“Youkeptit?” Finch asks, elated again.
But— “No,” Tara says again. “I did what you suggested at the time, Howie. I gave it to Róisín.”
“Okay!” Finch says, slapping his hands on the countertop now. “That’s okay. That’sgood. Now we just have to dig her out of that convent she’s in, and explain the situation to her.”
Tara makes a face. “It might not be that easy,” she hedges.
“I know, I know,” Finch says. “She’s probably attached to the rosary, being Mom’s and all—and the convent is a closed order, yadda yadda. But she came from behind closed doors to take care of you, Tara, didn’t she, that one time? And we can give the rosary back to her, once we figure out what the deal is. And if we can’t for some reason, I’ll buy her a thousand fucking rosaries if she wants.”
“It’s not that. Well, notonlythat,” Tara amends. “The real problem is, Róisín isn’t in the country right now.”
That surprises me. She joined a contemplative order, or was planning on it, last time I heard. They aren’t the type to travel. On the contrary, their ideal is no contact with the outside world, all the better to focus on God.
“Where the hell is she?” Finch asks, sounding dangerous.
“She’s on some kind of group pilgrimage in Italy,” Tara tells him. “She’s at the Vatican.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
FINCH
After we get off the phone with Tara, Luca and I don’t say much to each other. We finish cleaning the kitchen, but without the banter and flirting we usually have, and then with silent agreement, we head upstairs for an early night. I look in to say goodnight to Gio and Hudson before I do, who are already making up the sofa bed.
“You guys don’t want to use that spare room?” I ask. “The sofa bed can’t be much fun.”
They exchange a glance. “We’re fine right here, Mr. D,” Gio assures me with an almost-smirk. “You need your privacy.”
I’m halfway up the stairs before I wonder if Luca and I have been a littleloudduring some of the fun we’ve had while we’ve been staying here. I smother my snort of laughter and then run up the last half of the stairs. “Hey, I think we might need to fuck more quietly while we’re here,” I say as I enter the bedroom, and then I stop and stare at Luca. “Hey,” I say again, and point at him. “Hold on, mister! Youknowyou’re still not supposed to walk up any stairs on your own!”
“I know. But I was at the top before I even remembered. I’m getting much better.” Luca’s half-smile is so like his old self that I forgive him on the spot.
“You’re not achy or—”
“Angel,” he sighs, but he’s still smiling, “I am perfectly well. Promise.”
“Alright,” I say, sounding as dubious as I can, but it’s hard when I have real proof of him feeling better. There’s no hint of pain around his eyes, and his color is as normal as usual—pale as fuck, sure, but that’s Luca, and he’s nowhere near the translucent white he was in the hospital. “So what are we going to do about Róisín?” I demand. “I gave you all that time downstairs after dinner to think. You must have a plan by now.”
It’s my preference to plan out loud, to talk through shit and bounce ideas off other people. But Luca is not the same. He needs thinking time, a quiet and solitary pursuit for him.
“Mm,” he says, which is not an answer.
“I mean, we’re going to the Vatican, right? Tara said Róisín’s not due back for weeks, so—”
“There’s too much we don’t know.” Luca is starting to undress for bed, as though anyone could actually sleep right now after what we just figured out.
“We know enough,” I say. “And I know you didn’t want to leave the country, but that was before Rossi and Alessi witnessed you wandering around, apparently hale and hearty. You’ve made your point to them, and Nick’s keeping the Family in line. So why shouldn’t we take a vacation if we want? That’s how we can spin it.”
He glances over at me as he unbuttons his shirt. “Italy…could be difficult for someone in my position.”
He does have a point. He’s the head of an Italian-American crime Family. They won’t be waiting with open arms at the airport. More like handcuffs and guns. Andthat’sjust law enforcement. I don’t know as much as I’d like to about the spiderweb of associations, enemies, friends, frenemies of the Morelli Family and the various organizations of Italy. But even with the knowledge I’ve gleaned from whispered conversations and the odd internet search, I know getting to Italy and moving around freely could be, as Luca said,difficult.
But difficult is not impossible. And the truth is, Luca goes where he likes and does what he wants—he’s like me in that way. “If you wanted to get there, you’d get there,” I point out. “That’s not an excuse.”
“No,” he agrees, sitting down on the bed to unlace his shoes. He can bend over without a hint of discomfort now. “But it is a factor in my decision.”
I cross my arms. “Come again?”
He glances up at me.
