* * *
We comeupon the Colosseum suddenly, without warning, so that I stop dead and stare in delight. It’s lit up all over with a golden glow, formidable and beautiful. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, and yet so exactly like all the photographs that I feel a sense of familiarity.
“We’ll have to come back when it’s open,” I say. “Go in with the tourists. Easier to disappear that way.”
“We can do that, but we really need to meet Róisín as soon as we can, too.” Finch has barely glanced at the ancient monument; his pensive mood tells me his mind has returned to our reason for being here.
“We will,” I assure him. We keep walking, crossing the road to stand under the enormous, sturdy walls of the Colosseum. I crane my neck back to take it in.
“Has Tara heard from her?” Finch persists.
I look away from the marvels of Roman engineering and down at my favorite sight in the whole world. “I don’t know. She hadn’t last time I checked.”
“Can you…” He bites his lip.
I pull him close and kiss his forehead. “I’ll check again,” I tell him, and pull out my phone to thumb through it. “Your instincts were right,” I say after a moment. “Vitali tells me she’ll meet us tomorrow, in Saint Peter’s Square. She’s asked us to wait by the obelisk at noon.”
Finch’s eyes light up. “She agreed?”
“She agreed.”
“Thank fuck! Once we’ve got that damn rosary, we can relax, really enjoy ourselves.”
There’s no guarantee that meeting us will mean Róisín is willing to hand over the rosary—if she even stillhasit—but the news has buoyed Finch. And he’s right, of course. We’re here for a purpose, not just pleasure. Still, I can’t help thinking the whole journey will be wasted if Finch isonlydetermined to get that rosary.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I suggest. “Break in the bed. Or just break it.”
Finch’s familiar grin lifts my heart. “Sounds like a plan.”
We wander back up the road, and I think about how far I’ve come from the boy I was, to the here and now. I never even dared to think of coming to Rome, although I dreamt of it and wished for it.
“Isn’t the hotel that way?” Finch asks suddenly, trying to pull me a different way.
“Yes, but there’s no harm in looking around the neighborhood a little more, is there? We can take the scenic route.”
“Okay,” he agrees with a shrug, and I’m glad he doesn’t push it. The truth is—whether or not I’m being hypercautious—it makes sense to avoid direct routes to and from where we’re staying. In New York, I know the layout well enough to be able to intuit if something’s off. Here in Rome, not so much. But I’ll rely on my instincts as I always have. If they’re telling me to be cautious, I’ll be cautious.
The only problem is, going off the main streets has led us into less well-lit, less frequented areas. Fewer people means I’ll be able to identify any potential attackers more easily, but it also means I’m staring hard at everyone we pass—and some of them look like they might take exception to being stared at.
Finch, though, seems oblivious, and I wonder at it until it occurs to me: he feels completely safe. Despite everything that has happened to us, not just recently, but over the last few years, I still have his complete trust.
“You know,” Finch says, as we go by a particularly dark and dangerous-looking alleyway, “we don’thaveto try to fuck in that uncomfortable-looking bed, baby.” He looks up at me from under my arm and gives me a wicked smirk.
“The shower’s too small,” I point out.
“Wasn’t thinking about the shower.”
“Then where—”
He moves away from me, grabbing me by the hand as he does, and pulls me a few steps down the street to the alley we just passed by. “Why not right here?”
We pause, Finch leaning back on his heels as he hangs off my arm, both his hands clasped around my wrist, while I counterbalance him. He bites his lip, and I can see the glaze of arousal across his cheekbones. “Please?”
It’s thepleasethat makes up my mind. After checking behind him, and looking over my shoulder to scan the street as well, I let him pull me into the dark alley.
Chapter Forty-Two
LUCA
