Inferno(23)

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.’