Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(25)

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.’

I tried to ignore the sudden roaring in my ears. Libero Marino was Sara’s brother. One of Jack’s right-hand men. Why had I thought it would be someone I didn’t know? Why had I thought it would be easier than this? The Marinos were my blood – well, most of them – so of course I would likely know my target. ‘When?’ I asked, the faintest flutter in my lashes.

‘Saturday night.’

Five days. I had five days to prepare.

Did Luca know? Would he try to stop it? Had he finally given in to the idea of me taking control of my own destiny?

I forced myself to answer, ignoring the desert in my throat. ‘OK.’

‘Nic will have all the necessary details when the time comes.’

I smiled weakly. ‘Good.’

‘He’s keen to be the one to do it with you,’ he added, something else creeping into his voice – discomfort, disapproval? ‘He wants the opportunity to … mend old wounds.’

I felt myself go pale. Nic wanted to win me back, and he thought this was the way to do it. I swallowed hard, unwilling to deal with that part of the equation – not while I had a life to take, my own character to prove. I was done putting boys first.

Valentino misread my hesitation. He dropped his hands. ‘You don’t need to take Libero down, Sophie, you just have to deal the killing blow. You can use a knife if you prefer.’

‘No,’ I said, forcing my lips into something that didn’t resemble a horrified grimace. ‘I’ll use a gun. I like … I like guns.’

I like guns? Really, Sophie?

Amusement swept across his features. ‘That makes two of us.’ He sat back in his chair, those canines glinting at me. ‘If you do this, the next time you have a gun pointed at someone, it will be your uncle.’

‘Good,’ I said, baring my teeth right back. I didn’t have to force that one.

He opened another drawer and withdrew a wooden box. The lid, when it came up, was made of cherry wood, the outline of a falcon etched into it. The Falcones really did like to keep everything on-brand. He flipped the lid over and it landed on the desk with a dull thud. ‘This is for you, Sophie. This is for Saturday.’

He lifted a gun out of the box and slid it across the table. It was black and silver, like Nic’s, but it was smaller and the handle was curved. I picked it up, rotating it in front of my face. In such a short time, I had come to handle a gun with ease, the fear that I might accidentally shoot myself no longer holding me back.

I studied the sleek lines, the feel of the handle on the pad of my hands. ‘It’s nice.’

‘It is.’

‘It’s light.’

‘It’s empty.’

I glanced at the box. ‘Where are the bullets?’

Valentino offered me a half-smile. ‘You overestimate my trust in you.’

I frowned at him. ‘You think I’d shoot you? And in this house, of all places?’

Probably shouldn’t have added that last part.

Another glint of those canines. The more time I spent in his presence, the less like Luca he appeared. They used their features completely differently. Valentino didn’t wear empathy, or sympathy, or understanding. He wore astuteness and wry amusement. ‘I don’t take chances,’ he said. ‘Even in this house.’ He tapped the photograph of Libero Marino. ‘Maybe after Saturday, I’ll think differently.’

‘You will,’ I said, focusing on Libero’s dark eyes. ‘After Saturday, everything will be different.’





CHAPTER ELEVEN