I leapt from the chair, slid across the conservatory floor and screamed at the top of my lungs.
Everyone in the garden turned around. There was a sudden cacophony of muttering. Sara was lying on the grass, one cheek facing the sky, her face so badly swollen I could barely make out her eyes. CJ was standing again, the gun dangling by his side. He was glaring at me.
Felice stepped off the grass and stalked towards me. Valentino turned around. His icy gaze bored holes in me. Whatever bravery had just coursed through me was spent. I clamped my fists together so the Falcones wouldn’t see them shake.
Luca came to stand in front of me and raised his hands to Valentino. ‘Sorry, brother,’ he said. ‘I’m taking them home. She got lost.’
Luca made to pull me away again, but I stalled. Trouble or no trouble, I had come this far and I still wasn’t dead. I shoved him out of my way so we could stand side by side at the entrance. I pointed at Sara. ‘I’ve come down here to get her. We’re all going home together.’
Sara heaved her head up, and I saw her eyes grow wide above her swollen cheeks. She didn’t speak – she couldn’t – but I could read the desperation in her eyes, I could feel it in the fear that pulsed between us as we stared at one another.
Help me.
I will.
Felice broke the stunned silence. He threw his head back at the sky and released a laugh, the sound forcing itself from his throat like he was choking. He made a show of wiping the tears from under his eyes; even in his manic amusement I could feel his grief as though it was gripping me by the throat. ‘This girl has a death wish, Valentino. She seems to constantly exhibit this unyielding desire to be killed.’
‘Maybe we should grant it, then,’ said Elena. ‘Since she keeps getting in the way.’
I could feel Nic behind me, bristling. He moved around us and stepped into the garden to where his mother was standing with her arms folded. ‘We’re going,’ he told her. ‘Don’t say things like that. She’s not going to be a problem for us.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Oh, Nicoli,’ she said. ‘Sei un pazzo in amore.’
Felice tutted. ‘Our Nicoli, I truly thought you had a better handle on your affairs. You’re so much more … effective when she’s not around. Look at you now, standing on the periphery of something you should be directing. Your cousin needs you. Show him how to use the gun. Show him the pretty tricks you can do.’
‘Basta!’ Valentino raised his hand in the air. ‘This is not a situation any of us should be making light of, Felice. I’d caution you, once again, to remember your place in this family.’
The mood was souring, and fast, the sharp edge of the Falcones’ collective grief cutting into the air.
‘You mean my place in this nursery you’re running? This is, yet again, another juvenile matter that has been ill-handled. You are like young volcanoes – constantly erupting with these ludicrous emotions. When was the last time an Americano got free rein to run around this house? Giammai!’
Valentino’s voice fell deadly quiet. ‘And what concern is that of yours?’
Felice was nonplussed. ‘I show concern in matters that undermine the status of this family, nephew.’
There was a collective intake of breath.
Valentino bared his teeth. It seemed for a moment like he was going to launch himself at Felice and tear his throat out.
A man with thick, jet-black hair stepped out of line. He was tall and broad, but moved with a strange fluidity, almost like a dancer. He was the perfect mixture of Angelo and Felice – lithe and narrow, with warm, dark eyes. ‘Felice, remember to whom you’re speaking. You should amend your tone accordingly.’
‘And your words,’ added Dom.
Felice addressed the tall man with venom. ‘I don’t need your caution, Paulie. I remember. He’s our brother’s child.’
‘He’s your boss,’ said Luca, forgetting about me and stepping into the garden to join the others. He stopped beside Valentino. It was a telling show of solidarity: the underboss and the boss, side by side, united against the consigliere. Cracks, I realized. They’re everywhere. No wonder Felice’s wife had run a mile. ‘You would do well to remember the Falcone order, Felice.’
Felice’s smile was mirthless. ‘How could I ever forget? Angelo’s decision to—’
‘Enough.’ Valentino cut him off. ‘You’ve displayed enough theatrics for one night.’
‘You insult me,’ said Felice, turning dangerously quiet. ‘I have lost my brother tonight. Avenging his death should not be considered a display of theatrics.’
Valentino’s tone was cutting. ‘We will speak later, in private, when you don’t have your audience.’
A ripple of unease travelled through the waiting Falcones. There was a sudden chill in our midst and instead of mistrustful eyes being trained on me, they were directed inwards, at each other.
Sara Marino and CJ were forgotten on the grass. Now the attention was deflected from him, CJ didn’t seem interested in the girl or the gun. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
‘Enough of this,’ said Elena, coming to stand beside Luca and Valentino. They were cut from her cloth – the same bright blue eyes and high cheekbones – none of that golden warmth Nic had inherited from his father. ‘Sort this nonsense out, we have our vengeance to exact tonight.’
Murmurs of agreement swept through the garden.
‘You can’t kill your sister’s child.’
For a second I thought the words were mine; that they had sprung from my brain just as I had begun to conjure them. I might have convinced myself, if it wasn’t for the faint British accent with which they were said. Millie came to my side and laced her fingers through mine. I could feel them shaking. ‘Let her come with us.’
Elena’s composure imploded. ‘Enough, son! You must do something about them. The Gracewell girl, surely. The level of—’
It was Paulie who cut her off. ‘Elena, you know this girl saved your son’s life. Let us not spill more blood than is necessary tonight. It was not Angelo’s way.’
There it was. My bargaining chip. ‘You owe me a life, Valentino,’ I called out, squashing my internal freak-out. I gestured at Sara. ‘Her life for Luca’s in the warehouse. Let her go.’
Valentino raised his brows, surprise twisting on his lips. ‘That’s not really how this works.’
‘This is turning into a circus!’ Felice had retrieved his gun from CJ and was standing on the grass again, tapping his foot. ‘Let the boy shoot the Marino girl and be done with it.’
‘No!’ Millie and I both shouted. Millie had her phone in her hand now. It didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the Falcones. Even if they got to her before she could speak to an operator, a 911 hang-up was enough. Her plan was a lot braver than mine, but I wasn’t convinced it was a smarter one.
Paulie started towards us and we stumbled back into the house.
Nic edged closer. ‘Millie, don’t.’
She lifted the phone to her ear. ‘I’ll do it if you don’t let that girl go.’
‘You also know you’ll regret it.’ His words were underpinned by the terrible truth. If she broke omertà, she would forfeit her life, or that of someone close to her.
Nic stopped at the doorway. Paulie stood next to him, while the others peered through the glass. It was OPERATION: DISARM THE GIRLS.
‘The girl is not going to die,’ said Paulie.
‘You’re lying.’
He raised his hands in supplication. ‘Valentino is sending a message to the Marinos. He won’t kill Sara. They are cousins, you know. Felice just gets carried away – he’s grieving. He has given you an exaggerated impression of what’s going on here.’
‘I know he wants CJ to kill her,’ I said. ‘I know the truce was broken. But I also know that killing Sara Marino is only going to make this entire situation worse. She’s innocent, and everyone in this garden knows it.’
There wasn’t a single murmur of disagreement at that, but unea
sy gazes travelled inwards, shoes now shuffling against the grass and frowns rippling through the crowd of Falcones.
Paulie’s expression was serene. ‘You and I both know that what happens to Sara is not Felice’s decision. Valentino measures his decisions. Felice exaggerates.’
‘Has he exaggerated her injuries too?’
‘They’re superficial.’ There was something soothing about Paulie’s manner, too. It was in the way he talked. I found myself wanting to believe him. ‘She won’t come to any harm.’
‘She’s already been harmed,’ said Millie. She was still clutching her phone, and the Falcones were all staring at it like it was a bomb.
I looked into the garden. Valentino’s face had settled into that veil of careful impassivity. ‘I give you my word,’ he said. ‘If you leave now and promise not to alert the authorities, we’ll release Sara. A life for a life.’
‘How do we know that?’ asked Millie.
‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘We have nothing to base that trust on.’
A mirthless smile lifted his mouth from its hard line. ‘Millie, you and I are having this conversation in front of a fleet of assassins who would end your life right now if I asked them to. There would be no witnesses and your bodies would never be found.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Base your trust on that.’
‘Send her home with us, then,’ said Millie.
‘We can’t send her with you. She has to be escorted to Donata’s people with a Falcone emissary. We are entering into strict negotiations.’
‘Of the warehouse variety?’ I asked.
Valentino pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘No, not of the warehouse variety. Of the Sicilian negotiation variety.’
A part of me knew what those negotiations might be. They had someone the Marinos wanted, and the Marinos had someone the Falcones wanted. Jack. But I couldn’t think about my uncle now – he knew the stakes, he had made his bed. My immediate concern was Sara, making sure she was safe, making sure she had a chance to live the life she dreamt of, to find the hint of freedom she had envied in me.
Millie and I glanced at each other. How could we know for sure, if they weren’t prepared to guarantee her release to us? What did it even matter? We didn’t have a bargaining position. We had a phone with six per cent battery, the flighty affections of Nic and the passing gratitude of Luca for saving his life once. The others could kill us if they wanted to. We were already pushing our luck.
‘Don’t get involved in this, girls,’ said Paulie. He had the largest eyes I had ever seen. ‘It’s not your fight. This is not your world.’
Luca was on the grass now. He picked Sara up, sliding his arms underneath her elbows. She got to her feet, wobbling. He brushed the matted hair from her face and started speaking to her. She was crying. He held her against his side and brought her away from the others.
I turned to Nic. ‘Are they telling the truth, Nic? Will they let her go?’
He closed the distance between us and took my hand, right there in front of his entire family and his horrible mother, and squeezed it. I was so stunned I let him. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Valentino will let her go.’
I could see only him then – the golden flecks inside his eyes, the quiet sureness in the quirk of his mouth, all that warmth he exuded. ‘Let me get you out of here,’ he said. ‘Let me take you home.’
Millie lowered her phone. It dangled by her side, a weapon re-holstered. She shrugged, even her smallest movements showing her exhaustion. ‘I think I believe them, Soph. I believe Nic.’
Outside, Luca had started to untie Sara’s hands. Luca would take care of her. Luca would set her free just as he had done for me when I’d been kidnapped.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So do I.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE BODY
BODY OF MARINO TEENAGER PULLED
FROM LAKE MICHIGAN
A BODY FOUND IN LAKE MICHIGAN has been identified as Sara Marino, the nineteen-year-old daughter of rumoured Mafia boss and tabloid regular Donata Marino (formerly of the now-defunct Genovese crime family).
Authorities arrived on the scene yesterday morning, after being alerted by a local fisherman who came across the body at the edge of the lake just after 8 a.m.
According to the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office, the cause of death is currently under investigation. It is not believed to have been accidental.
A family spokesman confirmed the loss to reporters yesterday evening, saying, ‘We are deeply saddened to lose our beloved Sara. She was a creative and compassionate individual with a bright future ahead of her. We will stop at nothing to determine the events leading up to her death.’
The statement comes less than a week after the infamous Eden nightclub brawl, where a member of a rival Sicilian mob, Calvino Falcone, lost his life. Donata Marino, the club’s owner, was taken into custody but was later released without charge. CCTV footage from the event was unavailable due to a systems malfunction in the nightclub. Police are appealing for witnesses to come forward.
Neither family has been forthcoming with statements. The FBI have pointed to the murder of convicted murderer Rico Falcone at Stateville Correctional Center earlier today as a possible sign of Marino retribution, raising further suspicion that a war is brewing in the criminal underworld.
The Marino crime family, known colloquially as the Black Hand Mob, is among the five largest Mafia families in Chicago. The hostility between the Falcones and the Marinos was famously brought to public attention during the Chicago crime spree of 1987, which was marked by the Falcone murder of Don Vincenzo Marino, boss of the Marino family, and his wife Linda Harris in their family home. Their sons, Vince Jr and Antony, disappeared after the attack. Over the course of the feud, many Falcones and Marinos lost their lives, while just three arrests were made. The blood war was reignited several years later with the suspected Marino murder of Don Gianluca Falcone outside Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Though recent times have seen a tradition of peace between Chicago’s foremost criminal families, the events of this week point to the resurgence of their violent rivalry.
Sara Marino was the youngest of five children. Her brothers include Marco, Libero and Franco Marino, who is currently serving life in prison for murder. Her sister, Zola Marino, was recently released from prison after serving a six-year sentence for manslaughter. Sara was active on the Eden club scene and had recently deferred a course to study music at the University of Chicago. She did not have a criminal record.
Funeral details have not been released.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAGE
Those lying bastards.
I laid the newspaper back on the table. My mother was bustling around behind me. Grease crackled in the frying pan and the kitchen smelt like bacon. I excused myself and went upstairs two steps at a time. I locked myself in the bathroom and threw up.
I brushed my teeth and re-tied my hair, blinking at my pale reflection.
Why did you believe him?
You stupid girl.
Inside my bedroom, I stuffed the edge of my pillow into my mouth and screamed and screamed and screamed.
Those black-hearted, cold-blooded killers.
I could have wrung Nic’s neck. How could he lie so cavalierly like that? He was poison; him and his entire family. No one was safe from their crazed quest for retribution.
I rejoined my mother in the kitchen. She had made eggs to go with the bacon. She was humming to herself, her voice tripping over a melody I didn’t recognize.
I sat down with shaky legs, the after-effects of being sick still stinging in my cheeks. In my mind, I pictured a blank white page.
On the far corner of the table, half-sewn piles of fabric competed for space. A ripped envelope peeked out from under the pile.
My mother set the plates down and sat beside me.
I pulled the letter towards me, scanning it. ‘Our mortgage payment is overdue.’
She plucked the letter f
rom my hand and refolded it inside the envelope. ‘I’m working it out.’
‘Are we out of money?’ I asked, keeping my attention trained on her profile as she crunched on a slice of bacon. ‘Is the diner in trouble?’
‘It’s just a misunderstanding,’ she said, chewing through her words slowly and deliberately. ‘Eat your breakfast. Don’t worry about this boring grown-up stuff.’
Boring grown-up stuff. The newspaper was face down where I had left it, but the headline still pulsed against my brain. I blinked the words away, putting up that blank white page again. I forced myself to eat a forkful of eggs.
‘I should go back to work,’ I said.
My mother passed me the salt shaker. She had painted her nails again. Coral: summery and bright. She had forgotten to do her pinkie. ‘Don’t be silly. You should be out in the sun, having fun.’ Her face relaxed in a placid smile. The crow’s feet by her eyes seemed deeper.
‘I should help out with money,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind …’
‘You don’t need to put the weight of the world on your shoulders. I’ve got it under control.’
Have you? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. There was too much fear and anger raging inside me. It was a struggle to keep it in.
She tapped the side of my plate. ‘Your breakfast is getting cold.’
I chewed on a slice of bacon, trying to ignore the restless feeling in my stomach, the thoughts pushing against my brain. I swallowed the headline and the image of Sara Marino’s lifeless body pulled from a lake, and told my mother how spectacular the food was.
We talked about the garden and the new wooden trellis she had erected against the back wall. We talked about me going back to school soon. We didn’t talk about the mortgage letter again, or all the half-finished projects. We didn’t talk about Jack, or about my father. Lately, it felt like our conversations were defined more by what we avoided than what we discussed. That’s the trouble with trauma – you wear it like a cloak, but to acknowledge it only makes it worse.
Inferno (Blood for Blood #2) Page 14