Although there's barely space, Katya insists that we shower together. I wash her hair for her. She closes her eyes, tipping her head back, and lets me massage her scalp.
When we're done, I dry her off and find another dress in the wardrobe by the bed. I'm guessing it's Violetta's and not some hangover from the days when Damiano used to entertain his woman of the week at thirty thousand feet.
Once dressed, Katya is ready to face the world. I find, however, I am not. As she moves to the door, I remain where I am on the edge of the bed. My chest constricts. I tap my finger on my knee.
"We should stay here,” I tell Katya. "You need to rest. You can meet my brothers some other time."
She comes and sits beside me, places her hand over mine. "I want to meet them now, but I'm scared they won't like me." She pauses and bites her bottom lip. "I need you with me."
"You don't need to manage me, Katya."
"I don't manage you."
I look at her steadily. "The gala. The meeting we were supposed to have with Maroni. This."
She opens her mouth and closes it again.
"I'm grateful for it," I say. "Genuinely. But it's not necessary. I always manage in the end."
She considers this. "Have you considered that I might be being slightly selfish?"
"How so?"
"Well." She straightens slightly. "If you succeed, I succeed. If you fail, I fail. And Gabriele...." She holds my gaze. "I am no failure."
I almost smile. "You're the strongest woman I know."
"And you're the strongest man." She sees my skeptical look. "You are. You face your fears and you keep going. That's what strength is."
She smiles and rubs my arm. "But if you need a minute, that's okay."
She gets up and goes to the door.
"Wait." I get up and walk to her. She looks at me in question. "I'm coming with you." I take her hand.
"They're going to love you," I say as I open the door.
"Yes," Katya agrees. "They are."
TWENTY-FIVE
Katya
Grief issomething I've faced before but it's never been this visceral. Every part of me aches with the weight of it. It's the tragedy of it that hits the hardest, the promise of an incredible life cut short.
I read Keats at his funeral and tell everyone why. I think I knew, even on that first day as we stood on the Spanish Steps together, that Santo's time would be short. He burned too bright.
His mother thanks me after the burial, telling me her son spoke fondly of me. But the look she shoots Gabriele as we leave the graveside is one of pure vitriol. It hits him hard, even though he doesn't show it. I reach for his hand as we walk back to the car. He takes it and holds on tight.
He's not responsible for what happened to Santo and those two other men. The woman responsible for that is my mother. She's still out there somewhere and I still haven't decided what exactly I want to do about that.
If I ask Gabriele to pull the trigger, he'll do so without hesitation, but I hold off on making that request for now. Timehas tempered my anger over her part in what happened, but only a little. She'll still pay, though she may escape with her life.
We don't join Santo's family and friends after the funeral. Gabriele's brothers are waiting for us back at the house. That's the excuse we give everyone but the reality of it is neither of us can face it. Death is a frequent visitor to our world and we don't want to spend any more time around it than we have to.
When we get back to the house, the other Volante brothers and their wives are in the sitting room. Damiano and his wife Violetta are on one sofa and Lorenzo and Lucia on the other. I met the women only briefly before we left for the funeral.
Violetta, I already know I like. Gabriele told me last night how she sat with him at his mother's funeral. He's not clear on why she wasn't with her husband. I suppose that's not our business.
