Page 82 of The Crimson Lily
“What?” Giovanni blurts. “What are you talking about?”
“William wanted me to show up at the meeting, not Maksim!” I raise my voice. “I’m going to give myself up.”
“You can’t do that!” Giovanni argues. “He will kill you, and the mission will fail.”
“You have a list of who knows how many Syndicate members,” I recall. “Use it. Put pressure on them with it. Make them bleed! Maksim will help you. The Bratva will help you!”
“But you will die!” Giovanni rebukes
“I’m nothing but a liability!” I scream. The words of a younger William. “I used to be Syndicate. I betrayed them. They wanted me dead eight months ago; they’ll still want me dead tomorrow! This is how we end this. And Maksim will still be alive.”
Giovanni takes a few steps toward me. He comes close enough for me to see the distress in his eyes. He raises his voice. “Who is this guy to you that you’d let yourself be killed forhim?”
“I’m doing this for the mission,” I debate.
“You’re insane, that’s what you are!”
I slap him. No one calls meinsane.
“I love him!” My voice eventually fails me, and the tears begin to leach through the walls I’ve raised.
I shove Giovanni to the side, pass Chiara without looking at her, and head into the street. I need to cry my eyes out because anxiety has begun to take over. I can’t breathe. Panic grips myneck with a force equal to my fear. I’m going to die. I’m well aware of that.
Giovanni follows me outside, Chiara ambling behind him like a lost puppy. It takes me about an hour to finally get him to admit that my plan is the right one. That the list they have in their hands is far more valuable than my life. That we finally have something to hold against the Syndicate. Tangible proof. Hell, they can even get the police involved at this point.
I collapse on the nearest bench, my elbows on my knees and my face plunged in my palms. I empty my tears in silence. Passersby peek at us, the three weird strangers who either walk in circles, rest against the nearest wall, or cry on a lonely bench. I wonder what they’re thinking. What kind of story they make up about us. Probably a love affair gone wrong. Probably a tragedy. Nothing near what is actually going on.
The sun has fully risen. The rays form a crown over the tall salmon- and cream-colored buildings that surround us. Giovanni ran off to get some coffee or food or both. I’m sure I need that; I still feel sick to my core.
Chiara sits beside me. She fiddles with the strap of her purse, nervously folding it left or right every five seconds.
I really can’t stop hearing those gunshots; I have to do something. “How did you become Syndicate?” I ask to distract her and myself.
Chiara, startled, clenches her little bag with both hands. “My brother and I were members of the Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mafia. One day, the Syndicate recruited him, and he dragged me into it.” She pauses as if to collect a long-lost memory. “We were young and impressionable, and they promised we could see the world.”
“Where is your brother now?” I wonder.
She purses her lips as if it’s hard for her to speak. “He died because he opened his mouth.”
“Is that why you went rogue?”
“Rogue?” She doesn’t know what the word means.
“Why you betrayed them,” I clarify.
She gives me short and distant nods, confirming my hypothesis. I let the silence invade us again.
My phone buzzes about two minutes later. I check the latest notification: a message from Béatrice.
Morning, Lili! How’s Rome?
I close my eyes and let a tear roll freely. Béatrice is probably the only person I need to say goodbye to. If I’m going to die today, I want to tell her how much she means to me.
I dial her phone number—screw international call costs!
“Lili!” Béatrice exclaims after one beep.
I exhale and swallow my tears. “Hey…”
