33. Day 90 – Luciano
Matteo leans over to pour another few fingers of brandy into my empty glass. I take a deep swig and turn to glance out of the window, not bothering to limit myself as it sears a burning line down my throat. “I hope this party is more entertaining than the last one.”
His entertained snort fills the back of the Bentley we’re traveling in. “It can’t be any less. Care to bet if the Asante heir is still alive?”
Stefano Asante. I tip the glass back, draining it as I consider his words.
She cares for him. I could see it, see the terror in her eyes as the guns were pressed to his head. And the disgust, too, as her palm raked across my face.
The marks have faded, but I can still feel them, etched into my psyche as deeply as the Asante brand that mars her skin.
She thinks I have abandoned her.
“Two hundred says that he’s suspiciously absent from this evening’s activities.”
Someone else taken from her.
Matteo howls at that. “Done.”
“And Caterina,” he continues. He eyes Domenico, silent as he sits across from us. The cuts from his latest beating still cover his face. It’s going to leave scars. “That should be interesting. Salvatore doesn’t fuck around with his belongings.”
When will it fucking end?
Three months of hell, and here we are. All of us, fucking scarred.
As we pull through the gates of the Asante estate, the last thing I want to do is go in there. But I slide from the car and adjust my suit jacket, tugging at my waistcoat.
It feels like the deception comes more easily now. As if the veneer I’ve adopted these last few months is sinking through my skin, settling into me. Becoming who I am.
We’re led through the halls to a new room. This one is the size of a ballroom, hundreds of flickering candles above our heads as a singer croons in the corner. Black-clad waiting staff weave through the boisterous crowd, carrying champagne and brandy.
I follow Matteo as he cuts a path to Salvatore’s side. The chair is closer to a throne, and his back is straight, his eyes icy as always. “Matteo. Morelli. Good to see you.”
He dismisses Dom completely.
My eyes skip to the empty space next to him, and I offer a smirk. “This feels a little more festive at least, after our last meeting.”
Matteo picks up the bait I toss down. “Indeed. How is my cousin, Asante? Will she be making an appearance?”
Salvatore looks irritated at the question, at the curiosity Matteo doesn’t bother to hide. “She’ll be here. She has been unwell.”
What the hell does that mean?
Asante lifts his glass. “Enjoy the party, both of you.”
It’s a dismissal. I can feel Matteo’s irritation as we stroll away, pausing to collect a drink and finding a spot near the wall. “He has an interesting manner, Asante.”
Matteo ignores me. His face is dark as he downs his drink, reaching out and grabbing the arm of a passing girl as he picks up a second drink. The men around us cast glances in our direction, giving us a wide berth.
“Almost… disrespectful,” I continue in a low tone. I keep the mild expression on my face as I casually search the room, looking for a glimpse of bronze hair. “Considering everything you’ve given him.”
A grunt of agreement.
I’m not averse to sowing a few cracks within their ranks while I’m here. And if anything rankles Matteo, I’ve realized, it’s the thought of not receiving the respect he actually believes he is due.
I stay where I am when he strides off, his eyes sliding around the room as he searches for a woman. I pity her, whoever she is.
Dom pauses. “Find her.”
If I feel like I’m breaking, Domenico Rossi has been shredded. Even his voice sounds different than it was a few months ago. Deeper. Something savage lingers there as if it’s been woken by the nights he spends savaging innocent people for Matteo’s amusement.
Can we even come back from the depths we’ve fallen to?
“Not long,” I say quietly. Desperately. “We’re going home, Dom.”
My eyes snag on the entrance doors, and I push away from the wall. I don’t look back.
I track them through the crowd.
It seems that I owe Matteo some money, because Stefano Asante has his hand on Caterina’s bare back as he keeps his arm out, stopping her from being jostled by the crowd.
Her shoulder blades are pointed and sharp, bronze hair brushing her spine between them, straight and sleek as she follows his direction. And I slip in behind them, sipping at my drink as I stroll.
I come to a stop in the middle of the crowd. There’s something different in her gait. The way that she walks – almost hunched.
Asante said she hadn’t been well, whatever that means.
I force myself to keep going, wandering behind them and watching from the corner of my eye as she’s led to Asante’s side. He glances at her, then at Stefano, exchanging a few brief words.
As they move away from him, Cat still walking in that strange way, I step smoothly into their path. “Buonasera.”
The bronze dress hangs from her frame. Her hands dangle by her sides, relaxed enough, but she doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t give any indication that she’s heard me.
I study her, the concern growing. I could accept her anger, her fury, but this – this emptiness – it’s wrong.
She’s wrong.
Some of Asante’s men linger nearby as I force a charmed smile to my lips. “You look lovely this evening, Caterina. May I have this dance?”
This time, something flickers on her face. She whispers something, too low for me to catch.
Stefano steps in front of her, his arm covering her. “Not tonight.”
My eyes narrow. “Is she well?”
Careful. I can’t lose the ground I’ve gained now, after so long.
“Not well enough to waste her time talking to you.” I snap my gaze to his, catch the challenge and the anger in his black eyes. “Interesting choice in friends you have, Morelli.”
I purse my lips, still smiling. And I’m still smiling as Salvatore Asante walks up behind them, his voice glacial. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all,” I say in a low voice. “I was hoping for a dance with your wife, Asante. But Stefano here seems rather protective of her.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Understandable, of course.”
Salvatore’s eyes harden further. Wariness wars with irritation. “One dance.”
“Of course.” I lean past a seething Stefano to grasp Cat’s hand, patting his cheek. He jerks away. “Don’t frown so hard, amico. She’ll be back with you in a moment.”
There’s no resistance as I pull on her hand. She follows me to the dark marble floor where several couples are already dancing, creating the thin veil of civility for tonight’s party that will dissolve within the hour as more alcohol and drugs are passed out. More women.
She’s barely even air in my arms as I slide my hand around her waist. Her eyes are unfocused on my chest, her lips moving as I lift her hand. “Caterina.”
She moves with me. Follows like a shadow, a ghost.
My throat locks up, until I have to force the words free, force the carefree smile to my face as if I’m merely chatting about the weather. “Little crow.”
A flinch.
And more murmurs. Without her heels, she’s shorter than I am, and I bend slightly to listen.
“Not real. Not real. Not real.”
My brows furrow, and smooth out again. “Cat. Look at me.”
But there’s nothing as we sway in place. No matter what I say, she doesn’t look at me. And when the music ends, I’m forced to lead her back to Stefano. He doesn’t even look at me as he scans her.
I keep my voice low. “What the hell is wrong with her?”
He clearly debates whether to answer me at all. He flicks black eyes to where Salvatore has sat again. The woman who came to dinner with us is in his lap.
“K withdrawal,” he says finally. He looks ill as he says it. “She’s been on it since the dinner party.”
Ketamine.
I can’t.
I turn away. My feet eat up the growing distance between us as I blindly push my way through the crowd.
Her face. Empty, and lost, and—
If I don’t get away from her, I’m going to kill them.
I stagger into the bathroom. Several stalls line the walls, clearly designed for events like these, and I’m grateful for it as I slam the door closed behind me and sink to the floor, my hands gripping my hair.
My fault.
I don’t know how long I sit there for. But I can’t go back out there – not until I’m back in control, and at this moment I am not.
I am unraveling.
Others come in and out. Someone knocks on the stall door once, but when I ignore them, they fuck off.
The main door to the bathroom squeaks as it opens. At the low murmur, I stiffen.
Stefano drops his hands from her face as I pull the door open. He glares at me. “Get out.”
He cares for her, too.
“Give me a minute,” I breathe. I don’t look away from her, from that vacant expression that petrifies me in a way I can’t voice. “One minute, Asante. Please.”
He glances between us. “What the hell is your game, Luc?”
“The same as yours.” I keep my voice low, my hands out as he stares at me. “Please. Whatever you want in exchange—,”
“A phone.” He says the words instantly. “Give me your phone.”
I slip my hand into my pocket, handing it to him and murmuring the code as he unlocks it with a nod of thanks.
He looks to her again. “One minute. I’ll stand at the door.”
All the while, Caterina stands between us.
As soon as the door closes, I move for her. My hands grip her cheeks, lifting her face to mine. So familiar, so beloved and so fucking empty. “Caterina Corvo. Look at me.”
Her eyes skate over my face. “Not real—,”
“Real.” I snap the word. Grabbing her hand, I press it against my chest. “You hear that? This is yours, Cat. This is real.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. And I inhale sharply as a tear slips from her eye, trails down her face. “It’s not.”
“It is.” I whisper it, over and over again. Pressing my lips to that tear, tasting it. Her forehead. Her cheek. “This is real, Cat. Come back to me.”
She’s crying in earnest now. I thought I had nothing left inside me to break, but the sight of her tears rips an anguished sound from my throat.
I wrap my arms around her, pull her into me, her cheek against my chest. “Listen to that. Come back, little crow. I can’t—,”
My own voice breaks. “I can’t do this if you stop fighting. You don’t get to stop. You don’t get to give up on us.”
She shudders against me, still crying. Still silent.
“I know your lines, remember? I know your lines, Caterina Corvo.” I swallow. “And we’re not there, yet. So I need you to believe that this is real, even if everything else is fucked. This is real.”
“You left.” The low whisper, low and raw and pained, undoes me.
I press my lips to her hair, my eyes closing in relief. “I’m keeping my promise, little crow. I haven’t brought her home yet, but I will. No matter what. That is my line.”
I pull my head back, silently pleading as I look down at her.
“Real.”
She whispers it as if she hardly dares to believe it, and my throat bobs. “Real. But we don’t have much time.”
We’ve already had longer than we should have. I lift my hand, pushing damp hair from her face. My fingers tremble. “God, Cat.”
“Luc,” she whispers. Her face begins to crumple.
“No.” I grab her face in mine, press our foreheads together. “No. You are not allowed to quit. Do you hear me? This is not the end of our story.”
When she steps forward, I don’t hesitate. I wrap my arms around her again, trying to warm her cold body with my own.
“We’re so fucking close. I’m getting Alessia out of there, and then we’re coming for you. We’re coming.”
Her swallow is loud in the quiet. “Dom – is he—,”
“He’s fine,” I breathe. “Tired, but fine.”
She glances at the door. “And Dante? Gio? ”
“Missing you.” I brush my lips against hers, can’t stop it. “We’re all missing you, little crow.”
A low knock sounds against the door. Her lips push against mine, sudden and urgent, and I put every bit of pain and want into that kiss before I tear myself away. “I love you. Promise me you’ll remember.”
She keeps her eyes on mine like I’ll disappear. “I’ll try.”
I cup her cheek. Then I gesture to the door. “I’ll go first. Take a minute.”
One last, final kiss.
I nod at Stefano on my way out, my murmur making him stiffen. “Take care of her, Asante.”
And I launch myself back into the party.
I have a fucking job to do.