Page 128 of Tide of Treason
The brush of his thumb on my cheek was a silent question.
“Thank you for calling me.”
My heart stumbled. “Thank you for answering.”
Il Cigno waited,gold-lit and full of ghosts.
Viviana was leaving.
This time, though, she was smiling.
Stepping out of Lucius’s car, I adjusted the cling of my dress. He’d parked a safe distance inside the manor gates and leaned against the hood, a casual shadow of heat. The Maserati had been towed. Somewhere between the plume of smoke and his muttered “fucking Italians don’t believe in engine coolant,”I decided I loved the sound of his annoyed voice too much to argue. He drove me all the way to Long Island in the ‘69 Chevelle instead.
Viviana spotted me and lit up, breaking into a trot.
“You made it,” she whispered, breathless, as if I’d ever leave her to face this alone. I buried my face in her hair, then pressed my lips against her temple—an older sister’s unspoken benediction.
“I’m reliable,” I said mildly.
“Reliable, terrifying, and hot enough to make my old classmates forget their geometry proofs.”
“Good. Let them forget everything except the way we leave.” Because we always left beautifully. It was tradition. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You packed your passport?”
“And my anti-nausea gum,” she said brightly. “Evelyn gets sick on trains.”
“Trains—?”
“They’re romantic.”
“They’re also grimy, full of strangers and questionable upholstery.”
“Which makes them even more romantic,” she insisted.
I sighed, fighting the smile that threatened to crinkle my eyeliner. I was already risking enough sentimentality for one day. “You’re worse than Nonna with her Catholic guilt and horny saints.”
Viviana laughed. “She says Evelyn reminds her of Saint Dymphna.”
“The one who killed her father?”
“She meant it kindly.”
“. . . Sure.”
Above us, Nonna crossed herself on the balcony. Mamma stood beside her, resplendent in cream silk and a disapproving pout. She’d warmed slightly to the engagement once she realised Evelyn was heir to a minor French estate and a major wine distribution network. Redemption, apparently, could be bottled and exported.
Maybe, just maybe, Mamma finally understood that you couldn’t bleach the gay out of a girl by shoving her into heels and saying “I do.” You couldn’t force her to love cock and rosaries just because you loved the idea ofherloving them. And if you tried, she’d only love herself less. I’d seen the funeral in Viviana’s eyes the day she vowed herself to Lucius, eyes that looked dead even while her heart still beat.
Today, they caught the sun and scattered it—bright little blades that brought back memories of scuffed knees and late-night whispers ofdon’t let the monsters eat me.I’d made it my life’s work to hunt down every monster for her, or at least die trying. And now here she stood, vibrant and free, about to walk into a future that finally belonged to her. A part of me realised I was losing my baby sister but gaining a sister-in-law in one fell swoop. I thought I should probably hug Evelyn, but she beat me to it, enveloping me in a cloud of something feminine and French smelling.
“You’re lucky,” she told me as we pulled back. Viviana was distracted, loading Cosimo’s shoebox cage into the backseat of their car, so Evelyn added quickly, “He makes you more . . . you. I noticed at the casino. You two seemed—”
“In over our heads?” I drawled.
She smiled. “I was thinking ‘inseparable.’ But yes, that also works.” Her expression softened. “We’ll come see you soon. Especially once the baby’s here.”
The casual mention that they might visit earlier went unsaid, and I couldn’t decide if it itched at my pride or my heart more. Viviana planned some big family get-together once she and her girlfriend settled in, but I wasn’t one to trust a good plan without a Plan B.
With my sister distracted, I slipped an envelope into Evelyn’s pocket. It contained instructions for our safe house in Palermo, a few extra passports, and a burner phone with my number programmed in. A certain kind of vigilance only came from understanding the world was filled with people who wanted you dead or worse, and if my sister needed that protection, it would be provided. The French were a touch more liberal, sure, but I wasn’t about to bank on hope alone.
