Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)

by Catherine Doyle

  ‘I’ll make sure to reunite you two,’ he said, before adding, with much less confidence, ‘Once we figure out how to bury our underworld connections once and for all.’

  ‘Speaking of which …’ I said, looking at the net curtains as they rippled, and waving to let her know everything was fine.

  Evelina swung the door open and took a step backwards into the hallway. ‘Sophie? Is everything OK?’

  We stepped inside, out of the darkness, and I pushed Luca in front of me so he could see. So he could witness possibility made flesh before him. His grip in mine grew harder. ‘Mio Dio.’

  Evelina gasped into her hands, her dark eyes wide with disbelief.

  ‘Evelina,’ Luca breathed, wonder trilling in his voice. ‘You’re alive.’

  She dropped her hands, a smile lighting up her face. ‘La mia star, so are you.’

  And then they were embracing each other, laughing and crying as they hugged, and when they finally broke apart, neither of them quite believing their eyes, I was crying, too. We huddled together in that hallway – three Mafia runaways escaping from the underworld, and coming to live inside the possibility of a better future.

  The path was dark, but somewhere in the distance, there was a flicker of light.

  We could see it now.

  I could see it.

  MAFIA BLOOD WAR ERUPTS AT MAYOR’S YACHT PARTY, KILLING SEVEN, INJURING TWELVE

  A star-studded New Year’s Eve party ended in tragedy on Friday night as rival Mafia gangs went head-to-head in front of hundreds of terrified onlookers.

  In a strike thought to be connected to the Christmas Day Marino Massacre, where eight men and two women lost their lives, Elena Genovese-Falcone, sister of Donata Marino and widow of deceased mob boss Angelo Falcone, confronted her sister aboard the mayor of Chicago’s private yacht party. Armed with a switchblade, she attacked the current Marino mob boss in front of shocked bystanders. Donata Marino died from a single stab wound in the chest. Witnesses report that Donata’s cousin, Romano Marino, immediately opened fire on the crowd, killing Elena Genovese-Falcone, her son Dominico Falcone, and nephew, Calvino Falcone Jr, a minor. Security guard Ronald Smythe and dental hygienist Dawn Fierri lost their lives in the shooting, while a further twelve partygoers were injured. Several witnesses reported seeing three men jumping from the upper deck of the yacht into the near-freezing Lake Michigan, but search and rescue missions have failed to recover any bodies, and have now been called off.

  Gunman Romano Marino was shot and killed by an armed bodyguard as the mayor was rushed to safety. This latest shootout marks the culmination of a particularly bloody period in Chicago’s underworld, while Donata Marino’s death is believed to spell the end of the active Marino dynasty. Several members of the Falcone crime family remain at large, and are currently wanted by the police for questioning. Sources close to the family have claimed that Nicoli Falcone has recently assumed leadership of the infamous dynasty. Falcone is the younger brother of the recently deceased ‘blue-eyed assassin’ Valentino Falcone and son of the late Angelo ‘Angelmaker’ Falcone. He is purported to be the youngest boss in Falcone history. The identity of the underboss remains unknown.

  The investigation continues.

  EPILOGUE

  The music from the radio was vibrating against the car windows, our voices drowning out the lyrics as we sang shamelessly at the top of our lungs. Luca was tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel, side-glancing at me with mock outrage as I pealed into another fit of laughter. Our fingers were entwined on the armrest between us, our faces pressed to the city as it rose to meet us.

  It was summertime in Chicago, and my heart was full of possibility.

  ‘There it is,’ I shouted over the music. ‘My one true love. Chicago.’

  Luca pressed a hand to his heart. ‘That hurts.’

  ‘Were the buildings always so sparkly?’ I asked.

  ‘Was the sky always this blue?’ he replied.

  I batted my eyelashes at him. ‘Can I know what the surprise is now?’

  ‘Nope,’ he said sweetly. ‘Absolutely not.’

  We drove into the heart of the city, Luca constantly rebuffing my curiosity, me refusing to relinquish it. Finally, we parked our rented Camaro in a garage on West Washington Street, and by the time I got out, I was almost ready to throttle him.

  ‘Now can I know?’

  He strode on to the street, beckoning for me to follow him.

  ‘Why do you have to be so incessantly curious all the time?’ ‘Why do you have to be so incessantly annoying?’

  He grinned at me over his shoulder. ‘Just am, I suppose.’

  I glared at the back of his head. ‘I don’t like surprises, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘You liked it when Millie came to visit you last week, didn’t you? That was a surprise.’

  ‘That was different,’ I said pointedly. ‘My love for Millie outweighs my distrust of surprises.’

  Luca shrugged. ‘Well, fortunately for me, I quite enjoy them.’

  ‘You do not,’ I said, jogging to keep up with his purposeful strides. He was dressed in jeans and army boots, his blue T-shirt rippling in the light breeze, and I was really trying to stay focused but even from the back, he was unfairly dazzling. ‘You hate surprises.’

  ‘OK, I’ll amend that. I really enjoy Sophie-directed surprises.’ He paused, and then added, ‘Specifically when I’m the one doing the surprising.’

  He slowed his pace, as if remembering that some of us weren’t over six feet tall. ‘Don’t keel over on me now,’ he said warningly. ‘It will ruin everything.’

  The further away we got from the car the more buoyant he became. He was practically bouncing with every step, and not for the first time over the last six months, I found myself marvelling at this version of him: unguarded, happy, free.

  I hurried along beside him, my yellow summer dress whipping behind me. The sun rippled along my arms, and I raised my face to it, letting it splash freckles across my cheeks. ‘I forgot how much I loved summer in the city,’ I said.

  Luca nodded his agreement, his blue eyes blazing in the brightness. ‘Some day, we can come back here for good, Soph.’ His voice changed, a shred of darkness creeping in. ‘Just not yet.’

  Not yet, I reminded myself. It was too soon to rebuild a life with permanence, a life without threat. For now, everything was not yet.

  ‘But we have today,’ he said, his lips curving as he looked down on me. ‘We’ll make the most of it.’

  Then I saw it. In fact, I would have seen it way sooner if I hadn’t been dissecting every square inch of perfection on Luca’s face. By the time I realized where we were, we were almost inside the Cadillac Palace Theatre. And I was standing directly in front of a giant billboard.

  Every word in the English language galloped into oblivion. I was reading the words The Phantom of the Opera and I was trying very hard not to burst into tears. I thought I had sorted that annoying little problem out in recent months, but my heart was hammering in my chest, and my breathing had turned to little spiky inhales and I could feel Luca watching me, waiting for my reaction. I clamped my mouth shut and waited for my emotions to stop bouncing around inside me.

  Calm down. Focus. It’s just a musical. It’s not a big deal.

  Yes, thank you, rational Sophie.

  No. It’s not just a musical. It’s the musical. He’s taking you here because your mother never got a chance to bring you.

  ‘Sophie?’ Luca was leaning against the wall, his head cocked to one side, watching me. Concern rippled across his forehead. ‘You haven’t said anything.’

  Oh God. I could feel my lip quivering.

  His hand came to the small of my back – a gentle touch, a current of warmth in my skin as he drew me towards him. The world faded away, until it was just the two of us.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he asked me quietly. ‘If you’re not happy, we can go.’

  ‘I’m happy,’ I said. ‘I’m so happy I think I
might cry.’

  He swiped a renegade tear from my cheek. I averted my gaze, clenching my nails into my palms to stop another one from sneaking out.

  ‘Are you crying because you have to endure this with me?’ he asked, delicately. ‘That’s it, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘You’re just the worst.’

  He pulled two tickets out of his pocket and pressed them into my hand. I wrapped my arm around his back, and he kissed the top of my head, his breath ruffling my hair. ‘Happy birthday, Cuore mio.’

  If anyone would have told me twelve months ago that I would be in a theatre, watching a giant chandelier swinging towards the ceiling as epic music shook the walls around me and thudded right down inside my heart while sitting shoulder to shoulder with the former boss of the entire Falcone dynasty and actually enjoying myself, I would have called them a dirty liar.

  How quickly the world can change.

  Months after being shot in the shoulder – after staring death in the face and rolling out from underneath it, after burying my mother and my father, relinquishing every tie to an identity I never wanted and clawing my way out of an underworld that once threatened to consume me, Luca had ignited something I thought I’d lost for ever. The soaring music, the drama, the passion, the sense of being elsewhere and other, of feeling safe and happy and thoroughly content. I felt joy, sitting in that dark room, my arm laid on top of his, our fingers grazing, our heads bent together. When the last song hit its crescendo, my eyes filled with tears, and I let the music sweep me up, away from the badness of the last year, and all the darkness it had left behind. I felt it then – the keenest sense of possibility – surrounding me. This other life – with creativity and art and music and love.

  We emerged feeling giddy and breathless. I had a thousand different thank yous waiting on my tongue but they all jumbled together, so instead I grabbed Luca’s hand, pulled him around the side of the theatre and kissed him until I lost my breath.

  ‘Well,’ he murmured, his finger tracing a line along my bottom lip. ‘I should take you to the theatre more often.’

  ‘Let’s go home.’ Back to a small, inconsequential town on the edge of Wisconsin that would do for now. Back to not yet.

  He wove his arm around my back, his fingers trailing along my waist as we walked. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  We hopped out on to the sidewalk, our footsteps made quicker by desire, our words lost to the thoughts in our head. At the next crossing, we hovered inside a huddle of theatregoers scattering into the evening, and I don’t know quite how, but I sensed it before I saw it. I felt it in the hairs on the back of my neck, in the goosebumps rippling along my bare arms. This feeling that the world was dimming, just a little.

  We watched as a familiar black SUV rolled to a stop on the street beside us, the traffic light reflecting bright crimson along the hood of the car.

  ‘Luca.’ The word lodged in my throat, my heart climbing up to meet it.

  He bristled against me, his hand moving behind his back. We stayed frozen like that until the traffic light turned green.

  Slowly, the SUV started to move, and I wondered whether it was all in my head – the feeling that we were being watched as it rolled away from us.

  When the SUV had disappeared down another side street, Luca released his grip on the gun inside his waistband.

  ‘Just a coincidence,’ he breathed.

  ‘A coincidence,’ I echoed.

  He took my hand, pulling me with him. We ran all the way back to the car, the dying sun hot on our backs, Nic’s face seared into my mind.

  We were safe.

  We were together.

  We were running.

  Always running.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Phew! We made it! Well … most of us.

  Publishing this trilogy with Chicken House has been a dream come true. Thank you to everyone at base for being so magical and enthusiastic. To Barry, for being the wizard at the helm of the operation, for taking a chance on me and giving me the freedom to take this story to weird, wonderful (and dark) places. Rachel H, Jazz, Laura S and Laura M, thank you for getting behind Sophie (and Luca) from Day One and staying behind them all the way through. Rachel L and Kesia, I couldn’t have asked for a better editorial team. I would have you guys in my mafia family any day!

  Thank you to Claire Wilson, who might just be the best thing that ever happened to me. I will be forever grateful for your kindness and wisdom. Thanks to my fellow Coven members, who are some of the most supportive, talented and hilarious people I’ve ever met. I feel very lucky to get to hang out with you and even luckier to get to call you my friends.

  Thanks to my mom who raised me on a steady diet of musicals, plays and books – and thanks to my dad, who she made pay for them. I could go on and on about how deep my gratitude to both of you runs but I already did that at the end of Inferno and I don’t want either of you getting a big head! Colm and Conor, as always, thanks for all your enthusiasm, humour and kindness. You’re a couple of real sweet kids.

  Thank you to my entire family, all the many branches that stretch far and wide. You have become the hype-masters for these books around the country and beyond. A thousand thank yous to all my amazing friends, who are the funniest, coolest people I know. Most of you are SO weird. And I love it.

  Thank you to the bloggers, booksellers and librarians who have supported this series so ardently, and finally, to the readers, who have championed Sophie every step of the way. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I hope this story is a fitting end to her journey.

  P.S. Thank you to those of you who helped me plot all of these fictional murders. You know who you are … And now I know what you’re capable of.❤

  TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  UNDER ROSE-TAINTED SKIES by LOUISE GORNALL

  I’m Norah, and my life happens within the walls of my house, where I live with my mom, and this evil overlord called Agoraphobia.

  Everything’s under control. It’s not rosy – I’m not going to win any prizes for Most Exciting Life or anything, but at least I’m safe from the outside world, right?

  Wrong. This new boy, Luke, just moved in next door, and suddenly staying safe isn’t enough. If I don’t take risks, how will I ever get out – or let anyone in?

  … the most beautiful, yet unflinching, depiction of agoraphobia I’ve ever read.

  HOLLY BOURNE

  Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910655-86-3, £7.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910655-87-0, £7.99

  TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  DARKMERE by HELEN MASLIN

  Outsider Kate has a crush on the coolest boy in school, Leo. He’s inherited a castle, a menacing ruin on the rugged English coast. When he invites her along for the summer, she finally feels part of the gang.

  But Darkmere’s empty halls are haunted by dark ghosts. Two centuries ago, Elinor – the young wife of the castle’s brooding master – uncovered a dreadful truth.

  As past and present entwine, Kate and Elinor find themselves fighting for their lives – and for the ones they love.

  Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910002-34-6, £7.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910002-75-9, £7.99

  Text © Catherine Doyle 2017

  First paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2017

  This electronic edition published in 2017

  Chicken House

  2 Palmer Street

  Frome, Somerset BA11 1DS

  United Kingdom

  www.chickenhousebooks.com

  Catherine Doyle has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the requi
red fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical or otherwise, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express prior written permission of the publisher.

  Produced in the UK by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

  Cover and interior design by Helen Crawford-White

  Cover photographs: girl © Aleshyn_Andrei/Shutterstock; boy ©

  Stefano Cavoretto/Shutterstock; rose © rprongjaj/Shutterstock; bullets © Rueangrit Srisuk/Shutterstock; mask © Zonda/Shutterstock

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication data available.

  ISBN 978-1-909489-84-4

  eISBN 978-1-911077-19-0