Page 25 of Inferno
‘That’s idiotic.’
‘Tell that to possums. They know what they’re at.’
‘Well, it’s nice to know I don’t have to worry about you when you’re out there on your own.’ I could almost taste the sarcasm in the air.
My laughter surprised me. It hung in echoes around us, making the room seem bigger and colder.
Luca’s eyes grew in surprise, two sapphires sparkling in the dimness. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Just the thought of you worrying about me. Or, well, anything, really.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘How low your opinion of me is.’
I circled the bench, zeroing in on his grandfather’s inscription. I could sense him turning with me, following my movements. How long had we been in here by now? And why was I so eager to traverse the walls of history in his company?
‘They were hoping I would be just like him,’ he offered into the silence. I pressed my lips together, surprised at his willingness to surrender information to me, to want to talk to me about something real, something important. ‘Gianluca Falcone was thecapo di tutti i capi,the boss of all bosses. My grandfather had marked me that day in the hospital, before he died.’
‘Do youwantto be like him?’ I asked, turning to study him.
A subtle tilt of the chin, and then, quietly, he said, ‘Isn’t the answer obvious?’
‘He sacrificed himself so that you would have parents to raise you.’
‘One right doesn’t remedy a thousand wrongs.’
‘You should write a book of quotes.’
He wasn’t smiling. I supposed it was obvious then. Glaringly obvious, if you knew where to look – Luca had abstained fromthe role handed down to him by his father, the role they all wanted him to undertake. He had given it away, but not entirely. He was still the underboss. Conflicted, dreaming, but ultimately trapped. What was there to smile about?
‘What do all the numbers mean?’ I read his grandfather’s Roman numeral aloud. ‘One hundred and thirteen? Is it some kind of ranking system?’
Luca stood up, the earlier exhaustion fading from his face. ‘You can read Roman numerals?’
‘I’m pretty smart, I’ll have you know,’ I said. ‘Not a nerd, like you. But smart, in the ways that matter.’
He traced the number with his forefinger. ‘This is my grandfather’s kill count.’
The room seemed to darken all of a sudden. I stepped backwards and stumbled against the bench.One hundred and thirteen people. One hundred and thirteen funerals. One hundred and thirteen grieving families.So that was what it meant to be the boss of all bosses. Suddenly Luca’s words took on a whole new weight. He was Gianluca II, his grandfather’s prodigy; the butcher’s legacy. ‘And your familywantyou to be just like him?’
‘Yes, they do.’ An emotionless answer.
‘And, just how like him are you already?’
Luca glanced sidelong at me, his lips twisting. ‘You really think I’m going to answer that?’
I moved away from him, to another, sparser wall, where there were just two plaques and I didn’t have to think about Luca’s Roman numeral. Or Nic’s. The sign on the right was Felice’s, his death-date yet to be marked. The sign on the left simply read:
EVELINA FALCONE
‘Who’s this?’ I asked.
Luca came to stand beside me. His arm brushed against mine. I could feel the static on my skin. ‘This is Felice’s wall.’
Between the plaques, a ruby encased in silver had been inset into the stone. Protruding from the silver in swirling calligraphy were the letters F on one side, and E on the other. Beneath the ruby it saidSempre.
Luca brushed his fingers along the words, translating.‘Always.’And then in a quiet voice, he added, ‘Felice wanted to be interred next to his wife.’ He traced the ruby, reverentially, softly. ‘He engraved her tomb the day he engraved her ring. Every dime he ever earned went into those two rubies and then one of them went with her and it broke his heart.’
‘Where?’ I asked, looking for dates and failing to find them. She wasn’t dead. Yet.
