“Have wemet?”
“I mean you haven’tkilledanyone, you little…” He trailed off, muttering, “Mother Mary, give me patience,” a hand over his eyes. When he looked at me again, he said, “Your hands are clean, and I don’t want you to break any more than you’ve been broken already. And besides that…”
“Well?” I demanded, stung. “Besides that, what? You think I’ll have a nervous breakdown? Iwantthem dead, and I meant what I said. I’ll do it myself if—”
“You don’t have the stomach for it,” he said firmly, “and that’s agoodthing. You let Maggie go once before because she reminded you of your mother, and look how that turned out.”
It felt like he’d slapped me straight out across the face. “Fuck you.”
“Okay, fuck me. I’m just saying what happened. She had you tortured and she wasaboutto kill you herself, and you let her walk away from it. There’s no reason to think you won’t ask me to stop again this time.”
“Thendon’t!”I shouted. “Just ignore me and fucking kill them, and I’ll thank you after!”
He gave me the same look he gave me when he was drowning the guy in a fake-Venetian canal. “Don’t you get it, angel? I might be the Boss of the Family, but it’s like you said that night at Kismet: you’re myking. How could Inotstop if you asked me?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My heart hurt. My head hurt.
“I want her dead,” I whispered. “For Mom. For Marco. For Connie and Tino. For everyone else who died trying to protectmyworthless ass. For every time she tried to kill us, and for Frank and Cee, and for poor goddamn Róisín, who had to take herself out of the world entirely to get away from her—”
“Iknowyou want her dead,” he said, putting his hand on mine and squeezing it. “But you might feel different when it comes down to it.”
My mouth trembled, but I wouldn’t give in. “I want to be there,” I said stubbornly.
Luca sighed. “Alright. Alright, baby bird.”
I knew it was true, then. He reallycan’tsay no to me.
* * *
And now here weare at the back of the house, sliding up noiselessly onto the patio. Luca tries the back door and it opens at once. In the distance we can hear another guard’s boots tramping along on the path, and we hustle inside, wait, guns drawn.
When Luca judges we’re safe, we move.
It’s been like that the whole way here. I’ve followed his lead flawlessly—well, almost flawlessly, aside from the fence. I feel like we’re pretty good as a sneaky team. If we ever need to freelance as gentleman thieves, I think we could make a career out of it.
I drew up a quick floorplan from memory, which Luca scoured on the way over. So we make our way through the rooms quickly, quietly, Luca always first, and always checking to make sure I’m close. Most of the rooms are in darkness, but when we come to the entryway, the Green Room is lit up and warmed by the fireplace. A floor lamp is on in one corner, and the television is on, but muted.
It’s playing one of the 24-hour news channels. Chicago seems to be the only story right now.MAFIA RESURGENCE?asks one of the scrolling news bars at the bottom.
There’s still no one around. No guards, which is great. But no Maggie, either.
And then we hear a choked-off scream from deep in the house. Luca looks to me and I nod. We head through the Green Room, past the bar at the other side, and down a new hallway.
Then we stop and listen.
I roll up my balaclava. It’s blocking my senses too much. After an intense glare, Luca does the same. And now I hear it—muffled conversation. A cold, high voice. A deep one. And someone crying. Pleading.
It’s Tara.
It’s Tara, and she’s in the cellar. Something inside me gives a hushed warning.
Another scream, abruptly cut off.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I point out the cellar door to Luca.
* * *
The cellar dooropens onto a long, narrow spiral staircase going downward, and Luca treads as softly as cat, his gun held out in front of him, steady. We pause as Tara begins speaking. Her voice is thick, hoarse.
