Goodbye, Kate, page 19
“Any time.” He claps my shoulder like we’re friends. A sociable gesture with innocent intent, I’m sure, but it’s enough for me to take an instant dislike to him. I’ve had enough strange hands on me without my consent.
Roberto wipes his hands on the cloth which is tucked into his apron as he reaches me. “How’s the boyo doing?”
“I’ve left him to sleep. Where’s Liliana?”
“Away as quick as she came. Who knows where?”
Tension tugs at the skin on my forehead. “Does she know what happened to Lincoln?”
“Yup. Sure she knew he’d be fine. She’s got business to tend to apparently.”
Some friend.
I refuse to waste my anger on her, so I change the subject before it takes hold. “Do you need any help down here? I grew up in this trade. I can work a kitchen or serve guests with my eyes closed.”
“Ah, you don’t have to do that. You’re still recovering yourself, love.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “I, uh, couldn’t help notice the bruises.”
His kindness lifts my lips into a huge smile. “You don’t need to be so polite, Roberto. I’m aware that I look like I’ve tried to hammer a post into the ground with my face. Maybe serving wouldn’t give the best impression to your customers, plus I can’t speak a lick of Italian, but I can help back here. Clean, wash dishes, organise the pantry… I’ll go stir-crazy upstairs on my own all day.” I’ve had enough time alone to last me a lifetime, but I don’t add that part aloud.
“Y’know…the pantry is in good need of a tidy.”
I press my hands together, almost like I’m praying. “Great!”
“You’ll be needing some fresh clothes first I imagine. Give me five minutes and I’ll come upstairs and fetch the rest o’ Tommy’s stuff. Then, the pantry’s all yours.”
Excited by the challenge and hopeful the day will pass quickly now I have something to do, I run back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I regret that decision when I reach the top. Roberto’s right, I am still recovering. As much as I want to forget everything I’ve been through, my damaged body serves as a painful reminder. I’m still weak and sore.
But I can only rise from here.
As strange as it sounds, I really enjoyed organising the pantry. Just for today, I allowed myself to forget who, or where, I was. I wasn’t Kate, or even Sophia. Today, I was just a girl, stacking boxes and scrubbing shelves. It took me hours, which I didn’t mind at all. Starting at the top, I unloaded every shelf before cleaning it and putting everything back in order of freshness. I finished by scouring the skirting boards and then mopping the floor. I didn’t have time to stop or, more importantly, think. It was wonderful, really.
Now, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed combing through my wet hair after taking a shower, my belly full of pasta and breadsticks. Lincoln is fast asleep beside me on the mattress. He managed to take a shower earlier, so Roberto says, but apparently still hasn’t eaten. Setting my comb on the bedside table, I lift back the blanket and squeeze into the small space next to him. Before showering I considered sleeping elsewhere, the floor perhaps, but decided against it. I can’t see why he would mind. It’s not as if we haven’t slept in the same bed before, and I’ve already spent too many nights of my life with my bones digging into the ground.
The angle that I climbed in has left me on my side, facing Lincoln as he sleeps on his back. I should move, but he’s left me with so little space I’m worried if I start to shift I’ll roll off the bed. So, I stare at him instead, which isn’t weird at all. I’ve done this countless times before, although he wasn’t Lincoln then, of course.
Still, it’s too easy to fall into a well of conflicting emotions the longer I look at him. He bears the same blemishes as Simon, the same cloud-shaped birthmark under his ribs, the same firm ridges defining his chest. God, how ridiculous do I sound? Thinking about them as if they really are two different people. I know they’re not. I’m not crazy. But it helps me accept what life has become when I separate them in such a way.
I hover my finger over the long scar just below his collarbone. It’s old and faded, whiter than the rest of his skin. I wonder what caused it. The scar isn’t new to me. I’ve seen it, touched it, beyond a thousand times. I never had any reason to doubt it was the result of the sharp edge of a roof tile after a stumble on some scaffolding, years before we met. Until now. Was it a knife? A fall taken during a fight? Glass from a broken window? The possibilities are endless, but I’m certain none of them involve a building yard.
Without realising, my finger has dropped, touching his skin. The second I notice I know I should pull away, but I don’t. I’m not sure I even can. Lightly, I trace the edge of his silvery scar, the smoothness so familiar to me. Touching him feels so…natural, and before I can stop it, my whole hand is on his chest.
He feels like home.
“I’ll do it.” His voice, raspy from sleep, startles me, stealing my breath for a moment. “I’ll train you.”
I don’t move, don’t look up. Keeping my hand on his chest, yet wondering why he’s not removed it, I nestle my head further into the pillow. “Thank you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lincoln
Two days it has taken me to recover. Two days, wasted. Nothing pisses me off more than time spent lying around doing absolutely nothing. We need to leave today. This country has served its purpose. That purpose being, jack shit. Thanks to Lorusso, I blew my chance with Neri, therefore destroying my entire plan. This whole trip, Kate’s ordeal, fucking everything has been for nothing.
Nothing!
Fucking Lorusso. He’s always been an opportunist and my…distraction…gave him the perfect chance to recoup his losses, push back at me for taking down his protection racket while I was here trading with Neri on Cowan’s behalf five years ago. I should have ended him then instead of butchering a handful of his pathetic lackeys by way of a polite warning. Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit how he ran his business or how many pushovers he extorted, but I needed assistance and help isn’t free in this world. Getting Lorusso to back off was Roberto’s price and one I will never regret paying. Even with my current predicament.
Kate is slowly but surely dismantling my competence. Business, justice… It all seems so fucking inconsequential next to her.
Kate. I must remember to stop calling her that. I don’t necessarily understand the need she feels to become Sophia, the name from the passport I gave her, but I will respect it. She believes she is a new person, perhaps the woman she was always meant to be, but she’s wrong. She thinks she’s like me. She’s mistaken. She cannot stay with me, allow me to drag her even further into the pit of darkness where I reside, but I’ll allow her to holiday here until she realises just how big an error she’s made.
And she will.
“Sophia.” I nudge her shoulder, feeling a sliver of guilt that I have to wake her. She looks so peaceful, lying there with her knees bent up towards her stomach. She slept beside me in only a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, which has ridden up to expose the flawless skin hugging the curve of her hip.
She’s too thin, though. I can see the stark outline of bone poking through the dark grey shorts. When she doesn’t stir, I pull her T-shirt back down so I can’t see it because I’m a fucking coward. The things I’ve seen in my life, the violence I’ve faced, and yet I’ve been too afraid to ask her what those bastards put her through, whether they even bothered to fucking feed her.
They touched her, I know that much. I didn’t ask her to elaborate. I’m too scared to do that, too. Me. Scared. It’s almost hilarious.
A sorrowful sigh escapes my lips as I take one final look at her sleeping, wondering what in the hell she’s done to me.
“Sophia. It’s time to wake up.” My voice is louder this time, so loud I don’t need to touch her.
Groaning, she stretches her arms lazily across the mattress in front of her. Even that, I find curious. As a victim of trauma, I’d expect her to be startled easily. She’s too relaxed. It unnerves me. Can you make a killer? Is that what I’m doing to her?
No. I shake my head at my own thoughts as I turn around to fasten the buttons on my shirt. The absurdity is laughable.
“What time is it?” she asks, her voice groggy, making the words crack.
“Early. We’re leaving soon.”
“Leaving?” She sits up on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “To go where?”
“Back to England. Change of plans.”
“Whoa, what?” She drops her hands onto her knees with a purposeful slap. “What change? Hell, what plans? I don’t even know the original plan.”
“We’ll talk on the way. If we encounter no trouble, I’m not opposed to an overnight stay at the cottage to break the journey.”
“Really?”
Irrationally, I feel oddly pleased with my decision. “Yes. Now get dressed. And you can hand over the gun, too.”
She gives me a look, one I recognise all too well but have chosen to ignore a lot lately.
“Please,” I add.
She pouts, naturally, but swings her legs off the edge of the bed nonetheless, before reaching under the mattress and pulling out the weapon. After taking it, I leave her to get ready and go in search of Roberto. He will be up already preparing for the onset of breakfast clientele. It takes longer than I’d like but, eventually, I find him outside, smoking.
He blows a final puff of smoke out into the fresh air and drops the stub of his cigarette onto the floor before stomping it out with his boot. “Time to go, is it?”
He knows me well. My habits, at least. I proffer my hand, which he takes. “You know the drill, old man. The cops will be here soon, scouring the neighbouring villages for witnesses.”
“They won’t find any here.”
I nod with confidence. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. It helps, of course, that Roberto is truthfully unaware of what’s happened. “Thank you, as always.” I give his hand a firm shake, and then stuff the five-thousand euros from my other hand into his fist.
He takes it, as is our custom, his eyes widening just a smidge at the amount. Five-thousand is a huge deal to Roberto, but not nearly as much as he deserves. He took care of Sophia and I can never repay him for that properly.
“That’s a good lady you got up there, boyo. You take care of her.” He’s wearing an almost fatherly warning on his face, or what I imagine that to look like. He’s become quite taken with her, it seems. I can’t blame him.
“She’s not my lady,” I counter.
The way he elevates his chin makes me think he doesn’t believe me.
“Until next time,” I say, ignoring his scepticism because it isn’t true.
Roberto nods. “Keep up with those antibiotics, and don’t steal my Scotch.”
I exhale a breath of laughter as he goes to wander back inside without saying goodbye. I like Roberto. He’s a simple man. Loyal. He doesn’t require answers to questions that are none of his concern. He hasn’t let me down, yet.
“Roberto?”
He stops in his tracks, pausing by the door.
“I’m going to need to borrow your car. I’ll have Liliana bring it back to you when I’m finished.”
“But—Fine,” he agrees, albeit reluctantly given the grumbly nature of his voice. I assume he realised after beginning his protest that there is in fact nothing to agree to.
I am taking his car.
“Keys are on the hook in the kitchen upstairs,” he adds. “I’m low on petrol. Fill it up, eh?”
Again, I grin. There aren’t many people on this planet who would be brazen enough to make such frivolous demands from a man of my calibre. Honestly, that’s part of the reason I like him so much.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I waste no further time idling in this village, hurrying Sophia as soon as I head back inside. I’m not in optimum health yet, but I can heal as I travel. Sophia’s mood is sombre once we start to drive, her vacant stare fixed onto the windscreen, yet her gaze not tracking the movements of passing scenery. I suspect she’s sad to leave Roberto and the sense of normality he and his business offered during her short stay. This is her decision, however, and I won’t be insensitive by reminding of her that…for now.
“How did Liliana get me out?”
I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at Sophia. Her eyebrows are knitted together.
“Does she work for them?”
“Sometimes, yes,” is the honest answer.
Sophia gasps, but I don’t look at her again. I can imagine the look of shock on her face.
“Liliana is what I suppose you could call a freelancer. She’ll work for whoever pays her the most money. She’s done jobs for Lorusso in the past but that didn’t make her loyal to him. It did, however, make it easier for me to devise a plan to get you out of there. One call to Liliana and she was able to work her way into that compound within hours. I don’t know how. The details are irrelevant to me.”
“So…she’s loyal to you?”
I consider Sophia’s words for a moment. “I believe so, but I’m always prepared for the alternative.”
Falling quiet again, she returns to staring out of the window and remains that way until the fields of Fiore Valley come into view. The roads are long and clear, but winding, so I can’t look at her directly, but I catch her shifting in her seat out of the corner of my eye. She’s unsettled, no doubt wondering why we’re here, back to the place she was held captive and abused, but she doesn’t, or won’t, ask. She’s trying to prove she’s strong, I imagine.
“My car is here. I need to pick up some things,” I answer for her anyway.
“Oh. Right. Okay. Sure. Yeah.” Her tone is upbeat and joyful, but the five single word reply tells me she’s anything but.
“We’re not going as far as the compound. You won’t see it. Besides…” I stop talking. I’m hesitating. Why the hell am I hesitating?
“Besides?”
Clearing my throat, I dislodge whatever malfunction just overcame me. “Lorusso is dead. No one here can hurt you.”
“Lorusso.” She repeats the name, not like a question, more like she’s testing how it feels on her lips. “He’s the man who had me taken?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because I brought you here…to my enemy’s front door. Because my entire plan was poorly designed and badly executed. Because I fucked up and put you in danger. “Money. It’s always about money, Sophia.”
“Because I’m Harold’s daughter, right? I’m worth a lot?”
Harold fucking Fletcher. My jaw tenses simply hearing his name. “Yes.” The word seeps through my clenched teeth like poison. “There are a lot of people who’d like to take your father down. Having you is one way to do that. If not, owning bragging rights over you, or destroying you, is a surefire way for them to gain respect from others.”
Sophia falls silent while she lets that information sink in. It’s a lot to process, just how twisted and sick this world she wants to become a member of so much really is, so I don’t disturb her.
“There must be others,” is her eventual response.
I glance quickly in her direction, furrowing my brow.
“At the compound,” she explains. “You can’t have killed them all.”
“The head of the snake has been severed. The others are…inconsequential.”
A sharp intake of breath pierces my ears. “Inconsequential? I’m glad that Lorusso guy is dead, believe me, but I’d never even met the guy until I saw him at the auction. He wasn’t—”
“You didn’t see him at the auction. He never did have the balls to show his face in public.” I can only assume she believes the moron behind the auctioneer’s podium was Lorusso. I hadn’t recognised that man. Whoever he is, he’s still breathing as far as I’m aware. The bastard got away. “Lorusso was hiding in his office, watching from a monitor.”
More silence, but only for a few seconds this time. She breaks it with an audible huff. “You’re missing my point. In that case, I’ve never met Lorusso. He wasn’t the one who punched me, or rubbed his putrid spit over my nipple—”
“Okay,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear any more, the sudden strain my knuckles are under turning them white against the wheel. “I understand.”
“Do you? Because, like I said, I’m glad he’s dead. But I want them dead, too. All of them! Every man in that godforsaken building!”
“No, Sophia.” I speak sternly, deciding this must be her first lesson. “We don’t kill because we’re angry. That’s what murderers do.” Reaching my destination, I slow the car to a stop next to a chain-link fence.
“Oh, there’s a difference?” Her sarcasm amuses me, but I’m careful not to show it and annoy her further.
“Yes, there is. Murder sought from anger is reckless. Mistakes are made. There has to be a reason, a just reason, for ending somebody’s life and therefore risking your own in the process. Anger takes away the rationality required to make such a decision. Justice does not automatically equal death, Sophia.” I shift in my seat to face her, but she refuses to make eye contact.
I don’t know if she’s annoyed because she disagrees, or because she’s frustrated that I’m right. “So, you think what they…d-did to me is okay?” The words break on her lips. She’s fighting not to cry.
“No. I didn’t say that.” Christ, my chest feels too tight. She’s in pain and I want to give her what she wants and drive a knife through the heart of every person who’s ever taken a breath in that fucking building just to take it away. But I can’t. She needs to learn that’s not the answer…despite the fact I caught up with Liliana after Sophia got away and got her to inform me of every man who came into contact with her, who even fucking spoke to her, before ensuring they’d seen their last sunset.
What can I say? Anger has the power to conquer the best of us, at times. If Sophia were to learn that, however, it would be nothing short of catastrophic. I fear she is already unstable. Most definitely fragile. Broken. She’s not a killer, of that I am adamant, but even if her beliefs are true, she’s an amateur. She’s yet to experience and overcome the trauma of her first kill. The nightmares that ensue. The visions of her victim plaguing every absentminded thought. Add anger to that kill, and she would question it for the rest of her life. Doubt and regret would haunt her until it chased her out of her own mind. Either that, or it would consume her entirely until she becomes an empty husk outwardly resembling her former self, powered only by rage. A literal terminator. As if the life she took as revenge reawakened inside her.
