Inferno(37)

Jack threw his head backwards, his eyes tearing with amusement. The last time I saw my uncle he was bleeding out on a murky floor, and now here he was with a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I pointed him out to the bouncer. ‘That’s my uncle. I’m here to see him.’

As if remembering some instruction, he stepped aside and ushered us through. Sara was the first to notice me. She was standing apart from most of the group, hovering, an uneasiness permeating her made-up features. She looked exactly how I felt. There was a tall reed of a man shadowing her. He was much older, with salt-and-pepper hair that curled tightly to his head. He had cat’s eyes that tilted upwards at the corner and flashed amber in the dim lighting. His razor-sharp grin was overly curved and entirely mirthless. He was watching me. I looked away. Focus. Sara sidled over and placed a gentle hand on my uncle’s shoulder. He pulled his gaze from his huddle and saw my eyes boring into him.

Jack got to his feet, and before I could stop him he was crushing me into his chest. His drink sloshed against my shoulder and his cigar flickered perilously close to my hair. ‘I’m so glad you came, Sophie. I’ve been so worried about you.’ I pushed him away. Jack gestured to another couch nearby and sat down again. He stubbed out his cigar, patting the space beside him in invitation. ‘Please sit. There’s so much to talk about.’

Understatement.

He looked better than I’d expected, considering the last time I saw him he was basically dying. He was slimline and well dressed in a dark-grey suit. His grey-brown hair had been cut short and he had shaved, making his face appear younger. He was paler than usual, his cheeks absent of their rosy flush, but his eyes were bright.

The woman on Jack’s couch was poised along the edge, her bony fingers laced together on her lap. She was bird-like, with big black eyes rimmed in purple eyeshadow. Donata Marino. Donata Marino was staring at me.

I edged over to the seat. Millie stayed by the entrance, unsure where to put herself. I’ll find you soon, I mouthed at her. I knew she would have wanted to stay, out of solidarity, but I had to talk to Jack without her. He would be reluctant to share his plans in her company and I intended to get all the answers I could.

Millie slipped behind the bouncer and into the paradisiacal surroundings behind us, while I lowered myself on to the couch, keeping closer to Jack than to Donata, who was perched on my left, the stronger of two evils. I felt the coldness of her stare on the side of my cheek.

Jack put his arm around me, encasing me in a cocktail of alcohol and sweat. ‘Thank you for coming.’ He was so sincere, so serious … so like himself, the kind uncle I remembered from my childhood. And yet when I looked at his surroundings, everything blurred again. The two sides of him did not add up, and the version that had walked into that warehouse was the one I had come here to confront.

‘I almost didn’t,’ I said, ducking out of his grasp. ‘And this isn’t meant to be some happy reunion  .’

Jack had the audacity to laugh. ‘Aren’t you at least glad I’m alive?’

‘I never wanted you to die. I don’t think like that.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you would have blown my cover in the warehouse. But you led that Falcone prick away from me and I owe you my life for that. You’re loyal, Sophie, and I’m sorry about the danger I put you in. If I’d have known what would happen I would have sent you somewhere safe. Trust me, I won’t be making that mistake ever again.’

I pressed my lips together, waiting.

‘We have a lot to talk about,’ he continued. ‘I hope once you understand my position, you won’t hate me.’

He made it sound so simple, like the lives of scores of people weren’t balancing on pinheads around us. Like he wasn’t being sheltered by one of the most ruthless families in Chicago. I didn’t even know what to ask first. There was so much to say, and yet now that I was here, sitting beside him, staring at him, I felt tongue-tied. ‘Jack,’ I said, expelling a pent-up sigh. ‘How did it come to this?’

I looked at him imploringly, like a child asking if Santa Claus was real but not really wanting to hear the truth.

‘I wanted a better life.’ His answer was deceptively simple, and not at all what I was expecting. ‘I wanted to rise above my station.’

‘This, Jack,’ I said, endeavouring to be more specific since his answer was so painfully vague. It shouldn’t be this simple – the things he’d done, the drug trafficking, the killing. ‘How did you come to be here?’