FINCH
Ihear a cry behind me and wheel around to see my husband with his eyes on fire, his teeth bared, holding a black-clad figure by the throat up against one of the columns.
Shit. I know that look. It’s the exact same look that was on his face just before he ended Sam Fuscone with his bare hands.
“Luca!” He’s already shoved me behind him, but I grab the flexing bicep on his arm, trying to calm him. “Luca,” I hiss again. “It’s Róisín, for fuck’s sake!”
Róisín’s hood falls off her head and Luca lets her go at once. The security guards at the checkpoints between the columns have noticed now, calling over, asking what’s going on as she bends over, gasping.
“We’re fine!” I yell at the security guards. “Just—messing around!”
Luca’s muscles are still tensed, quivering.
Róisín raises her head to glare at him. “What iswrongwith you?”
“Wrong withme?” He lets out a dangerous chuckle, and then he turns on me, his voice low and dark. “I toldyouto stay where you were!”
“I did!” The incredulous look he gives me—and the bald fact that I’m not currently waiting where he told me to—makes me rethink my answer. “I mean, Ikindof did. But you disappeared, and then Róisín came up all mysterious and hooded and told me to start walking, and I couldn’t see you, so I made for the colonnades. Like youtoldme to,” I add, with a pointed stare.
“Iknewthis was a terrible idea,” Róisín mutters.
Luca turns on my sister again, but I grab his wrist. Hard. “You arecalling attentionto us, husband,” I point out.
“I don’t have time for this, Howie,” Róisín coughs, pulling up her hood again to hide her face. “I shouldn’t be talking to you atall. What do you want?”
Luca is rapidly regaining his composure, thank God, although he’s gone from fire to ice now. “Why weren’t you with your religious sisters? And why are you creeping around in a hoodie? Why aren’t you in your habit?”
“I could hardly meet two criminals in my habit,” Róisín tells Luca, just as frostily. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie with dark blue leggings and navy tennis shoes. She looks pretty damn inconspicuous. I’m kind of proud of her for being so smart. “And the Mother Superior would never consent to my meeting anyone at all, anyway,” Róisín goes on. “I’m breaking the rules just—just talking to you.” She looks down, her cheeks coloring. “I took some civvies with me in my backpack to put on over my habit. As soon as I could get away from my sisters, I did. But I didn’t want to miss hearing the Pope.”
As I look closer, it becomes apparent that the reason she lookssoround is because she’s hiked up the skirts of her habit to hide them in the generously-sized hoodie.
“What excuse did you give your, uh, your boss?” I ask awkwardly.
“I told the Mother Superior I was ill, that I’d make my own way back to the hotel. We’re staying just down the road—” she points down the main road leading up to the Basilica “—at Spirito Santo. They give special rates for pilgrims. Anyway. I’ll tell her I got lost, somehow, if they get back before I do. But I have to be quick. And I certainly don’t have any desire to be assaulted by somemobster.” She gives Luca a cold look, and he gives her an even icier one right back.
Great start.
“Okay, Ro,” I say. “We’re staying just here.” I point at our hotel through the columns, across the road. We really did get a great position. “You wanna come over and talk?”
“No. What do youwant?” Róisín asks again.
Luca and I exchange a glance. “We reallydoneed to talk,” I say. “Come to our hotel, please. Let us buy you lunch.”
“I can’t—the Mother Superior... Someone will be sent back to check on me—”
“Please,” I say, and reach out to take her hand. She presses her lips together and glares at me, but after a second, she gives an abrupt nod.
“I don’t have much time,” she reiterates as we cross the road.
“It won’t take long,” I promise.
I can only hope I’m telling the truth.
* * *
Róisín doesn’t even lookaround our room when we take her up, although she does accept our offer of lunch and manages to pick the most expensive things on the room service menu. She seems resigned to hearing us out, at least.
Or maybe she’s just sick of convent food.
