Goodbye, Kate, page 16
“I am sorry. I work for il consiglio. I carry lots of paperwork.”
“It’s no problem,” I assure him. “None at all.” Hiding myself behind the open door, I slide my hand into the back of my knickers and slowly, carefully, pull out the gun, tucking it straight under my thigh as I sit down in the car. I exhale a long sigh of relief when the task is done, so long I didn’t realise my lungs could even hold that much air.
“Thank you so much for helping me. You and your wife are very kind,” I say after we’ve been travelling for a while. It feels ungrateful to sit in silence.
He catches my gaze briefly through the mirror before returning his concentration to the road. “We could not leave young girl like you alone for the night. Dark is coming. We like to help our neighbour when we can.”
It sounds rather ridiculous to even think it, but I don’t think I realised there were such nice people in the world. I mean genuine, selfless people. I always thought of myself as a nice person. I was never mean to anyone, I’d have helped someone if I saw them get hurt, but now I think about it I wouldn’t have offered a random stranger a lift. I’ve never helped a charity, walked an old lady across the road. I’ve just got on with my life, only concerning myself with the people in it.
Jeez. I’m selfish. How can you be a selfish person and not even know?
I need to decide if Sophia is selfish. I know she’s vengeful. Can she be kind to those who deserve it, too?
“Well you’re very generous, and I’m grateful,” I add.
“You’re welcome. We are almost there. Five minutes.”
The last few minutes pass quickly and when it’s time to leave a knot of guilt twists in my stomach. I feel like I’ve betrayed this compassionate human. That would be because I have. I lied to him and his wife because I needed something from them. My gratitude is real, however, and I hope it shows in my expression.
Slipping the gun back into my underwear is trickier than taking it out was, but I’m confident I manage to do it covertly. Giacomo remains relaxed when I reach his rolled-down window so there’s no way he saw it.
“Grazie,” I say, wishing I had more to offer for his kindness.
“Take care, young Sophia.” And then he drives away, leaving me alone to face whatever waits for me behind the walls of this building.
Standing by the metal tables under the large green canopy outside, anxiety starts to rise in my throat.
This is never going to end.
This is my life now.
Sophia’s life.
Chapter Eleven
Sophia
Music is the first thing to hit me after I push through one of the swinging doors to Piero’s restaurant. The Italian folk tunes pirouette into my ears, vibrate beneath my feet, elevate my mood and, for the slightest moment, erase all my troubles. But then a smartly dressed server approaches me and reality hits me like a truck.
“I’m looking for Roberto.” I talk before he does, before he can throw me out, given that he’s staring at me like I’m a piece of dog shit that’s accidentally blown in off the street. I know I’ve got no shoes, but the rest of me should look pretty decent. Great, in fact. Liliana did a top-notch job on my hair and make-up.
Lines appear on his forehead while he studies me. Or judges. Or both. Either way, he scuttles off the way he came, past the tables draped with white linen and behind a long bar until he disappears altogether. I don’t expect to be kept waiting long. I’m getting strange looks from patrons who should be busy minding their own business and eating their meals…which smell incredible. I imagine whoever Roberto is will want to get me out of sight as quickly as possible before I scare away his clientele.
A man comes out from behind the bar. He’s mid-fifties, at a guess. Tall, slender, with dark receding hair. He looks tough but not mean. There’s no scowl on his face but a prominent look of caution. He tilts his head when he reaches me, analysing me in silence, just like the server did.
“Are you Roberto?”
He looks down at my feet then back up to my face. “Table for one, is it?” His tone, his Irish tone, doesn’t match his words. He doesn’t trust me. Rolling his shoulders, his whole posture stiffens as if he’s preparing for a fight.
“C-canary,” I stutter, suddenly remembering. “I’m supposed to tell you canary.”
One single word and it makes his eyes widen. Only a little, and likely unnoticeable unless you were concentrating on his reaction, which I was. Immediately, his arm reaches behind my back and he ushers me forward with a firm push. “Ah, I’m so glad you’re okay. Worried sick so I was when Tommy told me about the accident! Come on through!” He talks like we’re close and he’s relieved to see me. I’m smart enough to gather it’s a ruse of some sort to pacify the watchful customers but it doesn’t mean I’m happy to have his hands on me.
He doesn’t appear to take any notice of my blatant discomfort until we’re through the door hidden behind the bar and out of public view.
“Hey!” I protest when I almost trip over my own foot. “Do you want to quit shoving me around? I’m here of my own accord.”
Wow. Ballsy. I’ve impressed myself.
Finally, he puts some welcome distance between us. “Apologies.” He raises his palms in the air. “I’m sure you don’t want to raise suspicion any more than I do. Now, who sent you?” He sounds awfully formal. It would seem he still doesn’t trust me, and that he wasn’t expecting me.
“Lincoln.”
His back braces again. “Who?” He takes a step closer.
Crap. “Lincoln. Lincoln Hollis. Well, technically Liliana told me to come here, but she’s working with Lincoln. They saved me from—”
“Liliana, eh?”
“Yes.” I nod quickly, relieved that he’s stepped back again.
“Describe her.”
“Black hair…” I hover my flattened fingers just above my jaw as if to portray the length. “Uh, kinda short. Um…” Bloody hell, describing people is actually really difficult. “No personality, blunt, and great at fighting?”
A ghost of a smile, so faint I can’t be sure I haven’t imagined it, sweeps over Roberto’s lips. Then he nods, looking appeased. “Come on upstairs. Let’s get you sorted out.”
I consider turning over my gun, confident I don’t need it anymore. It’s not like I even know how to use it, not effectively anyway. Plus, if he has any hidden doubts about me that would surely change them. But then I realise, I have doubts about him.
Don’t trust anybody.
So, instead, I simply say, “Thanks,” and follow him up the stairs.
The upper floor is like a whole house. Many different rooms connect to a long landing. I’m taken straight to a bedroom and the first thing I notice is my reflection in the mirrored wardrobes. Jesus. I don’t blame the people downstairs for the looks they gave me anymore. The make-up Liliana painstakingly applied this afternoon has melted and smeared into dark splodges smattered across my face. My eyes look like they’ve been punched a thousand times over, and my hair looks like I’ve gone ten rounds with a wild lion. Don’t even get me started on the sweat patches cupping my boobs.
“D’ya have a name, there?” Roberto asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Sophia.” It rolls off my tongue as naturally as breathing as I continue to stare myself down in the mirror.
“You look like you’ve seen better days.”
Blowing out a humourless laugh, I turn to face him. “Yeah. You could say that.”
Roberto nods and clicks his tongue, as if he doesn’t know what to say.
Neither do I. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen next, whether anyone’s coming for me.
“The bathroom’s next door. I’ll go find you some clothes. They’re men’s mind, left over from my Tommy when he was a lad.” His gaze drifts up and down my body before nodding. “I think they’ll fit you. He was a scrawny boyo back then, so he was.”
“Anything is great. Thanks.”
Roberto goes to leave but, even though it feels awfully cheeky of me, I can’t stop myself calling him back. “Roberto?”
He stops mid-step.
“I don’t have any money, but would it be possible to get some food? Just something small. I haven’t eaten today. I’ll work for it. Wash dishes or someth—”
“Ah, get away with ya.” He swishes his hand through the air as if I’ve said something ridiculous. “There’s plenty o’ food around here. I’ll get something brought up.”
Smiling, I nod once. “Thank you.”
The shower I took in Roberto’s bathroom was nothing short of blissful. It’s not a particularly fancy shower, just a simple one mounted onto the wall above a small bath, but I was alone. I stayed in there for what felt like hours, until the water ran cold. Even then, I didn’t move straight away. I waited until my frozen skin couldn’t take the sting any longer before reluctantly shutting the water off and climbing out.
Back in the bedroom, I found a set of clothes waiting for me on top of the bed. Some navy blue joggers, a white polo shirt and some boxer briefs. No bra, but that doesn’t matter. Now, I’m propped up against the headboard tucking into some kind of stew Roberto brought to me once I’d dried and changed. He told me what it was, but the name fell on deaf ears. All my brain cares about is the smell.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the chunk of lamb between my teeth before biting into it. God. The flavour. For a while, I’d started to worry my taste buds had died. Seemingly, there was simply nothing to taste in the slop I’d been forcing down my throat of late. When I’m finished, I’m not sure what to do with myself. Liliana didn’t give further instruction. She didn’t even tell me to wait for her. What if she’s not coming? Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still alive.
I can’t stay here forever, though. I don’t know Roberto. I don’t know what part of Italy I’m in. Most importantly, as far as I know, there are still people out there who want me dead. Probably even more people now since what happened at the compound.
Wait…
I have access to a phone now. There’s one right next to my bed, in fact. Staring at it, I wonder if I should call my dad. I know what Lincoln’s response to that would be, but he’s not always right. He never mentioned anything about me being abducted, again, and being put up for sale. Yeah, the genius didn’t see that one coming, did he?
But…he did warn me not to trust anyone, and I did, so I suppose I can’t place the entire blame on his shoulders.
Hmm. I’ll sleep on it, if I manage to get any. This mattress is so comfortable, the blanket so soft, that I should have fallen into a coma the second I sat on it. Yet my mind won’t switch off. Every nerve in my body is on alert, ready to pounce. I can’t look at anything for longer than a few seconds without flipping my gaze back to the door to see if it’s moved. I’m also acutely aware that Liliana’s gun is currently stashed under the mattress. What if I roll over too hard in the night and blow a hole through the wall…or myself?
Ugh. I’ll be bloody glad to get rid of it.
Setting my plate down on the bedside table, I shuffle down onto my side, tucking my hands under the feather pillow. If I lie here long enough, sleep will come. From boredom if nothing else. But…my brain is working too fast to be bored. Where is Lincoln… and Liliana? Are they dead? I can only assume they are. Closing my eyes, I see so many bullets, so much blood. There were so many people, some running for their lives, others joining in the madness. Fighting, shooting, dying. I can’t see anyone getting out of that auction room alive.
Lincoln was sent to kill me and yet died saving me. I should think of it as karma, yet…it just feels really fucking unfair.
The music from downstairs is oddly soothing as it reverberates through the ceiling and through the floor of my room. The noise offers comfort in place of that desolate silence in the cell which drove me to the edge of insanity. It’s refreshing to hear something other than my own breaths. Although, perplexingly, the sound of lives being lived makes me feel even more alone.
An hour passes. Then another. There’s not much else to look at other than the door and the clock on the wall. There’s no other furniture in here besides the mirrored wardrobes, bed and the little table next to it. I should turn the lamp off…but I don’t want to. It’s been a while since I’ve been in complete darkness. I’m not scared of the thought, I don’t think, but I’m going to leave it on a little longer anyway.
Rolling onto my back, I check out the ceiling. There’re a few shadows on it but none of them form any interesting patterns. Every so often the whole surface will glow with the light from a passing car outside shining through the window, disappearing as fast as it arrives. With the music it’s like my own little disco. Except I’m not dancing or having fun.
Another hour passes and the music stops, highlighting the laughter and conversations happening in the street below my window. I climb up onto my knees and peek out from behind the thin curtain. There’s a couple who look to have just left the restaurant, smiling and touching one another, dressed in all their glad rags. They look…happy. I almost remember looking at Simon the way this woman looks at the man she’s with. Like no one else exists.
A group of friends, all women, walk around the couple, giggling and talking louder than I suspect they realise. One too many glasses of wine, I expect. They look like they’ve had a fun evening.
Collapsing back on my heels, I sigh. Those people know who they are, where their lives are heading. I hope they appreciate it. Truly. It could all be gone tomorrow.
Lying back down, I toss and turn some more, making sure the door is in my line of vision whatever position I’m in. I really need to sleep. My body is physically exhausted, my mind mentally battered. But I can’t shut down. There’s too much going on beyond my window that I need to know about…but might never discover.
After another half hour, I decide to give up and take a wander. There’s still movement downstairs, a few clatters here and there, so I plan to try and find Roberto again, maybe ask for a hot chocolate to help me settle. There’s nobody at the bottom of the stairs, and because I don’t know where the other doors down here lead I push open the one to the bar. The restaurant floor is dark, the tables barely visible. The small LEDs above the bar are switched on, though, and so are the lights behind the serving counter at the far end of the room.
I start making my way over, when a hand lands on my shoulder.
I almost crap out my heart.
Spinning on my heels, I raise my fist.
“Whoa…” Roberto surrenders his hands. “Didn’t mean to give ya a fright.”
I blow out a controlled puff of air. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
He must’ve been behind the bar. I’d walked straight past him somehow.
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer, even though the place looks tidy.
Roberto’s returned to the bar and, using a cloth, wipes out a glass before setting it under the counter. “You should be sleeping. Ya don’t look too grand.”
I just shrug. It’s about all I can muster.
“S’down,” he says, nodding to the row of barstools. “I’ll pour ya a drink. That’ll help.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Hitching myself up onto one of the plush green stools, I face the wooden bar, folding my arms over it.
“Ya heard from Liliana?”
I shake my head, worry swelling in my gut. “I haven’t got a phone. You?”
“Not a peep. She’s a tough one, so she is. She’ll be in touch.” He slides a glass of dark spirit across the bar as he talks.
I catch it with my hand and take a sip. “Ohh…whee!” I sound like I’ve smoked forty cigarettes. “That’s harsh on the throat.”
“Good stuff always is,” he says with a grin, continuing to clean the glasses.
“How do you know Liliana? Are you a mobster boss, too?” Part of me can’t believe I’m brazen enough to ask. The other part doesn’t give a shit anymore.
A genuine belly laugh rumbles from Roberto’s throat. “Are ya having me on? Do I look like a gangster to you?”
Unfortunately, I can’t share his amusement. “I’ve learned recently that killers don’t actually look like killers. They look like fathers and fiancés.”
A hint of curiosity glints in his eyes, but he doesn’t push me to elaborate.
“So,” I begin after taking another drink. This time it goes down a lot easier. “How do you know Liliana?” He must know she’s a criminal. He doesn’t seem stupid.
“I don’t, really. Met her through this fella that’s got me outta the shit a couple of times. Finley. Of course, ya don’t get nothing for free in this world. He did me a favour, so I do them for him. No questions asked.”
Finley. Wait… Lincoln has a passport in the name of a Finley Easton. Is Lincoln Finley?
“What kind of favours?”
“Nosy little thing, aren’t you?” He looks more intrigued by me than annoyed.
“I don’t know why I’m here, or where I go next. I’ve nothing less to lose. Humour me.”
“Well,” he begins, tossing the cloth over his shoulder. “I came here from The Pale with pennies…”
“The Pale?”
“Dublin,” he clarifies. “My ma had passed away, oul fella long gone. No brothers or sisters. So, I came to Italy. Used my skills as a chef to make some money. Worked bloody hard, every hour I could. Five years ago, I bought this place. Hadn’t been in here long when some eejit started demanding ‘insurance’. Didn’t pay it, got four broken ribs the week after.”
“Shit,” is all I can think of to say.
“Paid him, kept paying him till I had no choice but to think about selling up. Couldn’t afford it. Then, this Finley fella comes out o’ nowhere like a feckin angel in the night, tells me he’ll sort it if I give someone a roof for a couple o’ days. Just like that, problem solved. I’ve done a couple of other bits for him, too. He has for me. It’s a two-way street. Code word is always a bird.”
