I ran through the tunnel, trying to burn the anger and pain out of me with every step. I flung myself into the darkened alley.
The sun would be up in an hour or so, and I needed to get home.
Home. If I ever had another one. Would I ever be able to return to beautiful Lovero and live the life I’d once had?
There was no turning back, now that I’d started down this dark path. I had to continue on. I had to kill the Da Vias.
I reached my safe house, feeling the stretch and pull in my shoulder as I climbed to the safety of the roof.
I sat on the edge of the roof, mask pushed to the top of my head, knees pressed against my chest, and tried not to think about how badly things had gone. If I hadn’t been so quick to anger, so quick to let grief consume me, maybe I could’ve convinced my uncle to help. Instead, I’d been brash and bold and entitled, and there was no way he’d help me now. And I needed him. I couldn’t face the Da Vias alone, not if I actually wanted to succeed.
I dropped my head onto my knees. Rafeo . . . what do I do now? I blinked rapidly at the tears welling in my eyes. I wish you were here. You’d know how to fix this.
Across the canal flashes of white between the buildings illuminated the ghosts prowling the streets. They were terrible, the ghosts. I knew this firsthand, but in the earliest hours of the morning, when everything was still and with enough distance between us, they had a sort of beauty about them as they floated quietly on their way.
Back home I used to sit on the roofs whenever I was upset and couldn’t bring myself to go home. It was how Val and I had started our secret relationship. During the plague there were so many common asking us to release their loved ones. And I’d spent the night sneaking through open windows, finishing people who were delirious and coughing up blood, finishing children or babes still in their cribs, and though I knew it was a mercy I performed, the children always weighed the most heavily on me.
I couldn’t go home, not and face my cousin whose parents were dead, my brother whose wife lay feverish in her bed as she slowly succumbed. And so I sat on the roof and watched the stars quietly until I heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw a figure standing on the other side, lost in his thoughts. After a moment I realized his shoulders shook not from the cold, but from tears.
I’d tried to leave quietly, to let him have his privacy, but he heard me and turned. I recognized his mask right away—Valentino Da Via—and though his mask hid his face, his eyes were lined with red.
We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.
And then I realized my own throat was tight, and tears slipped quietly down my cheeks.
“I just couldn’t go home yet,” I said to him, my voice breaking.
After a moment he’d nodded, and we’d sat side by side, watching the stars, listening to the sounds of the sea, saying nothing. And everything.
I swallowed and took a deep breath. Yes, everything was my fault. Again. But this time I could fix it. I would win over Alessio and then return with him to Marcello and ask him to reconsider. I would make my case. I would not let Marcello anger me. With Alessio on my side, I would urge him to see reason and to help me kill the Da Vias.
The sun crested the horizon, turning the twists and bends of the canals golden with its light.
I used the rope dangling from the hole in my safe house and slipped inside to change out of my leathers. I would take a short nap, then return to Marcello’s home with the sun. Apologies were always easier in the dark, but I had no choice. I was running out of time.
I dreamed of the fire. Only this time the smoke was a living thing, its tendrils shaped into the hands of infants, their tiny fingers grabbing onto my nightgown, trying to pull me deeper into the chalky darkness of the ashes.
I woke and found my room dim, hidden from the dawn sun.
My muscles ached and my eyes were heavy. My encounter with Marcello had drained me more than my most difficult job as a clipper.
I ran my fingers through my hair and threw on my single dress before I made my way outside.
I took backstreets whenever I could. After Lefevre had followed me from the market, he could be watching for me. To do what? I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t follow through on his threat and send the letter to the Da Vias. Better to stay hidden.
When I reached the alley with the secret grate, I leaned against a wall, determined to wait as long as it took.
The alley, the street leading to it, and the nearby canal were particularly quiet. No people about their business cast suspicious eyes on me, nor were people using the canals for travel or trade. Marcello had picked his home well.