Chapter 18 Cassian
CASSIAN
I’m standing in front of the fire in the great church waiting for Allegra to pack. I texted Angelo that I’d see him in Atlantic City after all.
I decided to attend and take Allegra with me in the spur of the moment.
I wouldn’t normally attend any event organized by my stepfamily, but as I slip my hand into my pocket and my fingers wrap around the bullet, I know it’s a good plan.
I’ll have them all in one place. I can watch them all and if I can see their faces, I’ll know.
So, I suppose the trip will serve a dual purpose.
It’s me making up for the crypt. I shouldn’t have taken her down there.
I should have handled that better because I didn’t intend on terrifying her.
It’s also to make up for whatever that was with Jet.
Why did I let him see her? I was crazed.
Furious with rage at the thought of him touching her.
But more at the thought that she may have wanted it.
I press my finger to the tip of the bullet in my pocket to force those thoughts away.
I need to focus and so I let my mind conjure up the images of the damage this bullet could have done.
Which of my stepfamily sent a loaded gun to my two-year-old nephew?
They out of anyone should know I’d kill them if they got near Seth’s family.
Enzo comes around the corner, tucks his phone into his pocket.
“I thought you weren’t going to go at all,” he says. I told him to get soldiers ready for an overnight in Atlantic City. “Why the change of heart?”
“I want to see my stepfamily,” I tell him, that bullet burning a hole in my pocket. I’m not sure of my plan exactly. Am I going to confront them? And who am I confronting? Severin? Sybil?
Jet?
Jet feels like a betrayal worse than the others.
There’s no reason for them to have done this. To have sent that loaded gun. It’s just illogical.
“Anything I should know?” Enzo asks.
I glance at him, shake my head. “No, nothing. I’m taking the Ferrari.”
“Oh? Why?” he asks, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “I mean it’ll be easier to keep track of everything in the SUVs. Everyone knows the Ferrari.”
“I’ll be fine, and you’ll follow with the men.”
“You don’t make my job easy, Cassian.”
“You don’t do this because it’s easy, Enzo,” I say, looking over his shoulder when I hear Allegra’s combat boots on the stone floor.
She’s carrying her backpack, her dark hair plaited into two thick, long braids on either side of her face.
She looks curious, maybe a little excited?
She’s been cooped up in here for days, so I get it.
But the moment she meets my eyes, she narrows hers, her expression shifting to annoyed and, as usual, contrary.
It makes me smile. “Excuse me,” I tell Enzo.
Enzo steps aside, but I don’t miss how his eyes follow mine to watch her too.
She takes in the collection of soldiers at the door.
“Don’t look so sour, Moth,” I say, taking her backpack. “Your face might freeze that way.”
She shifts her gaze to mine. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”
I chuckle. “Ready?”
“For a road trip with you and all your friends? I’m sure it’ll be the most fun I’ve ever had.” She’s not going to give me anything. But I don’t really deserve anything, do I?
“Come, Little Moth, I have a surprise for you.” Before she can say anything, I take her coat off the rack and drape it over her shoulders.
With my hand at her back, I guide her out the door and past the two SUVs to the 1966 Ferrari 275 a soldier just drove around.
I take the moment to enjoy the expression on her face, her surprise, her disbelief. Her delight?
“Mr. Trevino,” he says, handing me the keys. I take them and manually unlock the trunk to drop her bag inside.
“We’re taking that?” she asks, dragging her gaze from the car to me.
Then I remember the accident that killed her father and wonder if I’m misreading her expression.
“It’s safe,” I tell her. I’ve maintained it meticulously over the years. It’s a passion of mine and a hobby I don’t get to spend much time on. It, like cooking, relaxes me. They’re about the only things that do.
She glances at the car again before looking back at me. “It’s not that, I’m just surprised.”
I raise my eyebrows, amused. “Is it so strange?”
She walks closer to the car, rubs a smudge off the door. “I figured you’d be the obnoxious sportscar type. Not a Ferrari 275,” she says.
“You know the model?” Now it’s me who’s surprised.
Her grin wide, she turns to face me, and she looks far too pleased with herself.
I chuckle, open the passenger side door. “Well, I guess we’re both full of surprises today.”
“Wait. Don’t you have a bag?” She asks before getting in.
“I have an apartment there.”
“Oh. Of course you do.” She climbs into the car and can’t hide her enthusiasm as she peers closely at everything. Weirdly, it pleases me.
I close her door and walk around to the driver’s seat. When I climb in, she’s looking into the back. It’s a two-seater.
“No soldiers hiding back there?” she asks, running her fingers over the red leather piping of the seat.
“They’ll follow.” I glance in the rear-view mirror to see Enzo and several others filing into the SUVs. I start the engine and head out.
“What year is it?” she asks.
“1966.”
“Nice,” she says, caressing this and that with a tenderness that truly surprises. “Can I drive?”
I turn to her, curious because this is possibly the first interaction we’ve had that isn’t somehow fraught.
“Can you actually drive?” I ask.
“Rude. I am an excellent driver.”
“Well, you’re not used to a car like this, I’m sure.”
“You’re wrong and besides, I’ve never hit anything,” she qualifies, sitting up as we pick up speed and I’m sure that what I’m seeing now is pleasure on her face.
I smile. “Well, then, if you’ve never hit anything…” I trail off, giving her what amounts to an eye roll.
“Come on. I’m serious.” She touches my arm, and I look down at her hand. She must realize what she’s doing the moment I do and pulls back. She clears her throat. “Really, I’m a good driver. I’ve driven my dad’s cars.”
“Have you?” I know Alaric Moretti had a collection of antique cars.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, liking this conversation. Liking not fighting with her. I look at her as I shift gears accelerating once we’re on the main road. She seems to relax and inhales deeply of that particular smell that clings to old cars. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s a thing.
We fall silent for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts and I admit I’m showing off a little when we lose the procession of soldiers, driving well over the speed limit which has Allegra holding onto the sides of her seat and smiling wide with pleasure.
“You like speed,” I say, weaving through traffic smoothly.
She glances at me and it’s as if she realizes she’s enjoying herself, so she wipes that smile off her face and shrugs a shoulder.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“What?”
“Don’t stop smiling.”
She is caught off guard and I see the blush creep up her neck before she turns her face to look out of the side window.
“My mom loved tinkering with old cars. My dad bought them for her.”
I glance at her, watch her smile fade as a line forms between her brows. Her father was out on a pleasure ride when he was killed. He was driving a car older than this one. The brakes had failed.
I think about her father’s accident. It was convenient for Malek. For Michael too, maybe? It wouldn’t be hard to arrange on an older car.
“Everyone thought Dad was the collector, but it was my mom’s passion.”
“Oh? That’s unusual.”
“She was unusual. And I guess it was one of her two passions. Although I think it gave her more joy than music did.”
I know her mother was a gifted pianist although she didn’t play publicly after marrying Alaric Moretti.
“Why do you think that?” I ask.
“She only played the saddest tunes. I think she liked the way they made her feel, but when you saw her smile when she was tinkering with the cars, she glowed. She was alive and amazing.” She turns her face away, and although I can’t see her, I hear the loss she feels in her words.
“You were close.”
She shrugs a shoulder, rolls the window down a little then puts it back up. She reaches for the glove compartment and opens it before I can tell her to stop. She looks at what’s inside, then at me. It’s my Glock.
I reach over to close it. She folds her hands on her lap, any openness in her face gone. “My father had a rule about guns at the house.”
“I’m sure his soldiers all carried guns, Allegra. Maybe he was careful you didn’t see them, but I can assure you, they were there.”
“You’re probably right,” she says. Did she really think they had no guns in the house?
“Tell me about school,” I say to change the subject.
“There’s not much to tell.”
“You’re in college. That’s something. Tell me about that” I say, wanting her to continue. Wanting to lift the mood again.
“You want to hear about my education?” she asks like she doesn’t buy it.
“Humor me. School was never a priority for me.”
She studies me momentarily. “I’m in my second year, but since dad died, Michael won’t let me actually go to any classes in person so I’m just taking the few offered online. I don’t think I’m going to continue though.”
“Why wouldn’t you continue?” I glance at her. She is passionate, that I can tell from the notes I read in her books. She loves the history of art in churches, the stories that go along with them. I get it.
“I’m required to attend some classes in person. When dad was alive, I was allowed to go with soldiers. Michael has made it clear he won’t spoil me like dad did. His words.”
“Is he jealous of you?”
She glances at me. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think after what happened, dad felt guilty or something, so he tried to spend time with me, and I guess Michael didn’t like it.”
“Guilty?”