Finally, they seemed to settle on the same conclusion: ‘We have a rat.’
A rat that was going to die slowly and painfully when they tracked him down.
I tried to take solace in the fact that Jack hadn’t been with Donata. That would have definitely cut our chances of escape in half. I was deliberately avoiding thinking about my father’s whereabouts, how easily he could have sauntered into that room with Donata too.
When we were almost back at Evelina, Luca turned to Nic, his voice deadly quiet. ‘I told you not to do it without me.’
I watched the sides of their faces as they stared at each other. Nic could sense the rage festering beneath Luca’s careful demeanour. We all could. Nic leant away from it, pressing his head against the window. When he spoke again, he sounded like a little boy. ‘But Valentino said—’
‘I told you to wait,’ Luca said.
Nic blinked at his brother, once, twice, and then said, ‘Why, though?’
‘Why?’ Luca repeated. ‘Why?’
‘Donata was a surprise. It’s not like I could foresee that.’
‘Oh, you think? I told you not to do it without me.’
‘I had it under control,’ Nic shot back. ‘She doesn’t need a babysitter.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means we didn’t need you, Luca.’ There was a sharpness to Nic’s words. They hit Luca between the eyes, pulled his brows together. And it wasn’t true, I knew. Because I had needed him. We all had. I needed him even now. If he hadn’t been there, who knew what damage Donata could have done? Who knew if we would have escaped or not?
‘It was always supposed to be our mission,’ Nic added petulantly.
‘Right.’ Luca’s voice was dangerously even. ‘So, who failed then, Nicoli?’
‘What?’
‘If you were supposed to do it together, then I suppose you both failed,’ Luca said. ‘Do you want me to tell that to Valentino?’
Nic’s face fell. ‘N-no. Of course not.’
‘So, what will I say, Nicoli?’ Luca pressed. ‘What will I tell Valentino?’
Nic glanced once at me, his expression torn. ‘Sh-she was supposed to do it, but she couldn’t. I did everything I was supposed to.’ He flicked his gaze to me, apology written in the quirk of his mouth as he happily sailed me down the river of punishment. ‘Valentino will understand. He’ll give her another chance. With the Donata complication and everything …’ Nic trailed off.
‘You would have failed even without Donata’s interruption.’
Nic huffed a sigh. He didn’t disagree, but the truth was, Luca was right. I would have failed either way. I wasn’t able to do it. ‘Valentino will understand.’
‘Will he?’ Luca said.
Nic opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it just as quickly. He didn’t know. None of us did.
Luca let the silence linger, let the panic surge inside the car, which seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Then, at last, he said in barely more than a whisper, ‘She wasn’t ready. She’s not ready.’
‘Her shot is incredible,’ Nic protested. ‘Her aim is practically perfect.’
Luca glared at his brother, a frown twisting his lips. ‘Do you really think I’m talking about Sophie’s aim, Nicoli?’
For the first time, Nic looked at me like I might have the answer, but I was still dumbstruck, listening to a chorus of coward, coward, coward playing on repeat inside my head, feeling my own mortality hammering inside my chest. He looked back at his brother. Then he shrugged, once, heavily.
Luca shook his head, turned his attention back to the road. ‘You are so unfathomably stupid sometimes.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WAITING
We were barely in the door when Luca, Nic and Dom were summoned to Valentino’s office.
A debriefing.
A progress report.
About Donata.
About me.
I was told to wait outside, so I hovered on the stairs, chewing my nails right down to the cuticles. I couldn’t decide which would have been worse, having to sit inside the office with them while they walked Valentino through everything that had happened at The Sicilian Kiss, or having to wait outside on my own until he decided on my punishment for having failed.
I tried not to imagine the fury in the boss’s eyes when he heard what had happened.
I failed. I am a coward. I am useless.
I am weak. I am nobody.
Why did I ever think I could do this?
I can do this.
After what seemed like an eternity, my phone rang, and Valentino’s number blinked on screen. I pressed a hand to my heart and lifted the phone to my ear.
‘Come see me in my office.’
Was this it? Was this how it ended? Where would I go now? What was the punishment for failing the initiation? No one had ever told me. I tucked my phone in my pocket and stood up, rolling my neck around to try and ease some of the tension.
I walked slowly, listening to my quiet footfall on the marble floors, and imagining myself as a criminal making my way to the hangman’s noose.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE FIRST LIE
Valentino was at his desk, his head tilted to one side as he surveyed me with those cobalt eyes. He looked oddly refreshed for the time of night, but then again, he hadn’t lifted a finger against any Marinos, so why should he be exhausted?
Luca stood motionless on his twin’s right, his black shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair swept away from his face. Felice was on his left, arms folded across his chest. He was still dressed impeccably, and I had half expected he would be in some creepy silk robe, à la Hugh Hefner. Nic and Dom were side by side against the window, perched on the edge. Neither one looked at me as I came in.
I shuffled towards the half-circle of assassins. No guns on show. No guarded stances. The atmosphere seemed … relaxed. I was careful not to let it lull me. The Falcone masks were well-worn.
Valentino pointed to the only free chair in the room. I had been here exactly four days ago, staring at a photograph of Libero Marino.
I sat down. I looked at Luca – his mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw tightly locked. He lifted his hand, and brushed his fingers across his mouth. Then he pressed his lips tighter together, the colour disappearing from them entirely.
Don’t say anything.
I clamped my mouth shut. Valentino gestured to Felice, and Felice turned around and opened a cabinet. My hands seized up. I unclenched them. Why was nobody saying anything?
Felice placed two half-empty bottles on the table. One bottle of Southern Comfort and one bottle of amaretto. He bent down, opening a cabinet in the bottom of the desk, and when he straightened again, he was holding six shot glasses, all arranged in a neat tower. He separated the glasses in silence, and we all watched him as he filled them up – first with the Southern Comfort, then the amaretto.
Valentino reached for his glass first. The others followed suit, and when there was only one left on the table and all eyes on me, I pulled it towards me, thanking the universe for my steady hand.