She gives monosyllabic answers to my questions about how she’s enjoying the Poor Clares, and when I tell her about the charity that Tara and Aidan and I have set up, I get a flat, “I know.”
“How do you know?” I ask, surprised. “I thought you weren’t allowed any contact with the outside world.”
She gives me the withering look I remember well from childhood and says, “Because it’s big news, Howie. Congratulations. You made the splash you always wanted.”
“Finch did not set up the charity in order to gain accolades,” Luca breaks in. He’s sitting in a dark corner in a leather armchair, well back from the two of us, and he looks every inch the Mob Boss Róisín thinks he is.
Well, and that heactuallyis, I guess. Luca is such a teddy bear underneath, I forget how scary other people find him.
Róisín doesn’t seem to find himscary, though; more contemptible. It irks me when she says, “Any charity founded on misery and murder is tainted.”
“Oh, myGod,” I snap. “Listen, you don’t have dibs on doing good shit in the world, Róisín, and you don’t have to like what I’m doing—but you don’t have to be such a supercilious bitch about it, either.”
The second it’s out of my mouth, I wish I hadn’t said it.This is how you butter up someone you need something from?I ask myself, but she surprises me when her lips twitch into a smirk.
“Alright,” she says, “I’ll try to keep my supercilious bitchiness under wraps, Howie.” She shrugs. “I suppose if Aidan O’Leary is involved, it can’t be all bad. He seemed like a man of good judgment, apart from his friendship with you.”
It sounds mean, but she’s just teasing. I think.
We’re interrupted, thank God, by room service. They set up the meal quickly and then leave, and all the while Luca still skulks in the corner armchair like some dark demon.
“Come on,” I tell him, beckoning with my head. “Or I’ll put together a plate for you myself, and I know how much you hate that.”
Any reminder of his recuperation period generally gets a response, and it does now, too. He’s over at the table in seconds, and he and Róisín resume their Cold War of glares.
“Okay,” I sigh, as I shake out my napkin. “Luca, how about you apologize?”
“For?”
“Assaulting me?” Róisín snaps.
“I’m not going to apologize for protecting my husband,” he snaps back. I kick him under the table. After a moment, he says, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Róisín. It’s been…a stressful period recently. I saw someone following Finch and I—well. I’m sorry.”
Róisín pokes at her carpaccio starter, refusing to meet his eyes. I take a chance, and kickherunder the table this time.
With a shuffle in her chair, she blurts out, “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry if I gave you cause to worry about Howie.” Both Luca and I must wear mirrored expressions, because she adds, looking between us, “I’m not sure why you’re both so surprised. It’s not like Iwantmy little brother to be in danger.” She looks at Luca. “Or you. I was very sorry to hear about the shooting. I prayed for you every morning and night. I’m glad to see you have…recovered.” She gives her neck a pointed rub, but there’s a lightness to her words that takes the passive-aggressive edge off.
Luca’s eyes widen. “Oh.” I’m about to kick him again when he adds, “Thank you, Róisín.”
“Let’s dig in,” I say heartily, because the moment is awkward enough without extending it.
It’s agoodmoment, though.
The air of forgive-and-forget continues as I explain to Róisín what’s been going on in New York, and the letter we found from Mom to Tino. Luca wasn’t totally down with the idea of showing her the letter, much less the mysterious number at the bottom, but I overruled him. She doesn’t have any instant answers, anyway.
“This was what you wanted to see me for? I’m sorry, Howie, but I don’t know; it could mean anything.” She throws out a few wild ideas, all of which we’ve already considered. “GPS coordinates? A cipher? The combination to a safe? A biblical reference? An international phone number?” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
Luca and I exchange a look. “This wasn’t the only thing we wanted to talk about,” I start delicately. “Um. Mom’s rosary—Tara said she sent it to you?”
For the first time since Luca’s apology, Róisín’s eyes become guarded again.
Chapter Forty-Nine
FINCH
“Yes,” Róisín says. “Tara sent me the rosary.”
“And do you have it with you?” I ask eagerly.
