Page 79 of The Crimson Lily
“Great!” I exaggerate. The answer is actually:mediocre at best.
“It’s almost six,” he informs. “We need?—”
I rise to my feet and stare him down with fury in my eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, Giovanni!” I scowl. I’m still angry.
I search for Chiara, who’s leaning against the car, her arms crossed. I can see her in the spotlight of the tall lamppost, her nose red, her eyes baggy with tears, about to pop.
“She didn’t know,” Giovanni says softly, noticing my anger.
He wants to absolve her of any blame. How nice of him, but I don’t care. Sure, maybe Chiara didn’t know this was all a trap, but I hold her responsible for it.
I march toward her with heavy steps. Once I’m close, I push her against the car and hold my sharp elbow under her throat. I have no self-restraint anymore.
“What instructions did you get about this meeting?” I interrogate.
She coughs at first, in my face, choking under the pressure of my arm. I don’t care.
“Please…” she stutters.
Giovanni comes to her rescue. “Liliana, calm down!” he commands with urging movements.
I relax my muscles, giving Chiara some space to breathe and cry.
“I got a letter,” she begins. “To pick up the token and meet here on Thursday. That’s all, I swear.”
I release her. She collapses to her knees and sobs at my feet. Looking upon her, I can feel my anger resonate and how hard it is for me to contain it, but maybe the spark of compassion ignites inside me as I watch the sobbing Chiara. I inspect my hand, which trembles as I move it. It’s obviously broken, probably from my punch to Giovanni’s face. I don’t feel the pain. I look to the car’s window, at my reflection, not recognizing myself. My hair and coat are soiled. My black boots are brown with dirt and maybe traces of my own vomit. Chiara looks like a child who did something bad, then I realize sheisa child. She’s so young.
I sigh, lowering all shields and disabling weapons, and help her up.
“Your instruction was to pick up that token?” I make sure I heard her words correctly.
She nods, gripping the sleeves of my coat a little too hard, and I turn to Giovanni.
“You know what I’m about to say,” I declare.
He rolls his eyes as a response. Of course he knows. He’s aware of how much I want to get to that shopkeeper, the one who distributes the tokens. That man could be the answer to many of my questions, starting with what he knows about the Syndicate and their lair in Rome. That man is the only clue we have right now.
Something else hits me. Maksim was caught.
How?
Two possibilities. Number one: Syndicate members know exactly who attends those gatherings. Number two: Either someone told them about Maksim, or they had a way of finding out who did not belong.
Chiara swears it could not be option one. Moreover, something in my gut agrees with her. That leaves us with option two, but I don’t believe Chiara to be capable of double-crossing the Syndicate, the Mafia Capitale,andthe Bratva, so I’m certain they have a way to identify an intruder.
I can bet all my money there’s something about that token that doesn’t add up.
The Syndicate set a trap for us, and they knew Chiara would be the key to luring us right into their snare.
That’s how I would have done it, at least. Having a meeting where nobody knows each other and want to spot an intruder? Ensure the intruder gets their hands on a token you know is fake but looks absolutely legitimate.
“We’re going to that antique shop,” I say without leaving them a choice.
“It’s six in the morning!” Giovanni exclaims.
“Darn it, Giovanni!” I shout. “I’m sure the Syndicate knew darn well Chiara was working with the mafia! I’m certain theysabotaged her token order, but I need confirmation. So, we’re going to that antique shop.”
Giovanni raises his palms in the air in resignation. He turns around and walks to the front side of the car, not looking at us.
