Vendetta(25)

“Don’t even think about it,” said Luca. “Just walk away.”

“Two on one isn’t fair,” said Alex, starting to circle the brothers, two of whom were completely spaced-out. Nic hadn’t said a word since Luca pulled him off Alex, and Gino was still having trouble standing upright. I could see Alex sizing them up, zeroing in on their injuries. “You should fight your own battles next time, Gino.”

I came between them. “Alex, just go home,” I said. “This doesn’t need to get any worse.”

He narrowed his eyes at Nic and then Luca, considering his options. Then, reluctantly, he relented. “Fine. Are you coming?” he asked me.

I glanced at Nic. Not without an explanation. “In a minute.”

“They’re bad news, Soph,” he said, his voice laced with confusion. “Why are you taking their side?”

“I’ll just be a minute,” I repeated, trying to ignore the sense of betrayal in his expression.

“Suit yourself. I’m out of here.” Alex started walking away, but not before adding a pointed “You’re lucky!” over his shoulder. I wasn’t sure which of the brothers he was talking to.

“No,” said Luca. “You are.”

Once Alex was out of sight, I turned my attention to the Priestly brothers. Nic was breathing hard, his expression unreadable as he scanned the grass around us. Beside him, Gino’s hair was falling unevenly around his ears, like a lopsided mushroom. He held that same crazy look I had seen out on the court: darting and unfocused. Luca was regarding me calmly.

“We’re going to go now,” he said, as if he were leaving a party, not a brawl.

“What the hell was that about?” I asked, ignoring his flippancy.

“He called me a cheat,” said Gino slowly, like the memory was just dawning on him. He was obviously concussed, but I couldn’t tell what was wrong with Nic, who was still uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes downcast. “He said I played dirty on the court.”

“So what?” I asked.

“So I had to shut his stupid mouth up!” He raised his voice and I registered his pronounced lisp for the first time. It must have been the effect of his chipped teeth.

Luca rolled his eyes. “Relax, Gino.”

“Fighting’s not the right way to shut someone up,” I said, stopping the phrase you moron! before it slipped out. I grabbed Nic’s arm and tugged him away from Luca’s grip. He pulled his attention from the grass and looked up, the embers in his eyes igniting; at last he seemed to register me.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Sophie,” he said quietly. “I was just trying to defend my brother and it got out of control.”

“You think?”

“We’re leaving,” said Luca, gesturing for Nic to follow him. “Come on.”

His dark eyes studied the space around me as he pulled himself away.

“Wait!” I said, following him.

He turned.

“I just saw you pull a knife on Alex. You can’t just walk away from that!” As I said it, I couldn’t quite believe it was true. It was such a dark thing to do.

Nic shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I saw you,” I countered. “You took it from your pocket.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Luca without bothering to turn and look at me. “Come on, Nicoli.”

Nic’s forehead creased with concern. “I think you must have imagined that, Sophie.”

“I didn’t imagine it,” I protested.

Nic wasn’t listening to me. He was giving me that look — the one that adults use when they’re patronizing you — the Mrs. Bailey look. “You had a traumatic incident earlier. I think you need to rest.”

I recoiled from him. “I know what I saw.”

I was angry now. One minute Nic was being lighthearted and attentive, and the next he was pulling a knife on my best friend’s brother and then making me think I was crazy when I questioned him about it.

“We’ll talk about this again, OK?” said Nic.

He gave me a brief nod before turning on his heel, leaving me glaring at the back of his head and wondering if I was going nuts or if he was the most convincing liar I had ever met.

I was about to go back across the courts and find Millie when something along the riverbank caught my attention. I followed the glint, and in a flash I was combing through the grass and picking up the switchblade I had seen Nic pull from his pocket — so this is what he had been looking for. And I had thought his downcast expression was a display of remorse. I felt a strange mixture of triumph and nausea as I turned the blade over in my hand. It was six inches long and razor-sharp. I flicked it closed. The handle was heavy and gold and, in the middle near the base, a crest had been etched into it. It was jet-black and inside it there was a perched eagle carved in ornate flourishes of deep red. Its half-spread wings brushed along the outline.