Page 33 of Vendetta
There was a sketch of Gino and Dom playing a video game; they were sitting on the floor, their legs curled around them like they were little boys again. Controllers clutched in their hands, they were laughing with each other, their shoulders brushing, their heads thrown back towards the ceiling. Their eyes were crinkled at the sides and their noses were scrunched up in amusement. Dom was messing up Gino’s ponytail with his free hand.
‘It’s like the perfect moment,’ I breathed.
‘Happiness,’ said Valentino quietly, his eyes fixed on the scene.
I returned my gaze to Nic’s profile. His jaw was set, his expression focused.
‘And that one is Determination,’ Valentino added.
Beside the sketch of Nic there was a portrait of a woman standing in a kitchen. Her hands gripped the sides of the sink as she looked out the window in front of her. She was willowy and dishevelled, dressed in a silken floor-length robe that pooled around her feet. Streaks of sunlight danced along the tip of her nose, and a spill of dark hair fell freely down her back. Her brows were creased at sharp angles. ‘Is this your mother?’
He nodded.
‘She’s beautiful,’ I said.
‘She’s angry,’ said Valentino dispassionately.
I reached out and pulled the next portrait towards me. Luca. He was sitting alone on a stoop, dressed in a black suit. His knees came up to his chest, supporting his elbows. His shoulders were hunched, making his frame appear smaller,like Valentino’s. He was looking at the ground, at nothing, and his fingers were scraping through his hair, like he was trying to hurt himself.
I swallowed hard. It was difficult to look at it. I glanced at Valentino and found he wasn’t looking at it any more either.
‘Pain?’ I guessed quietly.
‘Grief,’ he replied.
‘It must be difficult to look beneath the mask,’ I said, my throat suddenly tight.
Valentino raised his chin. ‘No more difficult than it is to wear one.’
I pulled my hands back and straightened up as a wave of something unpleasant washed over me. I didn’t want to look at the portraits any more. It was an uncomfortable feeling, staring into the darkest moments of someone’s soul without them knowing. ‘Do you think you wear a mask?’
‘I’m wearing one right now.’ Valentino smiled softly. ‘We both are.’
‘It’s a sad thought.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But sometimes I wonder about the alternative. Imagine if we had no secrets, no respite from the truth. What if everything was laid bare the moment we introduced ourselves?’
The idea swirled around my head.Hello, I’m Sophie. My uncle’s a paranoid loon, my father’s in jail for murder, and my mother buries herself in work to distract herself from her broken heart. I’m pretty sure I prefer cartoons over real life and I only have one real friend. I’m terrified of storms and I’m deeply suspicious of cats. I obsess over the cuteness of sloths and sometimes I cry at commercials.
‘It would be terrible,’ I confirmed.
Valentino smirked as though he had just listened to my embarrassing inner monologue. ‘Absolute chaos.’
I nodded, feeling subdued. Somewhere deep down I was trying to fight the sudden urge to burst into tears. As if sensing my inner struggle, Valentino afforded me a moment of privacy. He deflected his gaze and started to rearrange his sketches into a pile, until I could only see the one he was still working on. It was a man maybe in his mid-forties, dressed impeccably in a glossy dark suit, and staring right at me from the page. For a heartbeat it felt as though I already knew him, that I had seen him somewhere before, but the moment passed, and I knew it was his son I was seeing. He was so like Nic it hit me like a punch in the gut. He had the same dark eyes with lighter flecks swimming inside, the same straight, narrow nose, and the same curving lips. His hair was grey in parts and receding, revealing a forehead etched with worry lines. His expression was grim.
‘Seriousness?’ I ventured.
‘No,’ Valentino said without looking up. ‘This one is Death.’ I watched him smudge the edges. ‘I draw my father every day so that I’ll never forget him. But there’s nothing more to find in him now. He’s with the angels and he doesn’t need to wear a mask any more. Everything he was is gone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I offered weakly. It really was the only thing I could think to say, and still it didn’t seem like half enough.
Valentino shrugged, his expression matter-of-fact. ‘You can’t avoid the inevitability of death. It comes at you one way or another, and takes us all to the same place in the end. To apologize for it is to apologize for the sun shining or the rain falling. It is what it is.’
I wanted to tell him he was lucky for his pragmatism, but I didn’t get the opportunity. A door opened behind me. I noticed the smell first: a faint sweetness in the air.
‘Valentino?’ A man’s voice, crisp and gentle, followed.
I turned to find a slim, middle-aged man staring at me with surprise. His skin was olive and his hair the brightest silver I had ever seen. His eyebrows were so light I could barely detect them, but by the way they were denting his forehead, I could tell they were raised.
