"And we let him?" Acquaviva.
"We let him." Luca. "We let him, because if he gets suspicious now, he takes her out of the house and we lose the hook."
"She's the hook now."
"Always was."
I backed away from the wall and went back up the service stairs with my hand shaking on the railing. I reached the room and locked it. I sat on the floor with my back against the door.
Hook.
I was the hook.
CHAPTER 10
"There are hungers you know you'll feel one day. The surprise is never knowing when."
VALENTINA ROSSI
The clocks in the house struck three in the morning when I finally made up my mind.
I'd spent four hours sitting on the bedroom floor, my back against the door, listening to the house fall asleep around me—a maid's footsteps in the kitchen, a car engine in the drive, the neighbor's dog barking at something that maybe wasn't even there.
Four hours thinking about the word hook. Four hours thinking about its weight, about the way Luca had said it withouthesitating, like someone saying something very old and very settled.
Always was.
I stood up. My legs protested, and I waited a minute for the blood to come back.
I didn't change clothes; I kept on the black linen pants and the white blouse I'd worn to the library. I was barefoot, not because it was sensual—because it was silent.
I opened the bedroom door and crossed the west-wing hallway without making a sound. The candelabra had each been left with one candle lit—an old Moretti custom, Catholic insurance, so the house was never left entirely in the dark. The flames trembled as I passed.
I went down the marble staircase.
I crossed the grand salon; the smell of the dinner from two nights before still clung to the curtains. I crossed the east hallway and reached the office door.
There was light under it, and I pushed it open without knocking.
Luca was standing on the balcony, his back to me, smoking. White shirt open to the third button, no jacket, sleeves already rolled. The photo Acquaviva had left—I saw it from the corner of my eye—was lying face down on the desk.
He didn't turn around, but I knew he'd heard me.
"You should be asleep, Valentina."
"So should you."
"I'm working."
"So am I."
That was when he turned around.
He looked at me for two seconds. From my head to my bare feet. And then he drew on the cigar.
"Allora." He leaned his shoulder against the balcony doorframe. "What do you want?"
"I want you to explain to me what a hook is."
