Inferno (Blood for Blood #2) (13 page)

He pressed his lips against mine, hard and searching. I shivered against him as his kiss grew stronger and more urgent.
No
. I made myself think. I made myself remember. He dragged his hand down my back, brushing his fingers along the waistband of my jeans.
No
. I pulled my lips from his just as he slipped his hand into my back pocket. I pushed against him, but it was too late; he was already pulling the card out from where I had tucked it.

He jumped back from me as I lashed out at him. He jerked his head and my fingers caught his chin. Quick, but not quick enough. His hand flew to his jaw.

His eyes went wide. ‘Sophie.’

‘How could you?’ I gasped.

‘I’m protecting you.’ He shook the alarm from his face and flipped the card over, his dark eyes slitting as he read Jack’s handwritten message to me. ‘I had to do it.’

I glared at him.

‘You weren’t going to give it to me,’ he said.

‘It was mine! I didn’t have to!’

‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Sophie.’

I had to curl my fingernails into my palms to keep from trying to slap him again. ‘In that one kiss, you just cheapened
everything we ever had.’

Alarm spread across his face. He stepped into our bubble again, his hands reaching out for mine. ‘I didn’t cheapen it. I did it to look out for you.’

I backed away from him. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘You can’t go see your uncle, Sophie. I don’t care if you’re mad at me, but you can’t go into that club. That’s Black Hand territory. It’s not safe for you there.’

I gestured around me as I walked away. ‘It’s not safe for me anywhere!’

He matched my quickened pace easily. ‘Listen to me. Donata Marino doesn’t care about Jack. The Marinos never associate with anyone outside their family. They’re using him, and if you get sucked into their world, they’ll use you too. I’m asking you – I am
begging
you – do not go to that club.’

I didn’t look back at him. ‘It’s none of your business what I choose to do.’

‘I’ll make it my business to go in there after you.’

I turned around. ‘You wouldn’t!’

He set his jaw. ‘Try me.’

‘You can’t manipulate me like that,’ I hissed. But he could and he was. I didn’t want him following me into that club and going head-to-head with my uncle and all his new allies. There would be blood, and it would be on my conscience.

I started walking again. ‘You were supposed to stay away from me.’

He followed me. ‘That was before.’

‘Before what.’

‘Before I knew the Black Hand were involved.’

My mind was swirling with possibilities. How could I get rid
of Nic from this scenario? How could I convince him not to come to that club? He wasn’t going to give up.

‘Let’s make a deal, then,’ I said, swivelling. I masked my features and lifted my eyes to his. I made them as wide as I could and nudged at my bottom lip with my teeth.

He watched me, unblinking.

I drew in a breath and with all the sincerity I could muster I made my proposition. ‘I won’t go to Eden if you promise not to go to Eden.’

He looked past me, contemplating. He drummed his fingers against his jaw. ‘You promise?’

‘I promise,’ I lied.

‘OK, then,’ he relented. ‘So do I.’

As I let myself in, a chair screeched in the kitchen and my mother rushed to meet me in the hallway. Her face was drawn tight.

My throat seized up. ‘Mom? What’s going on?’

She held up my pillow in greeting, the bloodied side turned towards me.

Crap
.

‘Sophie?’ She padded towards me. ‘What’s happened?’

The cut on my palm burnt with the memory. The image of my mother crying by herself that night in the kitchen had been seared into my brain – the vision so like the version of my mother approaching me now, searching my face for clues. Guilt bubbled inside me. I blinked once, slowly, banishing the memories.

‘Oh, yeah.’ I took the pillow from her, held it by a corner and rotated it, forcing nonchalance. ‘I had a nosebleed a
couple of nights ago.’ I flicked my gaze across her features, praying the lie would land. ‘The doctor said it would probably happen once or twice, since my nose is still healing. It’s not a big deal.’

Her eyebrows drew together, creasing her forehead. ‘Why didn’t you wake me when it happened?’

You weren’t asleep
. I shrugged. ‘It was late. I didn’t see the point.’

‘The point?’ My mother shook her head. ‘You should have come to me, Sophie. You know you can always come to me.’

‘It was just a nosebleed. It had almost stopped by the time I woke up.’

‘Still,’ she said. ‘I’m your mother. That’s what I’m here for.’

I offered her a half smile in the dimness. ‘Please don’t worry about it.’

‘Sweetheart,’ she mirrored my smile, her head cocked lightly to one side, ‘it’s a mother’s job to worry.’

I had to crush an urgent need to hug her. There was something strange in the air, and it was making me feel like I might burst out crying at any moment. She was so small and tired, and yet even now, there was a constant ripple of strength in her. Strength for me. Strength I wanted her to keep for herself.

Get a grip, Soph
.

‘I’m fine, Mom.’ There was a short silence. The pillow hung limply at my side. I debated doing an elaborate twirl, and decided that might be overkill. Instead, I lightened my voice. ‘Everything is fine … except of course for this pillow, which, unfortunately, is not. I think it’s time we put it out to pasture.’

She stared at the pillow, mock-frowning. ‘Poor little guy.’

I held it up for examination. ‘I’ll miss him.’

‘We’ll get you a better one,’ she stage-whispered, pretending to block her mouth with her hand. ‘Bigger
and
puffier.’

I drew my eyes wide. ‘
Mother
,’ I chastised. ‘Have some
respect
. He can
hear
you.’

We laughed, and for a moment it felt real. She followed me into the kitchen, where I threw the pillow in the trash. ‘Sayonara,’ I declared, stuffing it into the can. I turned back to my mother. ‘In the interest of honesty, I feel I should tell you I’ll be stealing a pillow from your room in the next three minutes or so.’

She smiled even brighter that time. ‘What’s mine is yours.’

‘In that case, I might also commandeer that tear-drop necklace with the emerald stone.’

‘Except my jewellery, clothes, make-up and everything else I consider valuable,’ she added with a wink. ‘You may, however, help yourself to a small handful of my potpourri.’

‘Wow.’ I blew out an exhale. ‘You generous lady.’

She picked up a mug from the table. The moment felt so wonderfully normal. I wished I could have wrapped myself inside it and forced everything else from my mind, but like all good things, it faded too quickly. I turned to go, and she gripped my arm, squeezing it just above the elbow. She eyed me over the rim of her mug, peppermint on her breath as she said softly, ‘You know you don’t have to pretend, sweetheart. Not with me.’

We watched each other in silence, the bloodied pillow just a couple of feet away, my father’s absence filling up the space between us.

‘Neither do you,’ I said quietly.

Her gaze turned quizzical but she kept the mug high. ‘I’m not pretending.’

‘OK,’ I conceded. ‘If you say so.’

I left her nursing her tea, staring at something far beyond the kitchen window. Another life, maybe. One before my father, before me, when she was a budding designer in a city far away, with high hopes and big dreams. Not this small town, this stifled life, these blood-red memories pressing down on us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EDEN

W
hen I told my mother I was staying the night at Millie’s, she nearly fainted with relief. Every step I took outside our front door was a small victory for her, and an entire night spent with my best friend was music to her ears. In her mind, I was coasting back to normality, and it didn’t matter that I was leaving her behind. She pressed a twenty into my hand, ‘for pizza, ice cream, whatever you girls need. It’s on me.’ I tried to give it back, but she clasped her hands behind her back and shook her head. ‘You deserve to treat yourself!’

Oh, if only she knew. I swallowed my guilt – it was getting easier to stomach these days. I consoled myself with the knowledge that meeting Jack head-on would keep him from showing up unannounced at my house at some point in the
future, which would be so much worse for both of us.

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK here by yourself?’ I asked instead.

Her laugh was a short tinkle. ‘Of course, sweetheart. I have plenty to keep me occupied. I’m putting up that new trellis at the back of the garden. I’m planting wallflowers!’

My mind flicked to her unfinished dressmaking projects, now long overdue. ‘A trellis, eh? Cool …’

She swatted my arm. ‘I don’t just sit around and stare listlessly into the distance when you’re not here, you know.’

‘
What?
So you don’t spend all your free time thinking about how much you miss me?’

‘I replace my affection for you with my beautiful new plants,’ she said, her voice teasing. ‘They’re much less sarcastic.’

‘Just wait till they’re teenagers.’

‘Have fun,’ she said, pulling me in for a hug. ‘Talk about boys. Plan some adventures!’

When she pulled back, she was beaming so hard her lips were twitching. I grabbed my purse and tried to act like I really was going to an innocent sleepover at my best friend’s house and not a Mafia den in the middle of the city.

I had second thoughts about Eden – big ones – but in the end Millie ended up convincing me.

‘Whatever your uncle’s doing, Soph, you could squash it before it’s too late.’

‘Something tells me it’s already too late.’

‘You’ll have to face him one way or another. Isn’t that what Lego-head said?’

‘Her name is Sara.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Millie, waving her hand around. ‘You don’t have to act all kinshippy with her. She was stalking you, don’t forget.’

She googled the nightclub. There were pages of paparazzi scandals involving local celebrities and alleged underworld figures. Donata was featured in almost every article, sometimes by her maiden name, Genovese, and sometimes by Marino. She was a tabloid darling, each piece hinting at an undercurrent of fear. No one dared speak ill of the ‘Genovese Queen’, as one newspaper called her. She was the great and fearsome femme fatale of Chicago.

Her affluence shone through the expensive stoles and designer dresses. Her dark hair was a mane of the world’s finest extensions and her dramatic make-up airbrushed her expertly. But underneath the pomp and glamour she was a skeletal figure with a scrawny neck and severe features. She had that unmistakable Genovese ice – the same chill that Elena Genovese-Falcone had brought with her to my hospital room. The sisters were imprints of one another; each one surrounded by rival Mafia families, waiting to pick off the other. And Donata had a glittering night palace of her own making in which to plot.

Millie pressed the pad of her index finger on the screen, at an interior shot of Eden where everything was draped in white beneath a ceiling of chandeliers. ‘We have to go,’ she resolved. ‘We just
have
to.’

‘And what if I don’t like what he has to say?’ I countered. I had no doubt I wouldn’t like it.

‘Then we can just leave. And then it’s done, Sophie. You’ll
have heard him out.’

I was chewing a pattern into my lip, staring at the screen, my mind playing out all the possible ways this could go. How angry would I be when I saw him? How angry would
he
be? And Donata. What was her role in all this? If Elena was anything to judge by, I had seen quite enough Genovese ladies for one lifetime.

‘Sophie,
look
.’ Millie was tapping her fingernail on another picture, this time of a different floor, where everything was bamboo, and fire-lamps blazed around the contours of a pooling dance floor. ‘It’s the most exclusive club in the city. We
have
to go.’

The logistics of actually getting inside were still hazy. Millie had a pretty good fake ID. I didn’t. If that crimson business card was my ticket into Eden, I was in trouble, because it was in Nic’s pocket.

Stupid Nic
.

We barricaded ourselves in Millie’s bedroom and rifled through every single item of clothing in her wardrobe. ‘If we want to get past the bouncers, we have to be sexy but not slutty. It’s a very fine line,’ said Millie, picking up and discarding a floral peplum dress. I examined a cream chiffon blouse. Millie snatched it from me and flung it on to the ground. ‘I said sexy, not politician!’

After almost an hour of indecision, Millie chose a royal-blue strapless dress, a thick silver necklace and hoop earrings. I picked a black body-con dress with spaghetti straps and a lace hem. I borrowed a simple gold necklace and stud earrings, pairing the outfit with Millie’s patent black ankle boots. Millie insisted on doing my hair and make-up.
‘Voila!’ she triumphed, spinning me towards the mirror.

I gaped at my reflection. I had been Barbie-fied. The dress was miniscule, and so tight it clung to every inch of me. My hair brought new meaning to the word ‘volume’ and the hairspray had turned it into a glittering blonde rock. My eyes were rimmed with so much black it was hard to find the blue inside them, and my lips had been lined and glossed until they shone at twice their normal size against my bronzed and blushed face.