Chapter Thirty-Three All Souls

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ALL SOULS

Unfortunately for me and my intended Sunday morning cuddle session with Luca, Valentino had other plans. It was All Souls’ Day, and since we were entering into peace negotiations with the Marino family, that meant we could all go out together on a family outing.

To church.

Kill me.

I was told we were to assemble at 10 a.m. in the foyer, which afforded me exactly twenty-nine minutes to spruce myself up. Dire. I caught a glimpse of Gino bounding down the hallway on my way back from the shower and noted with some degree of horror that he was wearing a suit. I hastily straightened my hair, wound it into a high ponytail and then swiped on some mascara, lip gloss and blusher.

There were more of us than usual today – a few of Luca’s great-uncles and -aunts, some errant cousins, Paulie and his three girls, Cecilia, Pia and Greta. There was Sal, Aldo and CJ, and of course, among them all, Nic. He wouldn’t look at me, and he made sure to stand as far away from Luca as possible. I was thankful at least for the crowd that pushed us apart from one another.

It was tradition, the others told me, to attend church in the city on All Souls’ Day to remember their dead. Today was no different, only this time Valentino had cautioned Nic and Luca to use the outing and the confessional afterwards to bury their problems with each other. A family divided was weak, and we needed to be strong.

I had already gathered that the Falcones were Catholic. Like, super-Catholic. I wasn’t, but the excursion fell under the heading of ‘family business’, and that meant I was a part of it.

I hadn’t spent very much time in churches, but I was pretty sure Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago was one of the most decadent in existence. It was huge – this majestic structure with tall, bright ceilings, vaulted archways and marble pillars that probably cost more than I would ever earn in a lifetime. I remembered the outside facade from the article about Angelo Falcone’s funeral Mass, but inside was even more impressive.

We arrived early and shuffled up the aisle, lulled by the faint sounds of hymnal music floating down on us. It was peaceful, and the tension that had been boiling among the family seemed to quell just a little, replaced by soft melody and candlelight.

‘You’re like a kid in a candy store,’ Luca murmured as we made our way up the centre aisle.

I had been staring open-mouthed at the altar. ‘It’s cool,’ I breathed.

‘Is it?’ he asked, amused.

I nodded. ‘Very Hunchback of Notre Dame .’

His laugh was low against my ear. ‘Why am I not surprised by that comparison?’

I winked at him over my shoulder. ‘I’m just a Disney princess stuck in a Mafia world.’

He trailed his fingers around my waist as we walked, planting a quick kiss below my ear before anyone could see. ‘Yes, you are.’

The Falcone family took up two entire pews. Luca and I sat in the second of the two rows, and Nic was, by awkward coincidence, just in front of us, his shoulders tensed. Elena was on one side of him and Gino on the other. Paulie’s girls were giggling down the far end of their pew, sandwiched between Sal and Aldo, who looked positively miserable.

I was enjoying the way Luca’s leg was brushing against mine. That quick kiss in the aisle had sent my mind spiralling somewhere entirely un-church-like. The trade-off for this wonderful closeness meant I was also sitting beside Felice and was, as a consequence, detecting the faintest scent of honey every twenty seconds. It still reminded me of death. Valentino was on the other side of Felice, positioned at the very end of the row beyond where the pew ended.

As the church filled up, the choir began singing – their soaring voices pealing across the aisles and reverberating inside the sloping arches. Some of the Falcones around me joined in. Felice stayed silent, thankfully. Luca had his eyes closed. He must have been thinking about something serious because there were little ripples forming above his nose.

Elena was the first to notice the arrival of her sister. Her hand flew to her mouth, a gasp only half stifled at the sight of Donata Marino and two of her lackeys right across the aisle. I slammed my fist into Luca’s leg, and his eyes flew open. Whispers rippled along the pews, as half of us turned to Valentino, waiting for instruction.

He raised a hand slowly, as if to say, Calm down. We are at peace.

Elena was deathly pale, her bright pink lips twisted into a scowl. Her head was tilted away from her sister, her fingers gripping the pew so tightly they looked like they might break off. She wore her hair long and loose in contrast to Donata’s bun, which was so tight it stretched her eyebrows. Still, the Genovese sisters were similar – the same brightly painted mouth, the same piercing eyes. Their noses were upturned, their pointed chins naturally raised as though they were looking down on the rest of the world. Dom and Gino were staring so hard at Donata that they looked like statues. Paulie was subtly casing the rest of the place while Luca was working on matching Valentino’s impassive expression. Only I could hear how uneven his breathing was.

With my heart in my throat, I dropped my voice, barely moving my mouth as I asked, ‘Did you know Donata was going to be here?’

Luca’s jaw hardened. He shook his head, an inch to the left, an inch to the right.

‘Are we in danger?’

‘No,’ he whispered, at the same time as Felice, from the other side of me, leant forward and said, ‘Of course.’

I was conscious of Felice’s eyes on the side of my face, so I kept my arm pressed against Luca’s as we waited for the priest and the servers to ascend to the altar. I felt the weight of my switchblade in my pocket and was grateful for it. I would use it if I had to.

‘What should we do?’ I said.

‘Nothing,’ Luca said.

‘Yet,’ Felice added.

I stole a glance at Donata. She wasn’t facing us. She was watching the priest take his place at the altar, a serene smile spread across her face. Maybe it was my imagination, but as I studied her, it seemed to grow, curling into a smirk that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

Everyone was on high alert. Peace talks, peace talks, peace talks, I kept repeating inside my head, but the words only seemed to raise my heart rate, and all I kept thinking was: if Donata was here, across from us, where were the rest of them? If it really was a gesture of goodwill, why weren’t they here, too, where we could see them?

Why wasn’t my uncle sitting across from us too? Why wasn’t my father here?

The Mass began in Latin. After a few minutes, Paulie shifted his position, so that he was sitting sidelong, facing the other side of the church and the back of it, his cheek turned to the priest and his sermon. This, evidently, was more important, and it was telling that neither Valentino nor Luca told him to stand down.

Time crawled, and instead of sinking into a feeling of serenity, I became more alert. Finally, everyone was getting up and shuffling to the front of the church for communion. Felice brought Valentino, Paulie walking in front of them, just in case. Luca waited for them to return before going up. For once, I was glad of the protection. The choir was singing another soaring hymn. An old lady behind me was singing out of tune, her voice like broken glass. I stayed where I was, my hands folded in my lap.

The Falcones filed back in, one by one. I had to stand up to let Luca and some of the others by me. He knelt down, his face pressed to the pew in front of him, his eyes still open. They were all kneeling, even Felice, his lips moving soundlessly. Nic was praying, too. I hoped they were praying for peace among themselves. I stayed sitting up, unsure of where to put myself. I watched the sea of faces streaking by – made pale by the encroaching winter, their necks wrapped up in scarves. It was a bit eerie – this wordless procession, the deep, rousing music that fell upon us from above. Nobody was even looking at each other. They were looking at their hands, their feet.

I watched Donata and her two lackeys receive communion, heads dipped in reverence and hands clasped as they passed us by. They kept walking. Towards the exit, away from the final blessing.

I sneaked a glance at Valentino. Of course, he wasn’t kneeling – his chair was apart from the pews – but his head was down, as though he was sleeping.

I looked back at Luca. He was frowning, but his lips were still. Was he wondering about Donata, too? Why she wasn’t staying? Elena was sitting bolt upright in her seat, watching the back of Donata’s head as she made her way down the centre aisle. Everyone was watching her go. Felice cleared his throat. There was a scuffle somewhere to my right, but by the time I looked back, everything was normal again. Valentino was still praying, his head bowed slightly.

I looked again, leaning closer to Felice and ignoring all that honeyed scent to see around him properly. Head bowed, shoulders slumped. I couldn’t see Valentino’s face, but his body was creasing, his forehead inching towards his knees, slowly, slowly.

I grabbed Luca’s arm and shook him.

He snapped his head around, forgetting to whisper. ‘What?’

I jabbed Felice in the shoulder. He was already looking at me.

‘Valentino,’ I hissed. ‘Valentino!’

I stretched around Felice, without bothering to ask permission. His head turned slowly, following me. The others were turning around now, too, following the disturbance and ignoring Donata Marino as she left the church.

Valentino was still falling forwards. Not praying. Not sleeping. Felice, seeing that I couldn’t reach, grabbed Valentino by the shoulder. He didn’t raise his head.

‘No,’ I muttered, ‘no, no, no.’

‘Valentino!’ Luca said, his voice carrying over the dying music. Felice pulled Valentino back with a stiff yank. His head lolled backwards until he was gazing at the ceiling, his eyes wide open. A trickle of blood striped his chin.

Felice gasped, and his hand fell away from his nephew. ‘No,’ he breathed.

No. No. No.

I looked down, to where Valentino’s hands were folded across his middle, his fingers still half clenched. I saw the handle of the knife, long and sleek, and the dark pool spreading across his jacket, right over his heart, at the same time as the others.

Elena screamed.

The choir stopped singing.

Nic and Dom jumped over the pew and barrelled down the middle aisle, shouting as they pulled their guns out. A lone figure crashed through the doors, just a shadow at the end of the church, her laughter rising up like a chorus. Laughter I had heard for the first time recently, trapped inside a darkened hallway in my school.

Elena’s scream echoed down the aisles of the church, reverberated around us as she folded in on herself, her face pressed to the pew as she gasped and heaved. Luca stumbled past me, past Felice, and out into the aisle. He sank to his knees in front of Valentino, his arms encircling his middle, his head slumped forward, touching Valentino’s knee – his position a mirror image of his twin brother’s. When the sound gurgled in his throat, it was a scraping, primal thing, carved from pure, soul-shattering grief, and I could feel it, this sharp, twisting wound, right down in my own heart.

Valentino was gone.

The boss was dead.