‘Don’t talk. Don’t make a sound.’
‘I’m not. I didn’t say anything.’
‘And watch out for the vipere,’ he says.
‘Watch out for the what?’
‘Vipere. Sssss. On the stairs,’ he says. He moves his hand like a snake.
‘Vipers? What are you talking about?’
‘Be careful where you put your feet. Vipers are poisonous.’
I stumble about in the dark.
‘What the fuck are they doing on the stairs?’
‘They bask in the sun in the daytime, but sometimes they fall asleep. If you disturb them, they will bite. They’ll fill your leg with venom.’
I grab my burner phone from my bag and use it to light up the stairs. They’re old and overgrown with weeds and wilting flowering plants. We climb past endless lemon trees, tomato plants and olive groves – the scent of citrus and earth. The stairs are crumbling and steep, leading up into nothing. The mountain rises a mile high; I crane my neck, but I can’t see the peak. It disappears into darkness. Some rubble comes loose beneath my feet. I trip and drop my phone.
CRACK.
‘Shit, I think it’s broken.’
I pick it up and run my thumb across the shattered screen. A shard of glass sticks in my skin. It’s smashed beyond repair.
‘Nino,’ I say. ‘Can I have your phone? Mine is totally fucked.’ I don’t want to use my other one; I’d probably break that too.
‘You have my phone. You bugged it, remember?’
‘I didn’t bug it.’
‘You did.’
‘That’s not what it’s called. I downloaded an app to track your location via GPS.’
‘You bugged it,’ he says.
‘Whatever.’
We keep on climbing in the dark. Nino won’t give me his phone. He wants us to be invisible. He thinks the dark is good. The stairs are never-fucking-ending. I didn’t sign up for this mountain climbing. Who am I? His Sherpa? A yak? A dog barks and scares the shit out of me. He’s a yappy little fucker, a hellhound. He jumps up against a wire fence, his eyes flashing bright in the darkness. On second thoughts, I don’t like dogs, especially not dachshunds. Or this one.
I see something long and thin and curving out of the corner of my eye.
‘NINO. LOOK. A VIPER,’ I say.
Nino stops and turns round, then runs down the stairs towards me.
‘What? This? It’s a hosepipe.’
‘Oh. It looked like a snake.’
We keep on climbing for what feels like for ever until the air is thin. I’m getting altitude sickness from the lack of oxygen. My chest heaves, my lungs wheeze. I light myself a fag. I hear my glutes and hamstrings scream: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
I feel a sharp pain on my ankle.
‘ARGH. Something bit me. It bit me, the fucker.’
‘What? Where?’ Nino says.
‘Here. Here. On my foot.’ He turns back and runs towards me again, bending down to take a look. ‘Oh no, wait. It’s a stinging nettle.’
He stands. ‘A fucking plant?’
‘I need to find a dock leaf,’ I say. ‘There’s got to be one around here somewhere.’
‘I told you to be quiet.’
I follow Nino up again. He’s not being very sweet. I’m being attacked from every direction. Some sympathy would be nice.
I sing ‘Poison’ by Rita Ora just to pass the time . . .
‘SHHHHHHH,’ he says.
‘Oh my God, are we nearly there yet? How many more steps?’
‘It’s just at the top of this hill,’ he says, ‘and then round the corner.’
I can’t sing any more anyway. I am out of breath. I just sing inside my head. We climb some more stairs. We turn a corner: shadows, demons, earth, trees, rocks and yet more stairs.
‘Is this where we’re going?’ I say. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Yeah. That’s the point.’
I wish we’d stayed at the beach party. No one would have found us there . . . Actually, what are we doing here? A tall cliff. A sheer drop. The sea and the rocks crash far below us. Is he . . . Will he push me off?
Nino stops and turns round. He walks up to me. It’s dark; I can’t read his expression. Oh shit. What now? Is he going to kill me? I knew it. He is Satan.
I run at him. I’ll get him first. Prevention is better than cure.
‘RAAAAAAAAGH.’
I’ll knee him in the balls. It’s my killer move.
Nino grabs me round the waist. ‘Hey. What are you doing?’
‘Nothing. OW. Get off.’
He twists my arm and holds it behind my back.
‘Why did you do that?’ he says.
‘I don’t know. I thought . . . I thought.’
I look out over the edge of the cliff.
‘I’m not going to push you off. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.’
He sighs and lets me go.
I sit down. Spark another fag. ‘I’m tired. I’ve had enough.’ I refuse to play his mind-fuck game. ‘I want to know what’s going on. I want to know where I am.’
‘I already told you. Ravello,’ he says. He kicks me. ‘Get up.’
‘I can’t. I give up.’ My lungs are bursting. My heart is racing. My clothes are drenched with sea and sweat. I lie back and study the stars. Oh look, is that Orion? ‘Just let me die alone.’
‘If someone sees you, we are fucked. We’ll be all over the news on TV: Italy’s most wanted criminals. You’re not supposed to kill the police.’
‘Well, my legs are knackered,’ I say. ‘This mountain is way too steep.’
‘Minchia. Fucking move.’
He pulls out his gun and sticks it in my neck.
‘There’s no need to be like that.’
‘I told you: get up,’ he says. He pulls my arm and hauls me up.
I fall into him. ‘So, you are kidnapping me.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘You’re protecting me? How sweet. How very romantic.’
This guy. I swear. He’s driving me nuts. But Nino is super hot when he’s angry. And I do like his big gun.
‘If you get caught, then they’ll find me. You’re a liability.’
He shoves his gun in the back of my neck. The metal’s cold against my skin. ‘Fucking move, before it gets light.’
I feel his hand round my waist. I like it when Nino gets cross.
‘Where are we going anyway?’ This had better be good . . .
‘You see that balcony on the hill? The one with all the white statues? That’s where we’re going,’ he says.
Villa Cimbrone, Ravello, Italy
I’ve pulled all the muscles in my legs and I think I’ve slipped a disc, but I stop and peer through the iron gates.
‘Wow. What is this place?’
‘It’s a hotel,’ he says.
‘Oh my God, it’s amazing,’ I say as I step through the gates.
‘I know. Try not to blow it up.’
Old-fashioned lanterns illuminate a garden with a golden yellow glow. Palm trees tower high above and cast wild shadows on the lawn. Ivy climbs and covers the walls. There’s an ancient tower with crumbling brickwork and steps leading up to a wooden door. I follow the path through the beautiful gardens, my fingertips brushing the powder-soft petals and the leaves of tropical plants. This place is fairy-tale. Unreal. There’s a fountain with flying cherubs. Lilies and roses and jasmine flowers. The air smells sweet like Woolies’ pick-and-mix. A bird in a tree sings a song.
‘Oh, Nino, I love it. But . . . why did we come here?’
‘Pietro, he works here. He’s an old friend. He can get us a room on the quiet.’
‘Have you been here before?’ I ask.
‘It’s a good place to hide out.’
We break into the staff quarters. Nino picks the lock on the door. We find a bedroom down the hall, step inside and flick on the light.
‘Oi. Stronzo. Sono io.’
Someone’s sleeping in the bed.
‘Che cazzo? Nino? Vaffanculo. Mamma mia. Che vuoi?’ Pietro wakes up and is blinded. Half naked.
‘Una camera,’ Nino says.
Pietro sits up. He looks at me. Then looks at Nino. They embrace.
He rubs his eyes. ‘Per due persone?’
‘Sì. Sì. E’ per la mia luna di miele,’ Nino says.
‘Perché non puoi prenotare una stanza come tutti gli altri?’
Pietro gets up and walks over to me. He holds out his hand and I shake it.
‘Ciao. Piacere. Auguri,’ he says. He kisses me on both cheeks.
‘Oh. Chow, Chow, Chow,’ I say.
Pietro pulls on a T-shirt and trousers, then leads us to our room; he says it’s the nicest and the biggest. He unlocks the door and I step inside. I gasp. Oh sweet Jesus. It’s even better than I’d imagined. The room is vast and palatial. Stunning. There’s a grand and concave blue painted ceiling. An enormous marble fireplace. There are beautiful ceramic tiles on the polished floor. A black-and-white photo of Greta Garbo hangs on the living-room wall.
‘It’s just dreamy,’ I say.
Pietro bows out of the room.
‘What is “auguri”?’ I ask Nino when he’s gone.
‘Auguri means congratulations.’
‘Oh. Right. I see.’ I study the paintings on the wall. ‘So, why did he congratulate me?’
Because I’m still alive?
‘I told him we got married,’ says Nino. ‘And it was our honeymoon.’
‘Aww. That’s sweet.’ I sit down on the bed. ‘Is Pietro Cosa Nostra too?’
‘No, he just works in the hotel. He’s the only person I know who doesn’t want to kill me.’
‘I don’t want to kill you,’ I say.
Not any more anyway. I feel a bit safer now we’re here. Perhaps I was paranoid before? Fretting over nothing. Nino likes me, I can tell. He really did miss me this week. Was it really all just some Mafia test? A penance or initiation? Like the labours of Hercules, to see if I was badass. I breathe a long, deep sigh of relief and spread out like a starfish on the bed.
Nino turns on the TV news.
I sit up and blink.
Footage of Domenico in handcuffs surrounded by Italian police appears on screen. He’s walking through a crowd of hacks and flashing lights and cameras. There’s a police station. A female reporter. Nino turns the volume up.
‘What are they saying?’ I ask.
He turns to me and shakes his head. ‘That fucking idiot. The cops caught him with Ambrogio’s car. They found the suitcase with the money. Our two million euros. His DNA matches DNA found at the scene of Salvo’s grave as well as your sister’s.’
‘So what . . . they think he did it? Ace.’
‘They haven’t got a clue. Domenico has been arrested. Triple homicide.’
Beth, Salvatore, Ambrogio . . .
‘This is great. This is awesome.’
Nino and I do a high five.
Oh my God, I could kiss him.
I pause and look into his eyes.
‘Have you got any coke?’ I say. ‘We should celebrate.’
‘Sì,’ he says. ‘We should.’
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a see-through bag. It’s filled with snow-white powder.
I look up and frown.
‘You mean you had all this cocaine the whole time I was dying out there. Climbing all those fucking stairs and you didn’t give me any?’
I am going to kill this guy. I wish the cops hadn’t stolen my gun.
‘You didn’t ask,’ he says.
Nino slams the bag of blow on the bedside table. He racks up two long lines with his card, then rolls up a €100 note.
Oh my God, I’ve missed it.
Then I remember my tiny new nose. I haven’t really tried it out. It’s still recovering from that surgery. It hasn’t even been a week. That Romanian mobster punched me in the face. It’s been through the wars, to be honest. I’m not sure if it will work. What if the coke gets stuck? What if my nose is broken?
‘Nino,’ I say, ‘can you blow some coke up my ass, like in that scene in The Wolf of Wall Street?’
‘What?’ he says. ‘No fucking way. You can stick it up your nose like everyone else.’
‘Urgh, you’re so boring,’ I say with a sigh.
‘Me? Boring?’
‘Uh-huh. Oh, Alvie, don’t blow up the cops. Oh, Alvie, don’t steal the Ferrari. Don’t go to the beach party. Don’t make a noise. Don’t blow coke up your ass. Blah, blah, blah.’
We do our lines. Mmm, powdered awesome. My brain lights up like a mega-watt bulb at the top of a Christmas tree.
‘You think I’m boring?’ Nino asks.
‘Yes.’
‘You come with me.’
‘What is it now?’ I ask, standing up. My face has gone numb, like at the dentist’s. At least my nose still functions.
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the room and outside to the garden. He takes me to the back of the hotel to a turquoise swimming pool.
‘Oh wow. It’s stunning,’ I say. ‘Even nicer than Beth’s.’
It’s a pretty kidney shape all lit up with floodlights. It’s surrounded by gardens and palm trees and flowers. The pool looks out over a cliff with a Mediterranean view. It’s super cool and glamorous: the cover of a Hedkandi album.
Nino rips off all his clothes and jumps into the water. A tanned back. A white bum. A cock like an anaconda. He dives down deep into the water, then pops back up again.
‘Is this boring?’
‘This is incredible.’
I like him better naked.
We’re Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw in that summer lake in The Getaway.
‘Come on. Get in,’ he says.
I peel off my clothes and walk to the steps. They’re sparkling silver in the light, shining bright like platinum jewels. I dip in a toe. It’s cool and refreshing. I glide down the stairs and into the water. Swim a few strokes. It’s lovely. The water feels soft against my body, skimming my skin like silk bed sheets. I can feel the drugs pulse in waves through my bloodstream. A growing smile plays on my lips.
Nino’s on the far side of the pool, watching me. I feel his gaze. I swim towards him. Now I really want him. Like I’ve never wanted anyone so much in my life. Butterflies are swirling around in my stomach like I’m thirteen again. You know what, I’m glad I didn’t kill him. It would have been such a waste.
Nino dives under the water. His dark form moves across the pool, menacing and dangerous, like a shark or a man-eating fish. Bubbles rise to the surface, then he comes up in front of me. I look into his eyes. They’re dark and flashing. He holds me tight against the edge and finally we kiss. I taste his tongue, his salty lips. I pull his head towards me. His fingers gripping in my hair. His mouth is hungry, eating me. I bite his bottom lip. A warm hand slides along my hip and reaches down towards my clit. The heat from his body is warm on my skin. I moan. It’s been a week.
Then he pulls away.
He spins me round and grabs me from behind. He bites me on the back of my neck. A shiver runs up and down my spine. My cunt is hot and wet. I lean my head back on his shoulder. He reaches round and cups my breasts, my nipples hard, erect. I moan as his hands slide down my belly and I feel rough fingers inside me.
‘Is this boring?’ he says.
Chapter Thirty-one
Nino enters me from behind.
‘A condom,’ I say. ‘I’ve got some ribbed raspberry-ripple flavour . . .’
‘What?’ I’m not sure that’s true . . .
‘Swear to God,’ he says.
He fucks me over the edge of the pool. It’s fine. I’m on the pill. I sink down further on his dick, our bodies pressing tight like glue. The tiles dig into my chest. His dick is pure perfection. I love his cock. I love his smell. Marlboros and chlorine and sweat. Oh yeah.
‘Still bored?’ he whispers in my ear.
‘Oh my fucking God.’
I feel his cock deep, deep inside me. Feel his hot breath on my neck. His strong arms grip my waist like he is never letting go.
‘Oh, baby,’ he says.
‘Say my name.’
‘Which one do you prefer?’
‘Alvie,’ I say.
‘Alvie.’
‘Nino.’
‘Alvie.’
‘Nino. Nino.’
I claw at the tiles with my nails like a cat, stretching and rushing and high. My head is floating far away. Oh man, I love cocaine. Nino pulls me from the edge and pushes my head down underwater. He bends me so my head’s by my knees and I can’t breathe and what?
What the hell is he doing now? Why’s he holding me down? He’s going to drown me, isn’t he? I’ll die, like my twin, at the bottom of a pool.
He keeps on pounding me.
Oh my God, I’m going to die.
I –
I –
I –
I –
I’m going to come so hard.
I try to swim above the water, but I’m stuck firm. He pins me down. I struggle and strain, and feel the air leave my lungs and the oxygen floating away. He pounds me and pounds me and fuck. I’m dizzy and light-headed. My vision’s a blur. I open my eyes, but all I see is blue. I feel his cock against my G spot. I’m going to faint. I can’t take much more. My eyes are closing by themselves.
There’s no more air.
I come.
A flash of dazzling light and I’m blinded. My brain explodes. Ignites.
We come together over and over, again and again and again. My body shakes. I’m gone. I’m wasted. Time and space dissolve, collapse. I watch us as we float away, rising up like phantoms or angels. We dance and glide and soar so high. There’s a light. And a tunnel.
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