I clutched the jars of powder in my hands. This plan could work. This plan would work.
I would have my vengeance.
twenty-four
I DREAMED OF THE FIRE AGAIN, BUT THIS TIME WHEN IT tried to pull me into its flames, Les was there, and he threw a bucket of water on it and the fire vanished.
I awoke to the setting sun and stared at the ceiling above me.
Eleven days. Eleven days since the Da Vias had murdered my Family. I was so close. And I couldn’t deny that I had Les to thank for it. He’d helped me create a plan to kill the Da Vias. And he’d gone home last night determined to get the Da Vias’ home location from Marcello.
Something stirred in my stomach, and it took me a moment to realize it was eagerness to see Les again. Yes, he would hopefully bring me good news, but also because it seemed when I was with him, I didn’t think about my Family as much.
Or I did, actually, but sometimes it didn’t hurt quite so badly.
I got dressed and climbed to the roof, determined to refocus on my goal.
A few hours later I stopped my pacing and stared at the canal beside my building.
Les was late.
I sat down, soaking in my anger as it got later and later and he didn’t appear.
Maybe he’d quit on me. Maybe he’d seen the seriousness of my firebomb plan and decided it was too much for him. Or maybe he was still mad about the stolen coins and he couldn’t forgive me as easily as he thought.
My stomach sank. He’d seemed just as excited as me at our accomplishments. I couldn’t imagine him suddenly changing his mind.
It didn’t matter. Either way it was a lack of respect. And I didn’t have time for it. The Da Vias weren’t going to slow their search for me just because I was stuck waiting for Les.
I climbed to my feet, determined to hunt him down and drag him out of Marcello’s if needed, when he appeared on my roof.
“You’re late.” I crossed my arms.
I thought he’d be apologetic. Instead, almost visible waves of anger rolled off him. It took me aback. I’d yet to see him really angry. Annoyed, yes, like when I’d first approached him, and disappointed when I’d stolen the coins, but never angry.
“Can we just get to work?” He rolled his shoulders and avoided my glare.
“Why were you late?” I wasn’t going to let this go. Not until he apologized at least.
He sighed. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
That was easier than I’d expected. And then I understood. It wasn’t his fault. “Did Marcello find out I’m training you?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture so reminiscent of my father that I had to take a slow, deep breath to loosen my throat.
“You’re late because you were arguing with him,” I said. “About me.”
I could see the truth written in his face. “I was trying to get the Da Via location from him. He doesn’t know about the training, but he now knows I’ve seen you since that last time you spoke. He was . . . not happy.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He waved my apology away. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s my fault, and really, it’s his fault for being so angry about it. He still sees me as a child, as that boy he found. When he’s reminded I’m not, it shakes him.”
My skin itched with the desire to leave, to take the firebomb and Les and head home to Ravenna. “Did you get any information out of him, at least?”
“No. I even told him if he just gave you what you wanted, you’d leave. But he doesn’t want to give in to you. Feels like you’re pushing him too hard.”
Of course I was pushing him! What didn’t he understand about the Da Vias coming for me and how that would be bad for him, too? His stubbornness overrode his sense of safety.
Les would have to try again. He would have to keep trying until he got what I needed. It was the only option.
“Can we do some training?” Les asked. “Otherwise I’ll never be able to compare to you.”
Training wasn’t really wasting time. If I was going to bring Les with me, the more he trained, the better he would fare in the fight to come. But after his failure to convince Marcello to give me what I wanted, everything felt like a delay.
If I was going to send Les to try again, though, I needed to keep him on my side. Which meant keeping him happy. And if training was the way to do that, then it was an easy enough task. And sometimes it was even enjoyable.
“You can’t liken yourself to me,” I said. “I was born into this life. And you are more skilled than you give yourself credit for. I’m sure there’s something you excel at.”
He smiled at the praise. “Why didn’t you ask sooner?”
At our spread of weapons, he picked up three knives well balanced for throwing. I groaned quietly behind my mask.
He set up a target across the roof, then stood beside me. He whipped the knives one after the other in rapid succession. Each struck the target near the center. Les strode across the roof and retrieved the knives before he returned to me.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I waved my hand. “Yes, yes, you’re good at knife throwing.”