I would return it to Luca, or at least to somewhere he would find it.

I stuffed it back in the pocket of my shorts and turned for the diner, trailing my fingers along the tree bark as I retreated down the driveway.