Inferno (Blood for Blood #2) Page 2

I caught the quirk of his lips as he pressed them against my hand, smiling. He had zero respect for visiting hours. Among other things. ‘I’ll wait until you fall asleep.’

  I let my eyes close as the feeling of safety surrounded me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘Forgive me, Sophie.’

  I wanted to. It was easy in times like this, when I was too tired to think, too distracted to remember. It was easy to listen to him whispering to me, his fingers stroking mine. If I thought too much about those hands – what they could do, what they had already done – then I wouldn’t have been able to hold them, to let them trail softly along the bruises on my face.

  If ‘sorry’ could have made it all better, I would have walked right out of the hospital and never looked back. But deep down I knew the boy who watched over me with quiet attentiveness was the same boy who had put a bullet in my uncle in the warehouse. And yet when Nic looked at me with those gold-flecked eyes, it was hard to ignore the flutter in my stomach, the weakness in my arms when I tried to push him away.

  The line between right and wrong was a dark, blurry gap, and I had fallen down inside it.

  When I woke up screaming, there was something hovering in the blackness – a strange winged shape upon the walls. I tried to blink it away, but the form grew crisper, taller. Real. I strangled my screams and sat bolt upright, crushing myself against the pillow. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Either this was the creepiest nurse in history, or I was about to get murdered. She edged closer to me until the half-light from underneath the door flickered along her frame. I had only seen Elena Genovese-Falcone twice before – once in Valentino’s portrait of her, and once in a newspaper article about the funeral of Don Angelo Falcone, Nic’s father. She had been in Europe when Nic and his brothers had first moved to Cedar Hill.

  In person, she was statuesque. Her frame was narrow and crisp around the edges – a consequence of tight-fitting, tailored clothes. The tip of her nose swooped upwards into a point and her dark hair was wound into a bun. She was gripping the bars at the end of my bed. If we were in a superhero movie, she might have ripped them right off, the way she was tensing her fists around them.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘You are the Gracewell girl.’

  Her voice was plummy, and edged with a faint Italian accent. It wasn’t a question, more of an accusation, and I had the sudden sense of being caught in a trap. Which was stupid, considering that was my name and she hadn’t exactly jumped any hurdles to figure it out.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, a tremor tripping through my voice as I reached for the bedside light and flicked it on. ‘That’s me.’

  The room lit up and I felt marginally more confident. I could probably duck and roll if I needed to, but as far as I could see she wasn’t brandishing a weapon. Unless you counted the patronizing smirk. The light had enveloped her harshly, illuminating a made-up face with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her hooded eyes were a familiar searing blue.

  I smoothed the greasy wisps of hair away from my face. Let her take a good look at what her family did to me. Let her see the yellowing bruises, my swollen cheeks. I would stand my ground – I would show her I wasn’t afraid. Even if I was totally and completely terrified. ‘May I ask what you’re doing in my room at this hour, Mrs Falcone?’

  If she was surprised by my knowledge of who she was, she didn’t let it show. I guess any halfwit could nail a game of ‘Spot the Falcone’. Just look for the shampoo-commercial hair or those I-might-murder-you eyes.

  Her lips reset into a thin line. ‘You and I have a problem.’

  ‘And what problem would that be?’

  She straightened, folding her arms across her chest. Well. She was tall. ‘You have done something to my sons.’

  Sheesh. Talk about being selective with information. ‘If you’re referring to Luca, then yes, I did do something. I saved his life.’

  ‘Something else,’ she clarified with cool indignation. ‘Don’t try and be smart with me.’

  I guess saving her son was not going to earn me any brownie points. ‘I have returned to a disastro. Nicoli is pre-occupied. Distracted. You have gotten inside his head, like a worm.’

  I slow-blinked at her. ‘Did you … did you just call me a worm?’

  ‘That’s what you are. An American worm.’

  ‘I am not a worm.’ That was a particular combination of words I never thought I’d have to say. Was this how mobsters insulted each other? If I was braver, I might have called her a dung beetle and stuck my tongue out. ‘I’m a girl,’ I added for further clarification, feeling a little bit like an indignant two-year-old.

  ‘A stupid girl,’ she hissed. She was way too close now. I could see the shine on her Botoxed forehead. ‘You should have minded your own business.’

  ‘Don’t you know what happened?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you have any idea?’

  She stared through me, nonplussed. My voice grew a little stronger and I pressed on, trying to make her see sense. ‘Do you think I enjoy being in this hospital bed? Do you think I like my face being this shade of yellow and purple? I was dragged into your family’s twisted games. I never wanted to be a part of any of this.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should have stayed away from my son.’

  I could feel my pulse in the tips of my ears. Calm down, Sophie. Calm down. ‘Perhaps he should have stayed away from me.’

  ‘And Gianluca!’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘Mio figlio! So weak now. Cos’è successo?’ she asked the ceiling. ‘This girl … this girl …’ She shook her head, frowning as her sapphire eyes roved over my face. ‘A beautiful nothing. You have broken them.’

  She had careened right through my threshold for rude crap. I had to deal with enough inescapable unpleasantness when I was sleeping; I was not about to let someone berate me when I could do something about it.

  ‘Broken them?’ I felt anger rise inside me. I let it sweep me up and make me strong. ‘I saved Luca’s life. Any normal mother would be grateful for that. They would thank me, not break into my room in the middle of the night in the hospital where your family put me. Where the hell is your patient etiquette?’

  ‘Careful,’ she warned.

  ‘I am careful,’ I said. ‘At least I was … until—’ I stopped. What would be the point of blaming her angelic sons? Her denial was so thick it blinded her. ‘If you can’t see that all I ever tried to do was help your sons, even after all the bad things they did, then that’s your problem. Now get out of my room before I call the nurse!’

  Elena Genovese-Falcone exhaled in a hiss. She leant over me, the way Nic sometimes did, but the effect was very different. She brought her face so close I could see the capillaries in her eyes. I flinched away from her, cursing my instincts for making me look weak.

  ‘I will leave when I have said what I came here to say. Don’t forget, saccente, you lie here in safety because of my son’s command and nothing else. I know exactly who you are – who your father is, what your vermin uncle is, and everything they owe us.’

  ‘We don’t owe you anything any more.’

  ‘Those eyes,’ she said, drawing back from me as her voice fell deadly quiet. Mutinous wrinkles appeared above the bridge of her nose. ‘They are soulless.’

  ‘Please just leave me alone.’

  She just stared at me, like I was a puzzle she suddenly had to work out, like there was something written inside my pupils. After a heavy silence, she whispered, as though she was confiding something in me, ‘I know there’s more to you than you would have me believe.’

  ‘No,’ I said, exasperated, my head shaking from exhaustion and denial. ‘What you see is what you get.’ Unlike – oh, I don’t know – every freaking person in your family.

  Her lips twisted. ‘Somehow I doubt that.’

  ‘What did you come for?’ I demanded. ‘To insult me? To finish what your family started?’

  ‘I came to tell you to stay away from my sons, or the next time we see each other, I won’t be s
o careful about where I put my hands.’

  ‘You wouldn’t hurt me,’ I ventured. Valentino wouldn’t let her. ‘Not after what I did in the warehouse.’

  Her laugh died in her throat as quickly as it formed. ‘Girl, I would put a bullet in my sister if I ever came across her unprotected, so what makes you think I wouldn’t do the same to someone I have met only once?’

  I had a sudden vivid impression of her choking me. The thought made me swallow more audibly then I meant to.

  ‘You’re not meant for this world,’ she added, like it was the worst possible insult.

  ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

  ‘We are born, not made. Dynasty and ambition made me who I am today. It brought me the life I wanted, the stature I have been owed since birth. The Genovese women are survivors; we have the blood of Sicily in our veins, entire families who work beneath us. It will never be like that for you. You will never be anything more than a passing distraction for my son.’ She turned from me, and stopped with her hand on the door. She was in darkness. I decided now that I had met her I much preferred her like that – an indiscernible shadow. ‘He would never choose you over his family.’

  Seized by a mixture of bravery and anger, I hurled my response at her back. ‘What’s to say I would ever choose him over mine?’

  ‘Please,’ she said, throwing the word over her shoulder. ‘You have no family left to speak of, and we both know it.’

  White-hot rage ripped through me and I imagined leaping from the bed and pulling her hair out by the roots. ‘You don’t know anything about my family or my loyalty,’ I gritted out. ‘So just get out.’

  She left a tinkle of laughter behind her and I fell back against my pillow, panting. I was flooded with adrenalin; terrified and angry and confused and wishing I had been braver, wishing I could stand my ground in front of the Falcones without feeling the creeping arrival of my impending doom. Damn them. Damn her. In a different world we might have gotten along. But in the stark light of day, between two families who would hate each other for ever, I was nothing more than a troublesome, interfering Americano – and she was the Mafia queen from hell.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GOODBYE

  ‘You know, when I was going through your closet this morning, I had this horrifying realization that four pairs of sweatpants are more than enough for any one person in their entire lifetime.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, taking the sweatpants from Millie and balancing on her arm as I hiked said pants up under my hospital gown, ‘those are obviously the words of someone who’s never eaten an entire pizza and had their jeans betray them. You can never have enough sweatpants.’

  ‘Sweatpants are basically just pyjamas.’

  I wagged my finger at her. ‘Socially acceptable pyjamas. Socially acceptable.’

  She crinkled her nose in disgust, and I had to stifle the sudden urge to hug her. I was getting that a lot lately – this crazy appreciation for my best friend, who had been there for me more than ever since the warehouse. Plus, I was in a marginally good mood (all things considered) because I had just been discharged, my mother was waiting in the parking lot, Millie was helping me get dressed, and I was finally going home. Even if my life would never be the same again, at least I would be far away from IV drips and lurking Falcones. Especially the female variety.

  I slipped out of my hospital gown and shimmied into a tank top and flip-flops. My hair was greasy so I wound it into a high ponytail, scraping the stray strands away from my face. I chose to minimize my general sense of bleakness by not looking in the mirror.

  ‘Here,’ said Millie, passing me a tub of strawberry Vaseline. ‘This might help.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was like trying to fix a bullet wound with a Dora the Explorer bandage, but I smeared some on my lips anyway.

  Millie grabbed my overnight bag from the bedside locker and smoothed the sheets one last time to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. ‘You ready to go?’

  I did a cursory once-over of my hospital room. Ah, the times we shared. ‘I am so ready.’

  ‘Soph?’ My name coincided with a knock, and my heart rate doubled as Nic came into the room.

  ‘Oh,’ said Nic, taking in Millie and me at once. He raked his hand through his hair, ruffling what was already ruffled. ‘Hi, Millie. I didn’t know you’d be here so early.’

  ‘Nic,’ she said, faux-smiling so I could see every transparent link of her braces. ‘What a displeasure.’

  Up until then, I had somehow, miraculously, kept them apart since the warehouse. My feelings for Nic might have been a complete mess, but Millie’s attitude to him and the rest of his family was pretty clear-cut.

  ‘Right,’ he said, no longer sure of where to put himself. ‘It’s good of you to help Sophie like this.’

  Millie’s laugh was cold. ‘Thanks for the positive reinforcement, Nic. I’m surprised you even recognize the act of helping others.’

  Nic shoved his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders with a sigh. He looked at me. ‘I just came to say goodbye.’

  ‘So, is your stupid, pathetic, arrogant brother here somewhere?’ Millie interjected. If her anger at Nic was a storm, then her attitude to Dom was a hurricane.

  ‘Which one?’ asked Nic.

  Millie snorted. ‘I guess there is quite a list. I’m talking about Dom, King of the Assholes and Overlord of the Douchebags.’

  ‘Oh—’

  ‘General of the Jackass Army,’ Millie cut in.

  ‘He’s—’

  ‘Admiral of the Idiot Navy. Captain of—’

  ‘I get it,’ said Nic, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

  ‘Just making sure,’ said Millie. ‘I know you and I live on completely different planets, with different rules about who gets to randomly kill and endanger people, so I figured I’d spell it out for you.’

  Nic didn’t take the bait. ‘Dom’s down the hall in Luca’s room.’

  ‘Well, tell him not to come near us. I would hate to risk drowning in his surplus hair gel.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Also, tell him he’s an asshole for using me to spy on my best friend’s family.’

  ‘I’ll pass on the message.’

  ‘Mil,’ I interjected, ‘can I please have a second with Nic before we go?’ The last second we’d probably ever have.

  ‘Fine. But first, can I ask one last question?’

  Nic splayed his hands in surrender. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘If I offered you a candy bar would you punch me in the face in gratitude?’

  ‘What?’

  Millie feigned contemplation. ‘I’m just wondering how you usually return a favour. You know, the way Sophie saved your brother’s life and then you went ahead and shot her uncle.’

  Oh, what’s that? Why, it’s the elephant in the room.

  Nic’s gaze flicked to mine once more. It seemed to say, Please put me out of my misery. ‘I’m trying to make it right,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Can you unshoot someone?’ asked Millie. ‘I hadn’t heard of that.’

  ‘Oookay,’ I said, shooing Millie towards the door. ‘Just one minute, Millie. Please.’

  ‘Sorry, but that felt good,’ she sighed. ‘I had to do it.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. She disappeared into the hallway and I shut the door after her.

  The room felt so much smaller now that it was just Nic and me. I had to sit on the bed to catch my breath. That’s the trouble with broken ribs; even standing becomes problematic after a while.

  ‘So … that was awkward,’ he offered, coming to stand in front of me, his knees almost touching mine. The strain of the encounter was indented above his eyebrows. ‘I guess she hates me.’

  ‘She’s just protective,’ I offered, not quite meeting his eyes, or he’d see what I really meant: Oh man, she hates you with the fire of a thousand suns.

  ‘That’s the funny thing,’ he said, without smiling. ‘So am I.’

  ‘I k
now.’ I echoed the sadness in his voice. ‘I know you are.’

  The silence stretched out, the heat between us keeping us there, like two magnets just shy of touching.

  ‘So,’ he said, his voice quiet, ‘I should probably leave you alone now.’

  I prickled under the heat in his gaze. It was strange how, even now, after everything, he could make me feel so laden with emotion. I wasn’t sure if I liked or hated how on edge he made me. ‘Yeah,’ I said, getting to my feet and heaving through the surprising effort it took. He stepped back to give me room, his hands outstretched to steady me if I needed them. ‘You should probably get lost. I would like to survive until my prom at the very least.’

  He didn’t smile. I wasn’t smiling either. I was still partially hunched over, the lingering discomfort in my ribs making it hard to stand up straight. My face was a collection of pooling bruises – fluorescent yellow bleeding into faded purple that formed blotches underneath my eyes and along my jaw. I couldn’t speak more than a few sentences at a time. This was how he’d remember me.

  We lingered halfway between the door and the bed. This was the moment we had been speeding towards since the day I found out who he was – this was the moment we said goodbye. And now it was here, I just wanted it to be over.

  ‘So,’ I said, turning from him. ‘I’m going to take off …’

  ‘Soph.’ Nic tugged at my arm, pulling me around to face him.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, suddenly afraid of our proximity and how it shot through my emotions like an arrow. ‘I have to go.’

  His fingers brushed my chin. ‘Look at me.’

  I looked at him, past the dark eyes, the olive skin and the careful swoop of his hair. I made myself look at him, I made myself see him. There was blood on his hands. The fog was clearing, and I couldn’t ignore it.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. Millie and my mother were waiting for me. I placed my hands on Nic’s chest, feeling the hurried thump of his heartbeat as I pushed him away. ‘Look, Nic, what you did in the warehouse …’

  ‘I know,’ he said, his eyes closing. ‘You’ll never forgive me.’

  ‘You’d be a fool to ask for my forgiveness, knowing that you’re still going to go after him.’