I looked down at the note. I looked at his face.
‘If you prove your loyalty.’ I kept my gaze as steely as his own. ‘Show me that after everything, you’re on our side. Mine and Mom’s. Tell me where Jack is hiding.’
He drew in a loaded breath, his chest puffing out. ‘I won’t do that.’
I crumpled the note and threw it at his feet. ‘Then I can’t trust you.’
CHAPTER TEN
TARGET
‘Sophie.’ Valentino’s voice cut through my mental assessment of his office. The velvet drapes, the mahogany desk, the expensive leather chairs, the dark wood cabinets. ‘Are you ready to pay attention to me now?’
I turned back to him, dragging my gaze from a particularly opulent lamp in the corner of the room. ‘I was just … taking it all in.’ I tried to get comfortable in my chair, but I couldn’t. The leather squeaked under my attempts, drowning out Bach or Vivaldi or Beethoven or whoever was needlessly upping the dramatics.
I settled under his gaze, and wished he had asked one of the others to come in with me. A one-on-one meeting with the Falcone boss was not high on my bucket list.
He tapped his fingers along the desk, a careful drumming, perfectly in time with the music.
‘How was school?’ he asked blithely.
‘Do you really care?’ I asked. Valentino didn’t do small talk.
He was leaning back in his chair. He picked up a pencil and twirled it around, catching and releasing it between his fingers. ‘No, not especially.’
The pencil was quite captivating. ‘Your dexterity is commendable.’
‘How are you settling in?’ he said, the pencil still moving round and round. It was like he was trying to distract me. A test. I kept my gaze forward.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Felice notwithstanding.’
‘Unfortunately, Felice’s presence here cannot be helped.’ So Valentino didn’t think too highly of Felice either. Interesting. See also: unsurprising. ‘Nic says you’re a natural shooter.’
‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ I said, trying to sound modest. Luca hadn’t come home the night before, so Nic and I had managed to squeeze in another session out in the barn. ‘I’m a quick learner.’
‘It’s obviously in your blood,’ Valentino said.
‘Must be.’ Dimples and marksmanship. Thanks, Dad.
Valentino flipped the subject. ‘You went walkabout yesterday.’
‘I was having a ceremony for my mother.’
He clamped the pencil in his fist. ‘Don’t do that again.’
‘In my experience you can only scatter ashes to the wind once. They’re very hard to collect after that.’
‘Do you think you’re funny?’
‘With the right audience.’ My heart was hammering in my chest.
‘I don’t enjoy sarcasm,’ he said pointedly. ‘Just so you’re aware.’
Well, then, you are not going to enjoy me very much. ‘Right,’ I said, shifting again in my seat. The leather was cold on my hands. I tucked them under my legs to keep them warm. ‘Is that why I’m here? Because of yesterday?’ I studied his reaction – that stony impassivity. Did he know that my dad had been there? That we had spoken? How much had Luca said to him?
Valentino shook his head. ‘I thought it would be best to get that little matter of housekeeping out of the way first. Don’t go walkabout again without telling us first. It’s a drastic waste of time and manpower, and given that we’re in the middle of a blood war, I’m sure you can see how unfathomably stupid it was.’ He pinned me with those sapphire eyes, and then pulled his lips back a fraction, so I could see a hint of his canines. ‘Can’t you?’
Relief flittered like a bird inside me. So Luca hadn’t said a thing. Man, that guy was a vault. A vault I would have to thank whenever he resurfaced. ‘It won’t happen again.’
Valentino pulled the drawer of his desk open and took out a single sheet of paper. ‘Now we can proceed to more important matters.’ He dropped the sheet between us, and slid it across his desk so that it was facing me. I pulled my hands from underneath me and scooted forward.
Oh.
It wasn’t a slip of paper, it was a photograph.
An eerily familiar photograph.
Oh.
‘This,’ he said, pressing his index finger across it, ‘is Libero Marino, the son of Donata Marino.’
I stared at the photograph of Libero Marino. He had those wide, dark eyes. His head was shaved in the photo, but he had a thick black goatee, and an unsightly scar right across the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem like someone who was used to smiling. I imagined all his teeth, if he bared them, would be gold.
My throat felt like it was about to close up.
‘That’s Sara’s brother,’ I said, without taking my eyes off the photo. Underneath, a few details had been scribbled in. His height: 5’8”, his age: 22 years old. His skills: knife and hand-to-hand combat, and his ranking: Marino Capo, son of Donata Marino.
Valentino nodded. ‘He’s back in the city now, trading with clients on Donata’s behalf.’
I lifted my gaze, and tried to swallow the waver in my voice that was about to give away my sudden onslaught of nerves. ‘Is he … is he my target?’
Valentino had steepled his hands in front of him, fingers touching against his lips, hiding his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Libero Marino is your target.’