‘We did our best,’ said Nic.
Valentino growled at his brother, his features turning feral, the way I had seen Luca’s many times before. ‘It wasn’t good enough, do you understand? Your best wasn’t good enough.’
‘Stop shouting at me!’ Nic replied. He turned to Luca, his expression imploring. ‘Tell him to stop!’
‘Valentino,’ said Luca, calmly. He clasped his twin’s shoulder, and Valentino sat a little straighter, strengthened by the gesture. ‘This isn’t helping. What’s done is done. We need to stick together, not tear ourselves apart.’
It occurred to me that I had never seen the Falcone twins side by side before. On the surface they were so alike – the same bright eyes and stern expressions – but when they spoke, they broke apart. This time it was Luca in command of himself, controlled and practical, as Valentino shook with rage, turning dangerous at the threat of what lay ahead. There was a world of difference between them, but I knew what they were: two halves of one whole. The boss and the underboss, united, in that moment, in their loss.
After a heavy silence, Valentino waved his arm in half-surrender. ‘It is what it is,’ he conceded. ‘We must look forward.’
Millie and I had gotten used to being invisible by now. We had shuffled closer without meaning to, listening with eagerness as they argued back and forth.
It was Aldo who spotted us. Wiping his nose with an overused tissue, he pointed through the doorway. ‘Who are they?’ he asked, tugging at his brother’s sleeve.
Sal cocked his head. ‘I don’t know.’
Aldo’s eyes grew. ‘Is that … is that … blood?’
I looked down at myself. Uh-oh.
Valentino followed Aldo’s gesture, and our eyes met. He dropped his face into his hands, his reaction muffled by his fingers. I was expecting a mild explosion but his response was weary. ‘Luca, why would you bring her in here looking like that?’
CJ lifted his head. He lurched forwards, bending over his knees. I thought he was going to be sick but instead he cradled himself, his fingers clutching at his sides as he stared down at the floor. He was probably smart enough to know it wasn’t my blood.
Luca looked at me sharply and I had the sudden image of him strangling me.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed, hands raised in supplication. Millie and I backed away, into the semi-darkness of the hallway. We waited with our backs pressed against the wall and our hands squeezed tight while the conversation turned to angry Italian murmurs inside the room.
In the distance, down the marble stairs, we heard the purposeful clacking of heels. At the end of the hallway, coming at us like a bird of prey, was the crisp figure of Elena Genovese-Falcone. Her face was shadowed by the darkness but she glided with purpose, her black dress pooling around her. She was so like Donata and yet the idea of them once playing together as children seemed impossible. She was every bit the Falcone queen, marching through her dark castle. It was hard to decide who was worse between her and Donata, but they both definitely had a seat waiting for them in the pits of hell.
I pulled Millie against the window at the end of the hallway. Part of me wanted to open it and jump out into the garden. I’d take a thousand bees over Lucifer any day.
Elena came to an abrupt stop outside the room. She turned on the heel of her boot and pinned us silently with her eyes. Her lip curled, and in that plummy voice she said, ‘Did I not tell you to stay far away from my sons, girl?’
Millie gulped. I gulped.
She gestured at Millie, one wiry finger tracing her outline. ‘And now it seems you have multiplied.’
I felt an unexpected rush of indignation course through me. ‘I was staying away from them,’ I protested. ‘Maybe you should have told them to stay away from me.’
Millie pinched me. Shut up.
Elena flashed her teeth. ‘You think I didn’t?’
‘W-we d-don’t want to be here,’ said Millie. ‘It wasn’t our choice. We were in Eden when it all kicked off and we got caught up in the … in the hustle. We just want to go home, Mrs Falcone.’
Elena pitched forward and got right in my face. ‘Rubbing shoulders with my sister, were you, little Gracewell?’
I shook my head. ‘Of course not—’
‘Were you laughing about how your father slaughtered my husband?’
‘What? No, I went there to see my uncle—’
‘And what exactly has your uncle bargained with my sister for her protection?’
‘I–I don’t know,’ I stuttered.
‘Really, we don’t,’ Millie added.
‘Drugs? Money?’ she continued, watching us closely for any signs of betrayal on our faces. ‘What does that man have in his diner that would open the gates of my sister’s dynasty?’
My exasperation peaked, and too exhausted to reign in my annoyance, I half-shouted, ‘I don’t know! I don’t know anything about it!’