Chapter 28
De Luca’s breathing was hypnotic.
Bastian lay and listened for a while, losing himself in the rhythm of soft inhales and exhales.
The bedsheets were rumpled and warm, and Bastian felt both exhausted and wide awake.
He couldn’t stop smiling. His skin hummed with life where De Luca had touched it, as if the inspector’s fingers and lips had left a shimmering mark.
Bastian wanted to lie there forever with De Luca naked beside him, his arm resting against Bastian’s side. He couldn’t help taking in every inch of the inspector, admiring his peaceful face, his long lashes, the way his arm was crooked under his head, causing his biceps to bulge.
He felt like he was falling, air rushing past his ears.
And he needed to pee.
Bastian cursed his bladder. He dressed in the dark, pulling on his torn shirt and trousers. At the door, he cast a glance back at De Luca, appreciating the moonlight picking out the curves of his legs, his perfect ass, and his broad back. Then he slipped out onto the landing.
The house was quiet. Bastian found the bathroom and peed, then headed for the stairs.
He should check on Whitby. No doubt she was still asleep in the kitchen, but he needed to be sure.
He paused by a window to cast a look over Vernazza.
From there, he could see most of the town, and it appeared much as it always had: Lights twinkling in the dark.
No screaming or sirens. No fire spreading thick and ravenous through the streets.
The Obliterati had not laid ruin to Vernazza.
Perhaps Bastian had got through to them with his plea for the town to be left unharmed.
Or perhaps the commissario had argued his own case.
Feeling a sense of peace at the thought that he had done some good, he was about to resume heading downstairs when he noticed a door ajar halfway down the landing. De Luca’s bedroom? No, it was the door opposite De Luca’s.
Enzo’s room. The brother.
Bastian was sure the door had been closed a moment ago.
He went and peered into the room, hesitant to invade the man’s privacy but unable to contain his curiosity.
The bed was empty.
Bastian went into Enzo’s room, checking the floor, in case Enzo had fallen out of bed. But the floor was clear.
The peace that had settled over Bastian thinned. Became vapor.
De Luca had said his brother was bedbound, so where was he?
He noticed pictures stuck to the wall by the bed.
Photographs of people at happy occasions.
One showed what appeared to be a younger Enzo laughing with a guy with long black hair.
Bastian frowned at the photo, recognizing Matteo from Micio Micio. Enzo and Matteo were friends?
Back in De Luca’s room, Bastian pressed a hand to the inspector’s naked shoulder.
“Nico,” he whispered. “Wake up.”
The inspector made a sleepy sound and tried to pull Bastian into a hug.
“De Luca, seriously. Your br—”
A scream tore through the still air.
De Luca bolted upright. He stared at Bastian, eyes wide in the dark. Bastian turned to the window, certain the sound had come from outside.
“What—” De Luca began, but he was cut off by another scream. A man.
Bastian shot to the window and opened it. Night air tangled in his hair as he scanned the street, hearing footsteps retreating, but seeing nobody, not even with his keen sight.
Then he spotted a shape slumped to the ground outside De Luca’s house. He couldn’t tell who it was. They were cloaked in shadow.
Without hesitation, Bastian jumped from the window, landing on the cobbles and hurrying to the figure. He tried not to think about what he’d find. Who he’d find. If De Luca’s brother was dead…
Bastian rolled the figure over. They wore all black and the smell of blood was overpowering. Bastian took in sallow skin and deep-set eyes that shone up at him, glazed with panic.
It wasn’t De Luca’s brother. It was—
“Salvador,” Bastian whispered.
The man gasped for air, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. His throat gaped where it had been torn to shreds, blood pulsing from the wound. An infinity pin glinted on the cobbles beside him. Bastian’s stomach knotted. His head spun.
Salvador made a horrible sound, and Bastian started pulling off his own shirt.
“Stay still,” he said, pressing the shirt to Salvador’s neck, but he knew the wound was fatal. Dark blood covered his hands. Salvador thrashed against the cobbles, his bony fingers clutching Bastian’s forearms. The blood smelled oily and spiked with whiskey, and Bastian tried to ignore it.
“Listen,” Salvador hissed. His teeth were red.
“Don’t try to talk.” Bastian attempted to keep the shirt over the man’s neck, but it kept slipping.
“I know who…” Salvador tried to swallow. “I know who…”
His shoulders became rigid, then relaxed. He stopped clawing at Bastian’s arms.
He lay back.
His heart was still. He was gone.
“Shit,” Bastian whispered, shaking as the night air caressed his bare shoulders. He heard movement behind him and whirled to find De Luca coming out of the house, his shirt unbuttoned, trousers wrinkled, feet bare.
“Dio mio,” De Luca said, but he wasn’t looking at Salvador; he was looking at Bastian.
Bastian saw that his chest and arms were covered in blood.
The scent made him shake. In years past, he would have licked every drop from his skin, but not now.
For the first time, he felt he had control over the hunger.
True control. It no longer dictated his actions.
Whether it was because he had been sated in other ways, he couldn’t be sure.
“I tried to help him,” Bastian said. “But he was too far gone.”
“What’s going on?” Whitby asked, appearing on the front step and sniffing the air. “What are you two doing out here in the—”
She stopped sniffing, her eyes settling on the body.
“Salvador’s dead,” Bastian said.
“Did the mayor’s husband escape?” Whitby asked.
“I don’t know.”
De Luca crouched by the body. “There’s another infinity pin.”
Bastian saw the silver glint against the cobbles. The pin was right beside Salvador, just like the other victims.
“What did you see?” De Luca asked. His somber tone—all business—made Bastian flinch.
“I heard somebody running away. And then I found Salvador. But before that…”
De Luca stood. He used Bastian’s shirt to gently mop the blood from Bastian’s chest.
“Before that?” he asked, tone softer. Bastian leaned into his touch, never wanting De Luca to stop touching him. And he didn’t want to say what he was about to say, because he was scared what it meant.
“Enzo wasn’t in his room,” Bastian said.
De Luca pulled back. “What?”
“Right before I heard Salvador scream, I went into Enzo’s room, and he was gone.”
De Luca snorted a mirthless laugh. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s what I saw.”
De Luca’s face went slack.
“That’s impossible!” he repeated, running back into the house. Whitby only just scrabbled out of the way in time.
“De Luca, wait!” Bastian called.
“How long was I asleep?” Whitby asked. “I feel like I’ve missed a lot.”
“Keep an eye on the body,” Bastian told her. He leapt into the air, jumping back through De Luca’s bedroom window. He crossed the room in four paces and went into the landing, heading straight into Enzo’s bedroom.
“I’m telling you—” he began, but then stopped.
Enzo lay in bed. Eyes closed. Breath soft.
His heartbeat was calm. Unhurried. It wasn’t the heartbeat of somebody who had been running around for the past few minutes. De Luca stood by the bed giving Bastian a confused stare.
“He wasn’t there a moment ago,” Bastian said.
“What do you mean?”
Bastian tried to stay calm. “He was gone, right before Salvador screamed.”
De Luca’s expression was like stone.
Bastian’s gaze went to the photos on the wall, if only to look somewhere other than De Luca. The picture of Enzo with Matteo caught his attention once more.
“Are they friends?” he asked. “Enzo and Matteo?”
De Luca appeared confused by the question, then looked at the photo.
“They grew up together.”
Bastian’s skull pounded. The same questions kept repeating in his mind no matter how much he tried to suppress them.
What if they were wrong?
What if the mayor’s husband wasn’t the killer after all?
He noticed De Luca looking at him with an intense frown. The darkness in his expression made Bastian anxious. It was almost as if De Luca thought Bastian was making it up, that he was fabricating a lie about his brother for a reason he didn’t want to voice. Bastian could guess, though.
“It wasn’t me,” he said. “I promise, Nico. I didn’t do this.”
For the first time since they had opened up to each other, De Luca looked uncertain.