Chapter Thirty-Seven Starless Night

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN STARLESS NIGHT

Christmas Eve passed mostly in silence. Gino made a snowman in the back garden and Dom kicked its head off before he could stick a carrot on for the nose. They ended up brawling on the ground, making an impressive, if inadvertent, pair of snow angels. Elena watched them from the window, a sad smile painted across her face.

CJ came along and demolished the rest of the snowman, and Dom chased him all the way to the barn before wrangling him into a headlock and smashing a snowball into his hair. Gino rolled to his feet and started rebuilding his snowman. Nic went outside with a carrot and helped him. I watched from the window, drinking hot chocolate and feeling a pinch of sympathy for Gino. Like Luca, he didn’t belong here either, but he was too blissfully unaware to see it. At least, I hoped he was.

‘They’re good boys,’ Elena said quietly. It was the first thing she’d said all evening. ‘They’re like their father.’

I realized she wasn’t talking to me.

Dinner wasn’t exactly a joyful affair, but Elena and Paulie still managed to make an incredible spread for everyone. ‘The Feast of the Seven Fishes,’ Gino told me, ‘is going to be unlike any eating experience you’ve had up until now.’

He was right.

It was my first Italian Christmas Eve, and despite the thundering fear of all that still lay ahead, I found my appetite was in surprisingly good shape, probably owing to the mouth-watering selection of food neatly arranged across the dining room table. There was salted cod and clams casino, deep-fried calamari, lobster salad, marinated eel, salmon rillettes with breadsticks for dipping, and my favourite dish – grilled shrimp with chilli, coriander and lime. There were salads and baked bread, a seafood stew, and bowls of freshly made tagliatelle in a creamy mushroom sauce. For dessert, Gino made rainbow cookies with gelato, and Elena made cannoli – pastry shells stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese that melted in your mouth.

There was so much decadence and care in every dish that I found myself wishing that, just once, my father had embraced his roots so we could have experienced something like that when I was growing up.

We sat down to eat at 9 p.m. Luca raised his glass – water – and we all followed suit, a mismatch of whiskies and red wine and vodka soaring towards the ceiling.

‘ Salute ,’ was all he said. He had been quiet all day, hidden in his office, going over plans and layouts.

‘ Salute ,’ we replied as one.

‘The Last Supper,’ said Gino. He smiled at his mother – it was the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. Elena shut her eyes tight, and when she opened them again they were clear.

No one answered him.

We picked up our forks and started eating.

After dinner, I stayed behind with Dom and Gino to clear up. Luca had arranged for a priest to come out to the house to celebrate midnight Mass – a Christmas tradition the Falcone family refused to miss, even if we weren’t able to risk going to a church to experience it. After Mass, there was confession for those who wanted it. Every single Falcone availed themselves of it. The significance wasn’t lost on me.

I was washing a pot in the sink when Luca appeared behind me, his hand light against my lower back. I jumped, and it fell from my hands. He grabbed it by the rim before it could clatter into the sink.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, just above my ear.

It took everything in my power not to lean back into him and close my eyes. We hadn’t been this close since Valentino passed away.

I turned to look up at him. ‘Is everything OK?’

He moved his hand to the edge of the sink, his body so close we were almost touching. My breath caught in my throat. Dom and Gino were being suspiciously quiet somewhere behind me. Luca dropped his voice. ‘Meet me on the roof after Mass?’ he asked. ‘I have something for you.’

I offered him a half-smile. ‘I’ll only come if it’s a present.’

‘It is. It’s a unicorn.’

Then he turned and strode out of the kitchen without looking at Gino or Dom.

‘So, that’s still going on,’ said Dom.

I was going to glare at him, but his tone was neutral and when I saw his face, I realized he wasn’t teasing me.

He slotted the final plate into the dishwasher and straightened up. ‘You know he’s going to get himself killed tomorrow, don’t you?’

I disregarded the pot I was halfway through cleaning. ‘What?’

Gino had stopped wiping down the table. He turned to look at Dom.

‘Luca isn’t planning on making it out of the Marino mansion alive.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I could feel the anger flashing in my cheeks. ‘Of course he’ll make it out alive. We all will.’

Dom just shrugged. ‘It’s his final stand.’

‘Why would you say that?’ I tried to keep the panic at bay, but this didn’t feel like one of Dom’s stupid jokes.

‘Look at him,’ said Dom, his hand flying out to where Luca had just been standing. ‘He’s resigned. His thirst for retribution is going to outweigh his self-preservation. Valentino and Luca weren’t made to be apart. They can’t live without each other.’

‘Why are you talking like this?’ Gino sounded like a small child. ‘You make it seem like suicide.’

‘He’s just different,’ Dom said. ‘He doesn’t care any more.’

‘He cares about getting rid of the Marinos,’ Gino argued.

‘And what else?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gino.

‘Exactly,’ Dom sighed. ‘Exactly.’

I picked up my pan, scouring it until my fingers were red raw and the sting in Dom’s words had passed.

When everyone had retired to bed, post-confession, with clean souls, I climbed through Luca’s bedroom window. I crept across the roof, leaving my footprints and handprints in the thin layer of snow like the tracks of a giant toddler.

Luca was sitting at the edge, in the same place he had been on the night of the meteor shower. He turned to watch me crawl towards him.

‘Ever cautious,’ he said softly.

He reached his hand out to help me steady myself. After much manoeuvring, I managed to make camp beside him.

‘Hi.’ I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. Stupid Dom and his apocalyptic words.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

Strangely, I wasn’t. I shook my head. ‘There are no stars in the sky,’ I pointed out. The night was cloudy – the moon just a nebulous smudge.

‘Everything is different now.’ I got the sense he wasn’t just talking about the weather.

I nodded, the sense of glumness expanding inside me.

He tipped my chin up so I would look at him. ‘But not how I feel about you, Sophie.’ He brushed his hand against my cheek, his thumb lingering on my bottom lip.

I blinked away the surprise. I had been expecting his feelings to trickle away, like water, even though mine had blazed ever brighter with each passing day. Still, there was no joy in the way he said it, no whisper of something more – of a future unfurling before us. It was hard to feel the sense of possibility now, no matter how badly I wanted it.

Still, there was tonight.

‘I bought you a Christmas present.’ I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small wrapped parcel. ‘It’s not much, and you’re probably going to think it’s really silly, but I wanted to get you something you’ve never gotten before and I thought it might be something special, just for us…’ I trailed off.

He raised his eyebrows, taking the package and rotating it in his hand. ‘I have to be honest, Soph, I’m really hoping it’s another poem.’

‘That was a one-time deal,’ I said.

He frowned. ‘But I love your poetry.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘I do,’ he insisted. ‘I mean, it’s really really terrible, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.’

Before I could stop myself I shot forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Open it, before I go out of my mind with suspense.’

He laughed a little, amusement turning to concentration as he unwrapped it piece by piece. Excruciatingly slowly, just to annoy me. I let him have his moment. At least he was being playful.

When he was done and the paper had been peeled away, he let it sit there on the palm of his hand, while he stared at it. This inconsequential-looking black stone with little thumb-print-shaped grooves inside it.

Embarrassment roared inside me.

He obviously had no idea what it was. He just kept looking at it, like he was trying to figure it out.

Oh God. He thought I was giving him a rock for Christmas.

Well, technically I was.

But it was a special one.

I thought about just covering my face and rolling off the roof, but it was my stupid idea in the first place, so I figured I may as well just explain myself and get the mortification over with.

‘It’s not just a rock,’ I said to the side of his face. ‘It’s more than that, I swear. See, it’s a—’

‘It’s a Sikhote-Alin meteorite,’ he said, looking up at me.

‘Yeah. It is…’ I said, surprised.

He looked back at the rock in his hand. ‘It’s from a meteor crash site in Siberia in 1947. Is that what you were going to say?’ He was looking at me again, and he was wearing the strangest expression on his face. I had never seen it before.

It was… wonder.

I smiled sheepishly at him. ‘I was actually just going to say it’s a fallen star.’

He held it between us, passing his thumb over the small ridges. ‘These are coarsest octahedrites,’ he murmured. ‘Part of the surfaces of these meteorites were blasted off while they passed through the atmosphere on the way to Earth. That’s why it’s not smooth. See.’ He placed my thumb under his, so I could feel it.

‘Do you, um, do you already have one?’

‘No,’ he said quietly. That look, still on his face. His eyes seemed bigger, his mouth fuller, his breathing quicker. ‘I don’t.’

‘Good,’ I said, relieved. ‘Because I had to outbid an old lady from Kansas for it, and it got right down to the wire, but I’ll be damned if I was going to let her play the age card on me. Like, what? I’m just going to let her steal it out from under me when—’

‘I love it,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘I love that you went head-to-head with some sweet old lady and won. And I love that you have absolutely no remorse about it. I can’t believe you did this for me.’

I moved a little closer. ‘Why is that so hard to believe?’

He shook his head, his smile small and sad. ‘Because I don’t deserve it.’

‘Yes, you do,’ I said, willing him to look at me, but he was already disengaging, reaching into his jacket pocket.

‘I have something for you, too, Sophie.’ He pulled out a small box.

I took it from him, and held it in front of my face. ‘OK, this looks a little small to be a unicorn, Luca.’

‘Maybe I was just trying to throw you off the scent,’ he said, leaning closer as I opened it.

It was a bracelet, delicate and silver, with a single, heart-shaped charm. I read the words engraved on it. ‘Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, “It will be happier.”’

‘It’s a quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson,’ he explained.

‘It’s beautiful.’ I slipped it on to my wrist, trailing my finger around the heart-shaped charm. ‘I love it, Luca.’

I wanted to say the rest: I love you. But the moment was so fragile and precious, I was afraid I might shatter it.

‘It’s about possibility,’ he said quietly. ‘All the possibility in your life.’

‘In our lives ,’ I amended.

He didn’t say anything. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on us, the sadness at the edges ready to swoop in and take him away from me.

He took my hand, and wound my fingers in his. ‘Sophie,’ he said, his voice calling to the space inside my heart. It beat faster as I looked at him. ‘Please don’t come tomorrow. Please stay here, where it’s safe.’

‘Don’t,’ I breathed. ‘Please let’s not talk about tomorrow.’

He laid his forehead against mine. ‘I am begging you.’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I go where my family go. Where you go. This is our revenge. This is our destiny.’

He shut his eyes. It was too late. We were both going, and neither of us could stop the other. This was too big, it was too much of what we had been pushing towards. We owed it to Valentino, and to my mother. Luca wasn’t going to back down, and neither was I. Dom’s words from earlier skated through my mind.

‘No more talk of tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Please. Let’s just enjoy now. What will be will be.’

‘Your teeth are chattering.’

‘Are they?’ I couldn’t tell if it was from a sudden onslaught of nerves or the chill in the air. It wasn’t enough – this moment, as perfect as it was. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to hold him tight, to wrap my legs in his, to fall asleep with my head on his chest. I wanted to stretch out the moment and live inside it for ever.

‘Let’s go inside,’ he said.

‘Can I stay with you?’ I asked, suddenly feeling this crushing sense of finality between us. The words fell out before I had time to temper them, but I didn’t care. I wanted it so badly, it was clenching around my heart. This could be the last time we ever sat together or kissed or laughed with one another. This could be our last night. Dom’s words had bound themselves to my consciousness. It was like Valentino had said: those who have the most to live for are the hardest to kill. ‘I want to fall asleep next to you. I want to wake up in your arms…’ I lifted my gaze to his, the meaning implicit. ‘I want to be with you tonight.’

Luca swallowed hard. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure.’ I was so sure it ached. ‘Can I stay here with you tonight?’

‘Yes,’ he said, a little breathless. ‘Yes, stay with me.’

There was something in his words that felt a little bit like goodbye. I could sense his grief in them. It broke my heart that I couldn’t take it away, but I could be in it with him, at least for now, for tonight. We could be in it with each other. We could harness a little spark of happiness and keep it warm, just between us. Tomorrow was a different story. Tomorrow would change everything.

It was Christmas Eve, and I was spending it with the person I loved, and there was some small joy in that at least.

He pulled me up with him, anchoring me by the waist as we crossed the roof. We climbed back in the window and he shut it after him. He ran his hands along my arms, warming them up. I shuffled into his heat, and his arms came around me as I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent and the perfection of that one small moment.

I lifted my chin and opened my mouth to him, revelling in the sudden softness of his lips, the warmth of his tongue against mine. He grabbed the back of my head, pulling me in, and I gave myself to the kiss, to us. His tongue moved with mine, growing more insistent as he kissed me like it was the last kiss he’d ever have. Heat rushed over us and we came together fiercely, his hands wrapped tightly around me, my fingers lost in his hair, every part of us moulded together until there wasn’t an inch of space between us. Our breaths were short and ragged, the low groans in his throat spurring me on, making me forget every shred of sadness inside me. He was the remedy, and I never wanted to let him go. And then his shirt was off and I was tracing the scar across his chest, trailing my fingernails along his taut muscles, his smooth olive skin, and listening to him catch his breath. I slipped my sweater off, and he tugged it free gently, careful of the wound in my shoulder, of the scars between us, as we came together – skin on skin. And then we were in each other’s arms, wholly, completely, the world around us forgotten, and all the pain inside us burning up in an intensity I had never known, in a love I had never felt.

It was perfect.

It was fleeting.

That night, I fell asleep with Luca’s arms around me, my head against his chest, lulled by the steady sounds of his breathing. For the first time in forever, I had no nightmares. I dreamt happy things – of a life far away from us, from the words ‘Marino’ and ‘Falcone’, from newspaper headlines and funerals, from gunshots and bloodshed, where he and I were the people we were supposed to be – happy, ordinary, in love.