Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(93)

‘I love you, Soph.’ She pulled back from me, her eyes wide and searching. ‘I’ll see you really soon.’

‘I know,’ I said, forcing my smile. ‘And I love you too.’

She tapped my nose, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We’re the real love story here. You know that, don’t you?’

I wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘I know that, Mil. I’ve always known that.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Call me when you land.’

I left her waving after me as I boarded the plane, and pointed my life in the direction of someone I had never met before, in a town I’d never been to, everything now pinned to the last words of my father and the hope that he loved me still, despite everything. My fingers encircled the bracelet on my wrist, my mind chanting the words over and over again: Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, ‘It will be happier.’

I thought of Luca, and felt my heart crease. How could I be happy, knowing he was trapped?





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


THE GIRL




Isat back in the cab and watched the Rocky Mountains in the distance as we wound further up the hill. I had texted Millie to say I’d arrived safely. There was no one else to tell. I fogged the glass and traced a heart in it, feeling the chill through the windows.

Boulder was beautiful. It was like another world – away from the madness, the bloodshed, the feeling that I was being watched. The police might still look for me, but it would take them longer to find me. Maybe they never would. As for the Marinos, or what was left of them now, I didn’t know. Perhaps they were waiting for me already. I tried not to think about it. I had already cast my die.

It was New Year’s Eve. Tonight the Falcones would make their final strike in Chicago. The yacht party would be crawling with police. I knew in my heart that whoever stepped on to that boat wouldn’t make it out alive. I knew in my heart that I would never see Luca Falcone again. Beyond the grief and the sadness, the guilt and the panic, there was a sense of calm. Of numbness.

Resignation.

I had hit rock bottom, and I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Only for Millie. Only for the memory of my mother. Only for the life that Luca wished for me – the one I would have to lead for both of us now.

I dragged my attention from the winding streets where red-brick buildings crowded side by side – hipster cafes, a string of restaurants and an Urban Outfitters welcomed me to Boulder.

I laid my head back and closed my eyes. A split second seemed to pass before the cab door was swinging open and the driver was nudging me awake. I paid him, grabbed my bags from the trunk and stood in front of a small three-storey townhouse. The door was bright purple. It was tall and narrow, like something out of a storybook. There were flowers in the garden, peeking out from the snow. A painted mailbox with golden lettering: Miss Marla Flores. At least the address matched the name. I guessed that was something.

I climbed the three wooden porch steps and paused to welcome a familiar rush of anxiety. There was nothing. Just dullness – a slight ache, a flicker of nerves, and then nothing. I rang the doorbell and a melodic chime rose up behind the door.

It was almost sundown. The birds were still singing. It was cold, but the sun was out, and everything looked brighter than it should have been. I was about to ring the doorbell again when a frantic shuffling of feet galloped behind the doorway, followed by the sound of a lock shifting. I stood straight, going over my introduction in my head. Hi, my name is Sophie Gracewell. I think you knew my father …

The door creaked open, and a little girl peeked her head around it. She had wide grey eyes and thick black hair that hung in ringlets around her face. She smiled at me. Her front teeth were missing. I tried not to be knocked off-kilter by the appearance of an objectively adorable little girl, but somewhere in my mind, I was thinking, Is this my father’s love child? And if it is, who or what am I going to punch?

‘Hallo,’ said the little girl. She didn’t open the door any further, so I couldn’t see behind her.

‘Hello there.’ I smiled, but it was twitchy. She didn’t look remotely like me, but I had been tricked out of a family before. ‘What’s your name?’

She blinked her big eyes. There was something so familiar about them. God. I could almost feel it coming like a freight train. ‘Emilia.’

Emilia. Those eyes … that grin.

‘Where’s your mother, Emilia? Is she here with you?’

Emilia bit her bottom lip and made herself look very guilty. ‘She’s in the bathroom. I’m not supposed to answer the door, but I saw you in the window.’ She gestured to the side window, where a lace curtain had been pulled away behind a potted plant. ‘And I liked your hair, so I thought it would be OK. It’s like the sun.’

She reached up to touch it, but a voice startled her back into the house. ‘Emilia! What have I told you about answering the door? Come inside now.’

Emilia melted back into the house, and a heartbeat later, the front door swung open and I was standing face-to-face with Evelina Falcone.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


MARLA FLORES




I grabbed the side of the wooden awning and tried not to pass out.

I was staring so hard my eyes were vibrating. I had seen her photo a million times at Evelina – the one of her beaming on her wedding day, her head resting against Felice’s. I had memorized her oil painting, felt her gaze on the back of my neck every time I went to the library. I had traced the sadness in her eyes a thousand times, and felt it reflected inside me.