‘It’s a quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson,’ he explained.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I slipped it on to my wrist, trailing my finger around the heart-shaped charm. ‘I love it, Luca.’
I wanted to say the rest: I love you. But the moment was so fragile and precious, I was afraid I might shatter it.
‘It’s about possibility,’ he said quietly. ‘All the possibility in your life.’
‘In our lives,’ I amended.
He didn’t say anything. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on us, the sadness at the edges ready to swoop in and take him away from me.
He took my hand, and wound my fingers in his. ‘Sophie,’ he said, his voice calling to the space inside my heart. It beat faster as I looked at him. ‘Please don’t come tomorrow. Please stay here, where it’s safe.’
‘Don’t,’ I breathed. ‘Please let’s not talk about tomorrow.’
He laid his forehead against mine. ‘I am begging you.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I go where my family go. Where you go. This is our revenge. This is our destiny.’
He shut his eyes. It was too late. We were both going, and neither of us could stop the other. This was too big, it was too much of what we had been pushing towards. We owed it to Valentino, and to my mother. Luca wasn’t going to back down, and neither was I. Dom’s words from earlier skated through my mind.
‘No more talk of tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Please. Let’s just enjoy now. What will be will be.’
‘Your teeth are chattering.’
‘Are they?’ I couldn’t tell if it was from a sudden onslaught of nerves or the chill in the air. It wasn’t enough – this moment, as perfect as it was. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to hold him tight, to wrap my legs in his, to fall asleep with my head on his chest. I wanted to stretch out the moment and live inside it for ever.
‘Let’s go inside,’ he said.
‘Can I stay with you?’ I asked, suddenly feeling this crushing sense of finality between us. The words fell out before I had time to temper them, but I didn’t care. I wanted it so badly, it was clenching around my heart. This could be the last time we ever sat together or kissed or laughed with one another. This could be our last night. Dom’s words had bound themselves to my consciousness. It was like Valentino had said: those who have the most to live for are the hardest to kill. ‘I want to fall asleep next to you. I want to wake up in your arms …’ I lifted my gaze to his, the meaning implicit. ‘I want to be with you tonight.’
Luca swallowed hard. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure.’ I was so sure it ached. ‘Can I stay here with you tonight?’
‘Yes,’ he said, a little breathless. ‘Yes, stay with me.’
There was something in his words that felt a little bit like goodbye. I could sense his grief in them. It broke my heart that I couldn’t take it away, but I could be in it with him, at least for now, for tonight. We could be in it with each other. We could harness a little spark of happiness and keep it warm, just between us. Tomorrow was a different story. Tomorrow would change everything.
It was Christmas Eve, and I was spending it with the person I loved, and there was some small joy in that at least.
He pulled me up with him, anchoring me by the waist as we crossed the roof. We climbed back in the window and he shut it after him. He ran his hands along my arms, warming them up. I shuffled into his heat, and his arms came around me as I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent and the perfection of that one small moment.
I lifted my chin and opened my mouth to him, revelling in the sudden softness of his lips, the warmth of his tongue against mine. He grabbed the back of my head, pulling me in, and I gave myself to the kiss, to us. His tongue moved with mine, growing more insistent as he kissed me like it was the last kiss he’d ever have. Heat rushed over us and we came together fiercely, his hands wrapped tightly around me, my fingers lost in his hair, every part of us moulded together until there wasn’t an inch of space between us. Our breaths were short and ragged, the low groans in his throat spurring me on, making me forget every shred of sadness inside me. He was the remedy, and I never wanted to let him go. And then his shirt was off and I was tracing the scar across his chest, trailing my fingernails along his taut muscles, his smooth olive skin, and listening to him catch his breath. I slipped my sweater off, and he tugged it free gently, careful of the wound in my shoulder, of the scars between us, as we came together – skin on skin. And then we were in each other’s arms, wholly, completely, the world around us forgotten, and all the pain inside us burning up in an intensity I had never known, in a love I had never felt.
It was perfect.
It was fleeting.
That night, I fell asleep with Luca’s arms around me, my head against his chest, lulled by the steady sounds of his breathing. For the first time in forever, I had no nightmares. I dreamt happy things – of a life far away from us, from the words ‘Marino’ and ‘Falcone’, from newspaper headlines and funerals, from gunshots and bloodshed, where he and I were the people we were supposed to be – happy, ordinary, in love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
TASTE
Christmas morning was surprisingly calm. There was a sense of peace, of readiness. Murmurs of Buon Natale filled the corridors in the house, brought soft smiles to our faces as we ate breakfast together in the kitchen. There was no food in the oven, no gifts waiting to be unwrapped.
It was almost like we knew we wouldn’t all be coming back.
We didn’t utter the name Marino before we had to. We didn’t acknowledge that we were even leaving the house until we broke up after breakfast, most of us pottering back to opposite ends of the house to shower, to get dressed properly, to arm ourselves.
I stayed in the shower for a long time, where the quiet rush of water drowned out all my thoughts. It quelled the pain in my chest – the ripple of anxiety that had been growing and growing. I sat down and pulled my knees into my chest, throwing my head back to the beads of water and letting them drip down my face and back into my hair. I let memories from last night run through my head, lighting me up, the lingering feeling of our closeness holding me together, keeping me strong. I would come home for him. He would come home for me.
Slowly, slowly, the darkness crept back in. The need for revenge, the thirst for completion. It was time. I was going to use my fear, my anger, my grief. I was going to sharpen them, use them as a weapon and point that weapon right at Donata Marino. I chanted the words to myself and like a cool balm, they eased the cloying sense of fear that was creeping up my spine.