Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)

by Catherine Doyle

  ‘I feel sad,’ she said after a moment. ‘Isn’t that strange? I’m only leaving for a few days, but I feel sad that you’ll be here and I’ll be there. Why do I feel so sad?’

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s a sad house, that’s all. It’s this atmosphere. Try not to let it get to you. It’s Christ-mas. There’s no reason for you to be sad.’ I blinked away the threat of tears. The truth was, I didn’t know for sure if I would see Millie again after today. I didn’t know if I would end up in jail, or in the ground. I didn’t know anything any more. I just knew I was walking into the Marino house with my family and helping to put an end to all the wrongdoing we had suffered at their hands.

  ‘We’ll be happy in the new year,’ Millie said, the promise of it shimmering in her eyes. ‘Just hang in there a little longer and then we’ll get out of Chicago.’

  ‘Yes.’ The word was thick in my throat. ‘Of course we will.’

  ‘I got you this.’ She reached inside her coat and pulled out a present. ‘I hope you like it.’

  I reached under the bed and fished her present out, too. ‘It’s not much,’ I said sheepishly, handing it over. It was just a scarf and gloves, and some funny socks. She deserved better. ‘I’m pretty broke and I’ve been confined to online shopping ever since Valentino passed away.’

  Millie ripped open her present and buried her head in the scarf. ‘I love it,’ she whooped, wrapping it around her twice and then taking the gloves to try them on. ‘These are beautiful. I hope you didn’t overspend.’

  I snorted. ‘I appreciate the overenthusiasm.’

  She swatted a glove at me. ‘Open your gift.’

  I opened the purple wrapping paper and a small Mason jar tumbled out. It had a purple cloth lid, and a heart hanging off the twine that encircled it.

  ‘It’s not honey,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t freak out.’

  I picked it up and read the heart aloud. ‘The Happy Jar,’ I said, glancing at her. ‘To be used when you are feeling sad or when you are experiencing Millie withdrawal symptoms.’

  I shook it. There were loads of tiny folded-up pieces of paper inside.

  ‘They’re memories, mostly,’ said Millie. ‘But some are our dreams for the future. And other ones are just compliments that will cheer you up. Like “You have the hair of a fairytale mermaid princess.” Stuff like that.’

  I opened the lid, and shook one piece on to my hand.

  ‘Just one!’ she said, snatching the jar from me and closing it again. ‘You can’t read them all at once. They’re supposed to last for a little while at least.’

  Duly scolded, I unfolded the paper and read the memory scribbled across it.

  ‘Remember that time we snuck into an R-rated movie and when we got caught you told the usher we were twenty-seven because you thought overcompensating would throw him off? He kicked us out and you threatened to sue him for age discrimination.’

  I started giggling. ‘I had forgotten about that.’

  Millie was laughing too. ‘You were so indignant, I almost believed you myself!’

  ‘Can I read one more?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Are you feeling sad?’

  ‘A little,’ I admitted.

  She handed the jar to me and I unfurled another piece of paper.

  ‘When my dad told us we were moving to Chicago I cried for six nights straight. If I had known you were waiting somewhere on the other end for me, I would have leapt on to the plane and never looked back. I thank the universe every day for giving me a friend as good and loyal and kind as you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, wiping a rogue tear. ‘That’s so lovely. And now I’m crying.’ I dived at her, wrapping her in a big hug that pushed us both backwards on the bed. ‘Thank you,’ I said, squeezing her tight. ‘Thank you so much, Mil. I love it! It’s so wonderful and thoughtful and perfect.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She blew her hair out of her face. ‘Sheesh, anyone would think you’d never got a gift before.’

  ‘None like this.’ I sat up and placed the Mason jar on my bedside table, smiling at all the loveliness inside it. All those tiny bright sparks for me. I would read them all tonight, just in case.

  ‘It’s about hope,’ Millie said. ‘It’s about happiness. It won’t always be like this,’ she said quietly. ‘I just wanted you to remember that.’

  I couldn’t look at her face any more. I was sitting beside my best friend and I was lying to her. Even by not saying anything, I was misleading her. ‘Thank you.’ I knitted my hands together, studying my fingernails. Tomorrow, one way or another, there would be blood on them.

  She grabbed my hand, covering it with hers. ‘We’ll always have each other, Soph. And that’s the most important thing of all.’ Her smile held the promises of tomorrow.

  ‘You’re so sappy, Mil.’ I pulled her in for another hug, keenly aware that it might be the last one I ever gave her. I was determined to make it count.

  ‘Oh, you love it.’ She hugged me back just as strongly, until my breath came out in laboured wheezes.

  ‘I know,’ I huffed, blinking back the tears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  STARLESS NIGHT

  Christmas Eve passed mostly in silence. Gino made a snowman in the back garden and Dom kicked its head off before he could stick a carrot on for the nose. They ended up brawling on the ground, making an impressive, if inadvertent, pair of snow angels. Elena watched them from the window, a sad smile painted across her face.

  CJ came along and demolished the rest of the snowman, and Dom chased him all the way to the barn before wrangling him into a headlock and smashing a snowball into his hair. Gino rolled to his feet and started rebuilding his snowman. Nic went outside with a carrot and helped him. I watched from the window, drinking hot chocolate and feeling a pinch of sympathy for Gino. Like Luca, he didn’t belong here either, but he was too blissfully unaware to see it. At least, I hoped he was.

  ‘They’re good boys,’ Elena said quietly. It was the first thing she’d said all evening. ‘They’re like their father.’

  I realized she wasn’t talking to me.

  Dinner wasn’t exactly a joyful affair, but Elena and Paulie still managed to make an incredible spread for everyone. ‘The Feast of the Seven Fishes,’ Gino told me, ‘is going to be unlike any eating experience you’ve had up until now.’

  He was right.

  It was my first Italian Christmas Eve, and despite the thundering fear of all that still lay ahead, I found my appetite was in surprisingly good shape, probably owing to the mouthwatering selection of food neatly arranged across the dining room table. There was salted cod and clams casino, deep-fried calamari, lobster salad, marinated eel, salmon rillettes with breadsticks for dipping, and my favourite dish – grilled shrimp with chilli, coriander and lime. There were salads and baked bread, a seafood stew, and bowls of freshly made tagliatelle in a creamy mushroom sauce. For dessert, Gino made rainbow cookies with gelato, and Elena made cannoli – pastry shells stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese that melted in your mouth.

  There was so much decadence and care in every dish that I found myself wishing that, just once, my father had embraced his roots so we could have experienced something like that when I was growing up.

  We sat down to eat at nine p.m. Luca raised his glass – water – and we all followed suit, a mismatch of whiskies and red wine and vodka soaring towards the ceiling.

  ‘Salute,’ was all he said. He had been quiet all day, hidden in his office, going over plans and layouts.

  ‘Salute,’ we replied as one.

  ‘The Last Supper,’ said Gino. He smiled at his mother – it was the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. Elena shut her eyes tight, and when she opened them again they were clear.

  No one answered him.

  We picked up our forks and started eating.

  After dinner, I stayed behind with Dom and Gino to clear up. Luca had arranged for a priest to come out to the house to celebrate midnight Mass –
a Christmas tradition the Falcone family refused to miss, even if we weren’t able to risk going to a church to experience it. After Mass, there was confession for those who wanted it. Every single Falcone availed themselves of it. The significance wasn’t lost on me.

  I was washing a pot in the sink when Luca appeared behind me, his hand light against my lower back. I jumped, and it fell from my hands. He grabbed it by the rim before it could clatter into the sink.

  ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, just above my ear.

  It took everything in my power not to lean back into him and close my eyes. We hadn’t been this close since Valentino passed away.

  I turned to look up at him. ‘Is everything OK?’

  He moved his hand to the edge of the sink, his body so close we were almost touching. My breath caught in my throat. Dom and Gino were being suspiciously quiet somewhere behind me. Luca dropped his voice. ‘Meet me on the roof after Mass?’ he asked. ‘I have something for you.’

  I offered him a half-smile. ‘I’ll only come if it’s a present.’

  ‘It is. It’s a unicorn.’

  Then he turned and strode out of the kitchen without looking at Gino or Dom.

  ‘So, that’s still going on,’ said Dom.

  I was going to glare at him, but his tone was neutral and when I saw his face, I realized he wasn’t teasing me.

  He slotted the final plate into the dishwasher and straightened up. ‘You know he’s going to get himself killed tomorrow, don’t you?’

  I disregarded the pot I was halfway through cleaning. ‘What?’

  Gino had stopped wiping down the table. He turned to look at Dom.

  ‘Luca isn’t planning on making it out of the Marino mansion alive.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I could feel the anger flashing in my cheeks. ‘Of course he’ll make it out alive. We all will.’

  Dom just shrugged. ‘It’s his final stand.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’ I tried to keep the panic at bay, but this didn’t feel like one of Dom’s stupid jokes.

  ‘Look at him,’ said Dom, his hand flying out to where Luca had just been standing. ‘He’s resigned. His thirst for retribution is going to outweigh his self-preservation. Valentino and Luca weren’t made to be apart. They can’t live without each other.’

  ‘Why are you talking like this?’ Gino sounded like a small child. ‘You make it seem like suicide.’

  ‘He’s just different,’ Dom said. ‘He doesn’t care any more.’

  ‘He cares about getting rid of the Marinos,’ Gino argued.

  ‘And what else?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gino.

  ‘Exactly,’ Dom sighed. ‘Exactly.’

  I picked up my pan, scouring it until my fingers were red raw and the sting in Dom’s words had passed.

  When everyone had retired to bed, post-confession, with clean souls, I climbed through Luca’s bedroom window. I crept across the roof, leaving my footprints and handprints in the thin layer of snow like the tracks of a giant toddler.

  Luca was sitting at the edge, in the same place he had been on the night of the meteor shower. He turned to watch me crawl towards him.

  ‘Ever cautious,’ he said softly.

  He reached his hand out to help me steady myself. After much manoeuvring, I managed to make camp beside him.

  ‘Hi.’ I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. Stupid Dom and his apocalyptic words.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  Strangely, I wasn’t. I shook my head. ‘There are no stars in the sky,’ I pointed out. The night was cloudy – the moon just a nebulous smudge.

  ‘Everything is different now.’ I got the sense he wasn’t just talking about the weather.

  I nodded, the sense of glumness expanding inside me.

  He tipped my chin up so I would look at him. ‘But not how I feel about you, Sophie.’ He brushed his hand against my cheek, his thumb lingering on my bottom lip.

  I blinked away the surprise. I had been expecting his feelings to trickle away, like water, even though mine had blazed ever brighter with each passing day. Still, there was no joy in the way he said it, no whisper of something more – of a future unfurling before us. It was hard to feel the sense of possibility now, no matter how badly I wanted it.

  Still, there was tonight.

  ‘I bought you a Christmas present.’ I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small wrapped parcel. ‘It’s not much, and you’re probably going to think it’s really silly, but I wanted to get you something you’ve never gotten before and I thought it might be something special, just for us …’ I trailed off.

  He raised his eyebrows, taking the package and rotating it in his hand. ‘I have to be honest, Soph, I’m really hoping it’s another poem.’

  ‘That was a one-time deal,’ I said.

  He frowned. ‘But I love your poetry.’

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘I do,’ he insisted. ‘I mean, it’s really really terrible, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.’

  Before I could stop myself I shot forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Open it, before I go out of my mind with suspense.’

  He laughed a little, amusement turning to concentration as he unwrapped it piece by piece. Excruciatingly slowly, just to annoy me. I let him have his moment. At least he was being playful.

  When he was done and the paper had been peeled away, he let it sit there on the palm of his hand, while he stared at it. This inconsequential-looking black stone with little thumbprint-shaped grooves inside it.

  Embarrassment roared inside me.

  He obviously had no idea what it was. He just kept looking at it, like he was trying to figure it out.

  Oh God. He thought I was giving him a rock for Christmas.

  Well, technically I was.

  But it was a special one.

  I thought about just covering my face and rolling off the roof, but it was my stupid idea in the first place, so I figured I may as well just explain myself and get the mortification over with.

  ‘It’s not just a rock,’ I said to the side of his face. ‘It’s more than that, I swear. See, it’s a—’

  ‘It’s a Sikhote-Alin Meteorite,’ he said, looking up at me. ‘From Russia.’

  ‘Yeah. It is …’ I said, surprised.

  He looked back at the rock in his hand. ‘It’s from a meteor crash site in Siberia in 1947. Is that what you were going to say?’ He was looking at me again, and he was wearing the strangest expression on his face. I had never seen it before.

  It was … wonder.

  I smiled sheepishly at him. ‘I was actually just going to say it’s a fallen star.’

  He held it between us, passing his thumb over the small ridges. ‘These are coarsest octahedrites,’ he murmured. ‘Part of the surfaces of these meteorites were blasted off while they passed through the atmosphere on the way to earth. That’s why it’s not smooth. See.’ He placed my thumb under his, so I could feel it.

  ‘Do you, um, do you already have one?’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. That look, still on his face. His eyes seemed bigger, his mouth fuller, his breathing quicker. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, relieved. ‘Because I had to outbid an old lady from Kansas for it, and it got right down to the wire, but I’ll be damned if I was going to let her play the age card on me. Like, what? I’m just going to let her steal it out from under me when—’

  ‘I love it,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘I love that you went head-to-head with some sweet old lady and won. And I love that you have absolutely no remorse about it. I can’t believe you did this for me.’

  I moved a little closer. ‘Why is that so hard to believe?’

  He shook his head, his smile small and sad. ‘Because I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ I said, willing him to look at me, but he was already disengaging, reaching into his jacket pocket.

  ‘I have something for you, too,
Sophie.’ He pulled out a small box.

  I took it from him, and held it in front of my face. ‘OK, this looks a little small to be a unicorn, Luca.’

  ‘Maybe I was just trying to throw you off the scent,’ he said, leaning closer as I opened it.

  It was a bracelet, delicate and silver, with a single, heart-shaped charm. I read the words engraved on it. ‘Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, “It will be happier.”’

  ‘It’s a quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson,’ he explained.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ I slipped it on to my wrist, trailing my finger around the heart-shaped charm. ‘I love it, Luca.’

  I wanted to say the rest: I love you. But the moment was so fragile and precious, I was afraid I might shatter it.

  ‘It’s about possibility,’ he said quietly. ‘All the possibility in your life.’

  ‘In our lives,’ I amended.

  He didn’t say anything. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on us, the sadness at the edges ready to swoop in and take him away from me.

  He took my hand, and wound my fingers in his. ‘Sophie,’ he said, his voice calling to the space inside my heart. It beat faster as I looked at him. ‘Please don’t come tomorrow. Please stay here, where it’s safe.’

  ‘Don’t,’ I breathed. ‘Please let’s not talk about tomorrow.’

  He laid his forehead against mine. ‘I am begging you.’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I go where my family go. Where you go. This is our revenge. This is our destiny.’

  He shut his eyes. It was too late. We were both going, and neither of us could stop the other. This was too big, it was too much of what we had been pushing towards. We owed it to Valentino, and to my mother. Luca wasn’t going to back down, and neither was I. Dom’s words from earlier skated through my mind.

  ‘No more talk of tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Please. Let’s just enjoy now. What will be will be.’

  ‘Your teeth are chattering.’

  ‘Are they?’ I couldn’t tell if it was from a sudden onslaught of nerves or the chill in the air. It wasn’t enough – this moment, as perfect as it was. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to hold him tight, to wrap my legs in his, to fall asleep with my head on his chest. I wanted to stretch out the moment and live inside it for ever.