Chapter 16
16
Grey
Smoke still billowed from the cellar as Jett put down the hose. Sweat glistened over his whole face like he’d been coated in oil. Grey guessed he looked worse. His entire body ached from where he’d fallen, jumping down Emilio’s cellar exit. If that old bastard hadn’t been such a paranoid freak, Grey would be dead.
Max would be dead.
Giovanni would be dead.
The shadow of what almost happened clung to him. If Max hadn’t been there ...
Don’t. Don’t think like that.
He hadn’t seen the backpack. He hadn’t recognised the threat. He was too busy ...
Don’t.
If Max hadn’t barged onto the Barbarani estate, would Grey have been thinking straight? Would he have recognised the threat of the bag instead of watching the way Max tucked her hair behind her ears and wondering who she’d assaulted to get stuck in jail for six months?
Or if she hadn’t been there, would they all be dead?
No. Grey would have noticed the bag. He would have been thinking clearly. Max saved them, yes. But it would never have come to this if she hadn’t been there in the first place, he was sure of that.
‘You okay, man?’ Jett clapped a strong hand on Grey’s shoulder. He felt himself sink into the ground. ‘You did good. You saved ’em. Don’t be hard on yourself.’
He swallowed hard. ‘Max saved them.’
‘She told me you picked her up and threw her down the chute. She said she froze, didn’t know what was going on.’
‘She was the one who worked out it was a bomb.’
‘Grey.’ Jett put his other hand on Grey’s left shoulder. ‘Look at me.’
It felt like a massive weight was pushing Grey’s neck down as he tried.
‘It was not your fault.’ The words were heavier than they sounded. Jett wasn’t just talking about the bomb.
Grey shrugged him off, gave his friend a quick grimace of thanks then took a step back. Back to work. ‘Did you get a look at it?’
Jett knew not to push. ‘Yeah. It’s ammonium nitrate.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘Because I’m a reformed terrorist,’ Jett said. ‘I’m insulted. Am I not allowed to know things unless they make a broom broom noise?’
Despite the smoke and the shattered remains of the cellar around them, Grey let his aching muscles relax into the tiny slice of normality Jett was offering him. ‘I just didn’t think someone could be as good-looking as you are and also an expert on everything,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Einstein, wow my pants off with your explosives knowledge.’
Jett grinned. ‘I confess it is not my good looks or supreme intelligence that takes the credit here, but my woeful stint as a mechanic up at the mines.’
Jett was always vague about his past. Grey knew he’d had a bunch of different jobs, all involving machines. He tried to picture the Jett he knew up in the sweltering north heat in a fluorescent jumpsuit and a yellow helmet. It didn’t fit. Secretly, he was convinced the guy had been an off-the-books contractor for some government department, training AI to destroy another healthy blue-collar industry and that’s why he wasn’t allowed to talk about it.
‘They use ammonium nitrate to blow up mines,’ Jett continued. ‘Farmers use it too.’
‘It’s a mining explosive?’ Grey asked.
‘Looks like it.’
‘How the fuck did it get here?’
Jett held up his hands. ‘That’s where my expertise ends. I just get to look good from here on out and let the ugly people like you and Maxella figure out the why and who.’
‘Hey!’ A voice came from behind Greyson like a hit to the back of his head. ‘I just got blown up, you know – bit harsh calling me ugly!’
Max had obviously extracted herself from Lang, the Bindi Bindi paramedic who owed Gio about a hundred million favours, so he could always be counted on to attend to any mysterious injuries without reporting them to the cops. Grey was also fairly certain he was sleeping with Tomaso. He couldn’t look at her. Not after what he knew had happened in Emilio’s secret hideaway. He’d gone back. It had been happening more often these days. But normally he was on his own when it did.
Grey felt her eyes on him. Don’t look. He didn’t want to see what he knew would be there. Pity. Horror. A sickly combination of both, perhaps. Thankfully, before the silence could stretch to the point of awkward, Grey was viciously attacked.
Nella wrapped her arms around his shoulders and Frankie, being so short, around his middle. Although he was slowly suffocating to death, it was oddly calming.
He awkwardly patted them both on their backs as they sobbed. ‘What? Nella, I didn’t get a word of that.’
‘Eee ... ort ... oo ... ead.’
‘Was she hit by shrapnel?’ Grey asked Jett over Nella’s sweaty hair.
‘She’s saying We thought you were dead .’
This provoked Nella into another round of deep, guttural sobs. Frankie sniffled quietly near his armpit.
‘All right, all right.’ Grey tried to pry them off. ‘That’s enough. I’m alive.’ He’d always thought his discomfort with affection was like how some people couldn’t whistle, or were afraid of heights. He drew a deep breath and unhooked Nella’s fingers from his filthy shirt, while Jett watched with an unreadable expression.
The other Barbaranis were standing at staggered points, looking on with caution. No one seemed to know what to say or do. It took Grey a minute to realise they were all waiting for him. He could still feel Max’s gaze cutting through like a blinding crack of sunset, but he couldn’t face her.
He turned back to Nella instead as she wiped her eyes, mascara tracked down her face like ancient tribal markings. Still trying to get his lung capacity back, he waited for Jett to comfort her but instead he was left to watch awkwardly as his friend opened his mouth then closed it again, his body tensing like an animal locked in an invisible cage.
‘I thought you were going to brunch with Eliza?’ Jett said, a glare settling across his face like grey clouds over a horizon. ‘Why were you in the cellar?’
‘I said I was going to FaceTime Eliza,’ Nella said. ‘She’s in Vietnam. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, I live here.’
‘I noticed,’ Jett said quietly, almost to himself. Grey was too tired to umpire whatever this was. ‘Although you only seem to call this place home when it’s convenient to you. And apparently convenient to you coincides with whenever there’s a bomb explosion.’
‘I can only recall the one bomb explosion – have there been others I missed?’
‘The point stands, Nella.’
‘Are you blaming me for almost getting blown up?’
‘I’m saying you didn’t need to be there!’
‘Why don’t you say, “I’m glad you didn’t die, Nella” like a normal person?’
‘Glad you didn’t die, Nella,’ Jett said, ‘because your cat’s being a pain in the arse lately and I can’t guarantee I would have fed him if you were no longer here.’ He started to wrap the hose around his arm like a trained python, stormy expression not clearing.
Grey took the hose: Fixer instinct.
‘What have you done?’ Giovanni’s voice cut through the debris left behind in the air after Nella and Jett’s ... whatever that was.
‘Gio.’ Grey knew he looked like an absolute mess. There were cuts on his arms from falling down the passage and soot and debris from helping Jett put out the flames. Thankfully, no one outside had spotted the smoke, so they were clear of any interruption by firies and cops. Some part of Grey sort of wished they’d show up though. Take the responsibility out of his hands.
Gio held Grey’s gaze. He wasn’t sure what to make of the old man’s face. Was he angry? Scared? Constipated?
Constipated was the closest guess. Giovanni was shaking with whatever it was he wanted to get out. ‘The evidence,’ Gio spat. ‘You’ve washed it away!’ He stared at the hose around Grey’s arm like it had tried to strangle him.
Him? It was Jett who’d put out the flames.
‘Signore ...’ Jett began.
Grey jumped in. ‘We put out the fire, Gio. Even in winter, the threat of—’
‘I WILL NOT,’ Giovanni said, ‘be spoken back to on my own property, Hawke!’
Of course, just like Tom’s car, like Frankie’s flame throwing protest that ended up on Channel 9, like Luca punching Forrest Valentine, Nella choosing law school over selling wine, it was somehow all Greyson’s fault.
‘We need to rethink the gala.’ Grey said it as fast as he could, like he was removing a sharp object from a wound.
‘Your security can’t tell if someone’s bringing explosives into my house? What the fuck am I paying them for then, Greyson?’
‘Dad! Grey saved your life and that’s what you say?’ Nella admonished.
‘Someone was trying to blow up the wine,’ Gio said, completely ignoring his daughter. ‘This wasn’t a personal attack. We weren’t supposed to be in there.’
The wine. It was always about the wine for Giovanni.
‘By that logic, whoever is responsible for sabotaging the wine is also behind the bomb. Why would someone try and sabotage the wine, and then blow it up?’
Grey couldn’t help it. He looked at Max. It was a mistake.
‘Why are we assuming the wine was deliberately sabotaged?’ Luca cut in. His face was drawn and pale, much like it had been that morning over the balcony railing. ‘Why is it totally impossible you made a bad batch?’
Tomaso was clearly too shocked to argue back; he was watching the entire exchange with a slightly concussed look. Gio moved towards Luca, but Nella forced herself between them.
‘No.’ Her face was raw and wet. ‘We almost lost each other – you have to stop this! We’re on the same side!’
‘Are we?’ Giovanni glared at his son. Luca raised his chin.
‘Yes,’ Nella growled. ‘Accusing each other won’t get us anywhere. We need to let Grey deal with this, like we always do. Max too. And if they ask you for anything – any information, any little detail – you give it to them, okay? No matter how confidential.’
Gio didn’t like it when Nella brandished her lawyer-ness in family business. Grey wasn’t sure if it was because Gio didn’t like being given orders by his daughter or by lawyers, or by women. The wine mogul turned his glare, like a shotgun, away from Luca and onto Nella. But she just glared back.
‘The gala goes ahead. We do not back down to threats,’ Giovanni said. He started to walk away but stopped, half turned towards his children and Grey and said, ‘Be careful.’
Grey couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a blip of fatherly concern that Giovanni normally fought so hard against letting slip. Tomaso threw one more look at the group, seeming like he was about to say something, but shook his head and followed Gio towards the main house.
‘Grey?’ Nella said finally. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
He wondered with a jolt what it was about him that appeared not all right. He nodded because it was all he was able to do. Questions, memories, emotions from the past few hours were churning sickeningly in his head, and he didn’t think he could pull any sort of coherent answer from them if he tried.
Thankfully, Concetta, the cook and head housekeeper who’d been looking after the Barbaranis longer than him, longer than his father – Grey was almost certain she had been carved from the same stone as his cottage – came to take them all back up to the house. She was an Italian witch who cast her spells over everyone, making them fall in love with her food and never want to eat or drink anything else so they would wither and starve if they ever left her. She would comfort them, she would care for them, let them cry into a bowl of tagliatelle. That was not Grey’s job. He had to remember that.
‘ Mange ,’ she said, stretching her arms wide to cajole them up to the mansion like a mother goose collecting her goslings. Even Vittoria, who’d been fussing over Luca, angry that he’d waited for her and not run to save himself.
As she walked away, Concetta turned to Grey. ‘Someone keeps leaving the front door open.’
Someone also just tried to blow up the family we work for.
As though sensing his inner dialogue, Concetta added stiffly, ‘ After I’ve locked it.’
He thought of Arnold’s smug bird massacre. The uneasy sensation he’d got as he left Max in his cottage – the feeling of someone’s eyes on him.
‘I’m sure it’s just one of the kids,’ he said.
‘Kids?’ Concetta barked. ‘The eldest are basically the same age as you.’
Grey didn’t like the way Concetta looked at him sometimes. She was one of the only people besides Giovanni and Vittoria who’d known his parents as they were before he was born, and he didn’t like people having pieces of him that he wasn’t sure he properly understood himself. Every time Concetta cast her olive-coloured eyes towards him, he felt as though she could see the shape of something he’d buried a long time ago.
‘I’ll check the locks,’ he promised her.
Grey exhaled slowly as Concetta followed the Barbaranis up the staircase, content in the knowledge they’d be fine with her and Jett, who would get the bottle of limoncello from the kitchen cabinet and pour everyone a glass except himself. Grey breathed out again, deeper this time. They were all alive.
As he watched them go, emotion reared like a wave he’d had his back to. There was no stopping it. No pulling it back to shore. He swallowed it down, diving under, hoping it wouldn’t take over and smash his head on the rocks.
From above the surface, a voice called his name.
He walked up the wooden staircase.
‘Hey.’ Her voice was like a viper, lashing at him. Trying to sink her fangs deep into his skin. Poison spreading.
She followed him out of the winery, to the fields where the tyres of Lang’s ambulance disguised as a multicoloured kombi van had flattened the grass.
‘ Hey! ’
Instead of fangs it was her hand, grabbing him around his bicep, nails digging in. ‘Greyson, look at me.’ It was the same voice she must have used to get criminals to put down their weapons. Hands above their head. Blow into the tube.
She’s the criminal , he reminded himself.
She’s the one who noticed the backpack ...
He let invisible hands mould his face into a blank expression. Confident his eyes were dry, he looked at Max properly for the first time since he’d almost crushed her to death.
Her arms were scraped like his – red trails of corrugated skin twisting with the black tattoos. Apart from a bit of soot and a couple of scratches on her face, there were no injuries from the explosion. Assessing her for any damage he might have inflicted when he fell, his eyes trained quickly over her chest (didn’t want to think about the last time she’d forced his eyes there). He’d forgotten how small she was. How had he not hurt her? Did she have a cracked rib? Had Lang checked her properly?
Shit. He’d been staring too long. Hadn’t said anything. He had to say something ...
‘Greyson.’ Her hand twitched as though she was going to hold it out to him but then thought better of it. ‘I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
He blinked.
‘My old partner had it,’ she said cautiously, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘He was almost stabbed to death by a guy hopped up on meth. Cal was the first responder. He’s found the right people though, to help him with it.’
‘Sorry,’ Grey said, crossing his arms, ‘help him with what ?’
Max blinked. ‘PTSD,’ she said slowly.
‘I don’t have PTSD,’ Grey said. ‘And you’re not a doctor.’
‘I ...’ She was looking at him like he was delusional. Pitiful. This deranged criminal who might have tried to blow up the Barbaranis thought he was delusional. She closed her mouth. Was this edging too close to a personal conversation for Maxella Conrad?
‘How did you know about the backpack?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Her voice sounded tentative, like he’d hit her in the sparring ring and she was dodging before the next blow.
‘The backpack. With the bomb inside it. How did you know it was there?’
‘Oh, you know, Greyson, it’s this really innovative, new fandangle piece of equipment I learnt to operate in my highly classified tactical training unit. My fucking eyes .’
‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’ He couldn’t help himself. She irritated him to the point where a rational conversation was impossible. Even one where he was accusing her of trying to murder all the Barbaranis.
‘Well, you’re clearly the expert on humour. Tell me the joke again about how you think I’m the murderer.’ She made it sound ridiculous, glaring up at him in Nella’s singlet and her ripped jeans, one leg rolled slightly higher than the other, like he was a child who couldn’t count to ten.
But it wasn’t ridiculous. Was it? Max was the only one in that room who was a stranger. A criminal stranger at that. Her motive for being here, for forcing him to bring her into the inner circle of the Barbaranis, was the murder she swore would happen tomorrow night.
What if she was the one planning that murder?
Easier if she’s the bad guy, isn’t it? An actual reason to hate her, now that she’s seen who you really are. That what you’re looking for?
‘Okay, Greyson.’ She seemed to be following his unsaid thoughts. ‘I’ll play. If I’m a suspect, let’s interrogate me. Go on. What’s my motive?’
He considered this. ‘Revenge. You’re enacting a revenge plan on Libby Johnston’s behalf.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘But what exactly am I getting revenge for in this scenario?’
‘She blames the Barbarani–La Marca feud for her arrest. She wants them all to pay.’
‘But Kaine Skinner and the La Marcas were the ones who framed her. The Barbaranis are a pretty loose connection.’
‘What can I say? The criminal mind just loves destruction.’ He shrugged.
‘That’s not actually true,’ Max said. ‘Most people don’t commit crimes because they love breaking the law. A very small percentage of people murder just for the thrill of it. Most people commit crimes because of their circumstances – poverty, drug dependence, that kind of thing. They break the law because they have no other choice.’
‘So why did you commit your crime?’ It was out of him before he could stop it.
Max’s throat bobbed as she inhaled deeply. Grey braced for the yelling. He probably deserved it. ‘Do you actually think I tried to kill you and the Barbaranis, and myself , just to help out a mate I met in prison?’
He would have preferred it if she’d yelled. This calm, controlled version of Max was terrifying. He sighed. ‘No. I don’t think it was you.’
‘How kind of you to say.’ She was still using her faraway voice, but at least there was a hint of the familiar snark. ‘What about Skinner?’
Grey felt himself relax. Relieved that it didn’t seem like she was going to bring up the cellar again – and that hopefully he’d put a very firm, iron-sealed lid on the PTSD conversation – he jumped on her train of thought, grateful to be carried away. ‘Bombs aren’t Skinner’s style.’ He told her what he knew about Skinner’s kills. Kaine was a hit man, and he didn’t play with his prey. He executed with his gun when he wanted the bodies to be found, and when he didn’t, they weren’t. He didn’t like mess. A bomb was messy – it left too many clues about the person who planted it. And how would Skinner know they’d all be in there at that exact moment? Grey would have to ask Jett if the bomb had been detonated by Gio opening the bag or if it had been counting down the whole time.
‘I’m sure you will have considered the most unpleasant option?’ Max raised an eyebrow. ‘That it was left by someone who was in there when it went off.’
‘Of course I considered it,’ Grey said. ‘I considered it was you.’
She glared. ‘You know what I mean. Someone working for Skinner, maybe.’
‘I told you, it’s not Skinner’s style. And to suggest one of the Barbaranis is working with the La Marcas—’
‘You’re so brainwashed you can’t even see your own bias when it comes to them!’
‘I work for them!’ Grey said, his voice straining. ‘I can’t start investigating them! And I trust them. They are the only people I can trust. The most likely scenario is the La Marcas.’
She caught the underlying meaning in his words: he didn’t trust her. Her mouth thinned, eyes sparking as she shook her head. ‘You attach too much of your identity to them. You can’t separate yourself. You need to look at the bigger picture – you’re so focused on the family feud that you’ll miss any clues that it could be someone else!’
‘And you’re so desperate for this to be a massive murder conspiracy so you can save the day and beg the commissioner for your badge back! Have you already worked out which actress will play you in the TV adaptation?’
They were inches from each other, eyes burning, chests heaving. Grey felt like he was getting ready to psych himself up to jump off a cliff, or a plane.
He waited. It was her turn to yell. He really didn’t know what else to say.
He was exhausted.
‘Well, then, I guess we’ll even each other out,’ she finally said.
‘Guess so.’ Was the fight over? He didn’t have the strength to pick up his sword again. She could win.
‘What’s Luca’s deal?’ Max turned towards the house as though expecting to see the Barbaranis watching from the windows like nosy ghouls.
Grey clamped his jaw. He could admit that she was right – he did need someone with an outside perspective. But still, he had to be careful with what he gave away. ‘He’s in love.’
‘No, really, what’s his problem?’
‘He’s in love,’ Greyson repeated, this time with a sigh. ‘With Ariana La Marca.’
Max’s eyebrows disappeared into the thick wisps of hair hanging from her loose bun.
‘But I don’t think Luca knows it himself,’ Grey continued.
‘But you know?’
‘It’s my job to know.’
‘Is that why he beat up Forrest Valentine in Perth last year?’
Grey saw the look on Max’s face – entitled rich prick , she was thinking. ‘I wasn’t there but I know Luca and he must have been provoked somehow. And not just by seeing Forrest with Ariana.’
Max shook her head. ‘And they’re invited to this gala that Giovanni refuses to cancel?’
Grey nodded. Would the fight with Luca be enough for Forrest to organise a deadly sabotage? Say the wine was deliberately poisoned in order to destroy the Barbaranis’ reputation, but then Poppy Raven dies unexpectedly. Would the person responsible want to remove all traces of evidence by blowing up the barrels of wine? That would make Gio right about the bomb – it wasn’t meant to kill anyone.
But how could someone have snuck into the property and not been seen? It was impossible.
Well, except for the short, dark-haired impossibility standing in front of him.
Max was looking up at the house. ‘He thinks he’s invincible, doesn’t he?’
‘Luca?’
‘Giovanni.’
‘His entire life, his father’s legacy – it’s all been one enormous risk. He will never back down. It’s simply not an option for him.’
‘Even when his entire family almost blew up, and him along with them?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Grey said. ‘The unknown consequences, no matter how dire, do not exist to people like Giovanni. Normal people make decisions by weighing up the good and the bad that could occur. Giovanni doesn’t do that – and neither did his father. There only exists what needs to be done. They do what needs to be done.’
‘I understand.’ The expression on her face caught Grey off guard. And the way she said it wasn’t in that typical move-the-conversation-along way. Her face said it all. She’d done something like that before. She’d done what needed to be done. And damned the consequences. ‘So ...’ She rocked back on her heels. The shoelace of her left boot was undone. ‘We need to go to the city?’
Grey nodded. He was secretly glad she’d assumed she was coming too. Meant he didn’t have to ask her. Grey didn’t ask for help. ‘I need to work out what happened to Poppy Raven. And I think it’s time I paid Libby Johnston a visit.’
Her eyebrows disappeared again. ‘She won’t talk to you.’
‘I know,’ Grey said. ‘But she’ll talk to you.’