Page 81 of The Crimson Lily
The old man nods. My eyes scream:show me. He returns with a small wooden box full of brass coins. I accept the box and inspect the tokens one by one. Rough edges of imperfect art and a banana leaf. Dots and engravings. Nothing more. Nothing special. What is supposed to be a quill, a delicate feather, looks like a lazy lump. Stars are dirty spots. Three ugly pimples.
Hang on…
I swear Chiara’s coin had four stars, not three. I’m more than certain.
My memory isn’t failing me this time.
Confirmation. Our token was our Achilles’ heel.
Ring, ring, ring.
The shop’s rotary dial phone loops.
I have a bad feeling about this. The old man answers the phone and instantly hands it to me, his mouth agape and his eyes none the wiser.
I take the handset and tuck it underneath my ear. I clear my throat and say: “Hello?”
A silent pause. “Good morning, Liliana. How good it is to hear your voice.”
William fucking de Loit. His voice is as gravelly as I remember it. My heart squeezes itself.
I sigh. “You.”
“I never got the chance to tell you,” he begins, “but I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“You’re the one who tried to kill me,” I call his bluff. “Where is Maksim?”
“Leave Old Marco alone, will you? That man doesn’t deserve the heart attack you’re giving him.”
“Where is Maksim?”
William snickers through the old telephone. “I was disappointed your Bratva dog had taken the bait instead of you. Again.”
“Tell me he’s alive.”
“Oh, he is very much alive, although he could be in better shape?—”
“What did you do to him?” I screech so loudly that the floor shakes beneath me.
“Tell you what, Liliana, I’m willing to let him go.” He pauses, solemnly. “But I want something in return.”
Me. William wants me in return. I know it. He doesn’t have to specify. It’s not surprising. It’s not far-fetched. It’s the only option that makes sense.
“When?” I ask.
“How about 3 p.m.? Same place you had your car parked yesterday.”
Fuck you, William. Fuck you.
“In broad daylight?” I check.
“Always more exciting,” he replies. I can hear his grin.
“Deal. And don’t fuck with me.”
I hang up the phone. I’m not going to give him a chance to mock me, to bully me.
I turn to Chiara and Giovanni, who are both frowning at me. “Three p.m.,” I say. “It’s going to be me for Maksim.”
