Laughing, he reached out and caught hold of her before she fell into the bay.
Lilliana hit him, gently and with an open hand. “You horses ass,” she said, smiling.
“My Lady!” Sal said, feigning incredulity. “Such language.”
“I have worse where that came from,” Lilliana said with narrowed eyes.
Sal smiled. “Come now. The poleman is insisting we leave. I’m already in for double, and I’m afraid I’ll be paying four times the going rate if we don’t hurry.”
“I am sorry I took so long, I had to wait for Daddy to go off to his smoking room before I could slip out. You know how he insists we break our fast together each morning.”
“Not to worry,” Sal said, his heart soaring. “You showed, and that’s what matters.”
Lilliana returned the smile. But it was not a smile. There was no joy in the action; it was a mere shell of a smile, something hard and defensive. It almost looked the part, but beneath the shallow façade, Sal imagined it was hollow. Her mouth turned up at the corners, but the smile did not reach her cheeks, and in her eyes, he saw something fleeting.
Sal took Lilliana by the hand, and once he retrieved his basket, they boarded the small boat. Sal went first then helped Lilliana, while the poleman untied the mooring knots, and in no time, they set off.
It was almost magical the way they glided across the sparkling blue water of the bay, with each stroke of the long pole. The water was like a mirror into Lilliana’s eyes, depthless pools of blue lapis—oceans of potential unto themselves. And yet, she kept her eyes averted, her hands to herself, her words spare.
The poleman pushed them north, sticking to the shallows and close to the shoreline. While they made for Big Island, Sal decided it would be a good time to make an impression. He reached into the basket and uncovered one of the bottles that he’d filched from his uncle’s cellar.
The poleman whistled his approval, and Lilliana’s eyes went wide, as Sal turned the bottle to show the vintage that had been worked into the glass.
“Is that—”
“It is,” Sal said. “I’m told it was a good year. Though, I’ve also been told my mongrel’s palate is wasted on such fine things. So, even if it turns out to be beggar’s swill, I won’t be the wiser for it.”
“But how could you afford—I mean, it must have been rather costly.”
Sal shrugged, fighting down the grin he felt coming on. Continuing the act, he pulled his pigsticker and used the blade to pop the cork off the bottle. “Hold this a moment.” He handed the bottle to Lilliana and fished through his basket for the glassware he’d brought.
When he sat back upright, he held two long-stemmed glasses. They were blown specially for wine and went for nine krom a piece. Sal had taken them from his uncle’s, gratis, but it was still nice to know what they were worth.
Lilliana’s eyes went even wider at the sight of the glassware. “Salvatori,” she said slowly. “I hope you did not—you know—steal any of this. Did you?”
“My Lady, what sort of man do you take me for?”
Lilliana’s eyes narrowed, but she gave herself away with the slightest of smiles. “I take you for a romantic, but romantics can be fools. I believe in the stories the romantic’s life nearly always ends in tragedy.”
Sal smiled, taking the bottle from her and handing her a glass.
“Does this seem a tragedy to you?” Sal asked as he poured the wine.
The look she gave him was less reassuring than he would have hoped. His hand began to shake as he filled his glass, spilling a touch of the wine on his trousers.
Lilliana took a delicate sip.
“Well?” he asked.
Her nose wrinkled, nostrils flaring as she closed her eyes, grimaced, and swallowed.
“That’s choice swill that is,” Sal said, feigning irritation to mask his insecurity.
Lilliana was still frowning, her brow drawn. “Why don’t you give it a taste?” she asked.
Sal lifted his nose and took a comically pretentious drink. The wine was like stale vinegar, with a pungently sour finish. Sal coughed and sputtered as he spat the wine overboard.
Lilliana laughed, and Sal couldn’t help but join her.
“Right,” he said. “Suppose that one was a wash. Though, as the Lady’s luck would have it, I’ve brought a second bottle. This one—”
“Salvatori,” Lilliana interrupted. “I would rather we did not.”
Sal felt a dull sinking in his stomach. A feeling as inexplicable as it was familiar. “Right, sure,” he said. “Care for a bite first?”
Lilliana tipped her glass over the edge, pouring the wine into the bay. “Listen, there is something I want to speak with you about.”
The dull sinking feeling in his stomach widened into a vacuous pit from which his insecurity poured. He knew that nothing good was coming, and so in desperation, he threw himself at it, in the hopes that he might defuse whatever was coming before Lilliana could voice it.
“Lilliana Bastian, I knew I loved you the moment I first laid eyes on you. I know it’s foolish, but I know that if you feel the same way about me, well, we could make it work. Run away with me, Lilliana. Marry me, and run away with me, and let’s start a new life together. A better life, just you and me.”
Lilliana laughed.
Never before had laughter sounded so hollow as that, so affectionless and cruel. She had as well reached through his chest and grabbed hold of his heart to burst in her fist like a plum splattering on the cobblestones.
“You are a fool, Salvatori Lorenzo, truly the fool of fools.”
Sal stood, no longer feigning his anger. The boat wobbled dangerously, but Sal didn’t care.
“And what is that supposed mean?” Sal asked.
“From what should I run away?” said Lilliana. “I live a life many could only dream of. Is this the life you will give me if I run away with you? I am fond of you, that is true, but I would never run away from my home, from my family. Do not ask it of me.”
“And I mean nothing to you?”
She sighed. “Salvatori, I have been promised.”
Sal froze, uncertain if he’d heard what he thought he had. “Promised?”
She was looking at her feet, but slowly she nodded.
“When? Who to?”
“Only five days past. His name is Marco, heir to house Horvat.”
Sal gave it a moment to sink in. She had known when he’d last spoken to her. The way she’d acted, the things she’d said, it was all beginning to make sense.
“And he can give you this life you desire, can he? Things, that’s all you want?” Sal asked, holding the bottle up before flinging it into the bay. “I hope the lot of you are happy with your things, and your coin, and your loveless marriage.”
“Take us to shore,” Lilliana said to the poleman.
“Oh, no, I’ve paid double rate for this Sacrull damned boat ride, and I want to get my krom’s worth.”
“Take us to shore,” Lilliana repeated.
“Aye, My Lady,” said the poleman.
With two swift strokes of his long-pole, the poleman butted the boat up against the nearest dock. Before the poleman could moor his rig, Lilliana had already offloaded and was moving for the road.
Sal climbed out of the boat and stood on the dock, speechless and seething with anger as he watched her go, knowing it may be the last time.
10
Job Offer
It had been a day and a night since Sal had left his room, and he wasn’t certain he ever would. What was the point of going on? Lilliana was promised, and worse, she seemed satisfied with it. What in Sacrull’s hell was he supposed to do?
There was no point in living. He'd as well lie in bed and wait for the daggers. No doubt, they would come. With half the Commission out looking for Dominik D'Angelo, it was only a matter of time before the man was caught and tortured for answers, and the rest of the crew was swiftly dealt with.
How in Sacrull’s hel
l had the Commission come to believe Dominik was even responsible anyhow? And what of Valla’s secret backer on the warehouse job? Who was it that had sent them after the Scarvini drug shipment? Why had Dominik’s name been outed, and not Valla’s, or Sal’s for that matter? Why had they only connected Sal to any of it because of his contact with Dominik? None of it made sense. It was all enough to make Sal’s head spin.
Had it been a rumor that had gotten Dominik marked, or had someone intentionally given up the name? Rumor seemed the likeliest scenario, yet Sal couldn’t help but wonder if Vinny had a point about Dominik giving out his own name. The man had wanted a war, after all. Then again, if Dominik was to take the blame for the deaths of both Guiseppe and Garibaldi, the others would be home free.
But would any of the others truly sacrifice one of their own for the good of the group?
Sal heard a faint noise. The click of a tumbler?
His breathing slowed as he listened for more signs of disturbance, but there was nothing discernable. He was too tired to get out of bed, too tired even to open his eyes.
He nuzzled his face deeper into the feather pillow and pulled the wool blanket up over his head.
There was a creaking sound, too near his bed to have come from outside the room.
Sal sprang up but was instantly tackled flat.
A hand covered his mouth, and a blade touched his throat.
“You’re dead,” said Valla, her breath smelling of mint.
Sal sighed, relieved that it was Valla and that this time, she was only playing another of her dominance games.
Valla slowly took her hand away from his mouth and placed a slender finger on his lips as she withdrew the dagger from his throat. “No magic?” she asked, mushing his lips against his gritted teeth with her finger. “What if I’d really meant to do it?”
“If you'd truly meant me harm, I might have considered a touch of magic,” Sal said, his heart rate quickening, his manhood slowly stiffening against his will. He thought of putting his finger to her lips; of gently slipping his finger past her lips and into her mouth. How would she respond?
Suddenly, he felt an urge to kiss her and pull her body tight to his. To grab her small breasts and squeeze her firm ass. To rip her free of her clothes and have his way with her then and there.
She breathed on his ear, and he shivered, his manhood hardening to forged steel.
“I could have done for you—you know that,” Sal whispered, leaning in closer to Valla’s ear. “Still, it would be a shame to ruin that pretty face of yours.”
“Think you could, do you?” Valla said with a smirk, pinning him back down by the shoulders, her eyes half-lidded, her voice husky.
Valla slid a hand down to his crotch, cupping his stiff manhood in her palm. Then she squeezed.
Sal gasped in pain.
“You might have the others fooled,” she scoffed, “but not me, Salvatori. Don't forget I know the fucking secret about your maidenhood. To me, you’re nothing but a boy playing the man.”
Quick as that, Sal went soft as a squid. A pit of shame and self-loathing forming in his gut.
Valla sneered and let loose, pinning him back to the mattress by his shoulders. “I’ve been looking into that fucking Talent of yours as well.”
Sal scrambled for words, as he attempted to salvage what dignity was left him. “What—what’s there to look into?”
Valla flashed him a knowing smile. “In all the years we’ve worked together, I never knew you to possess a single Talent. And now all of a sudden, you think you're the next coming of Susej.”
“Not everyone likes showing off,” he said, feigning all the nonchalance he could muster.
Valla arched an eyebrow. “But that—what you do—that’s not just some fucking Talent, is it?”
Sal held his breath. His heart was in his throat. He couldn't have spoken even if he'd wanted to.
“What do you know of the old magics?” she asked, snarling, her fingernails digging into his bare shoulders.
“What do you know of the old magics?” Sal blurted stupidly.
Valla wrinkled her nose.
Sal put his hand on Valla’s collarbone. “If you don’t want to learn firsthand what I know of the old magics, you should get off me now,” he said calmly.
Valla’s eyes narrowed to thin slits as she let him up, and slid off the bed.
“What are you doing here, anyhow?” Sal asked.
Valla grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from the bed. He wore only his small clothes, but she was never one to blush over impropriety. “Get dressed,” Valla commanded. “You’ve been summoned.”
“Lady’s tits,” Sal cursed. “Why didn’t you—he’s going to fucking kill me, isn’t he?”
Valla’s eyes softened, and the smirk returned. “Who is going to kill you?” she asked.
“Don Moretti,” Sal said, far less sure of his answer than he had been.
“No one said anything about Don Moretti. Now, get dressed. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Sal blushed. He swiftly tucked into a pair of trousers, then slipped on a linen shirt with green slashed sleeves, a cotton jerkin, his somewhat new leather boots, and a black woolen cloak.
“Right, then, who is it thinks they can summon me?” Sal asked. “I don’t summon easily, mind you.”
Valla scoffed. “Sure, you don't. Now, let's get moving.”
Sal went to the dresser drawer and opened the carved wooden box where he kept his skeev.
“What are you doing? We don’t have time for that.”
Sal grabbed a cap of skeev and clapped the box shut before stuffing the cap in his jerkin pocket and shoving the drawer shut. “Right. Well, you did just break into my room and drag me out of bed. Then you demanded I get moving and don’t tell me where we’re going, why we're going there, and who it is we're going to see,” Sal said. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I don’t seem entirely enthusiastic about the prospect.”
“Fuck sake, you’ve always got to make it more difficult than it has to be, don’t you? What in Sacrull’s hell are you doing in your bed at this hour anyhow? Shouldn’t you be out scouting the Scarvini job? That was you that proposed the plan, wasn’t it?”
Suddenly, Sal felt ashamed of himself. Valla had cut to the quick of it. He was responsible for more than his own life.
“You’re right,” Sal told her. “I overslept, won’t happen again.”
“It had better be the fucking case that you were just tired from all the extra scouting you’ve been putting in.”
“Something like that,” Sal said. “You can trust me, Val, we’re going to survive this, all of us. Once we take Don Scarvini out of the picture, we’ll be in the clear.”
Valla clenched her jaw, arms folded across her chest.
“Now, considering we’re on the same team here, why don’t you tell me where it is we’re headed, and who it is that’s summoned me?”
“I’m taking you to the Underway—”
“Lady’s sake, Val, you said Don Moretti—”
“Aint Don Moretti, you craven little shit, now let’s get going.”
“Not Moretti?” Sal asked, genuinely perplexed. “Then, who?”
Valla didn’t bother answering. She simply walked out the door and left Sal to follow.
It could have been the smell of trash wafting off the many rubbish heaps piled about that was so off-putting. Or perhaps it was the constant howling of the wind. The bone-chilling east wind that sent a shiver down his spine just to hear it roar. Whatever it was, Sal had never much cared for the Lowers—Lowers Point least of all.
“You know, on second thought, I don't think this is such a good idea,” Sal said. “I mean, the last time I was in the Underway, I barely made it out of there alive. And honestly, I'd rather not find myself buried, alive or dead.”
Valla shook her head and led them farther south toward Lowers Point.
“Well, maybe if you just told me who it was that summoned me, this
thing wouldn't be so bad, yeah?”
“If you haven’t figured it out by now, then I’m not about to fucking explain it to you.”
“And how am I supposed to trust you if you won't even tell me who it is you're taking me to meet? Aren't we on the same crew here, Val?”
“We are, and so you should trust me. But I’m still made with Moretti, and just because we run in the same little crew, it don’t change that a lick.” Her eyes went wide as she stared at him like a wildcat.” You’ve been expecting me to trust that you’ll take care of the Scarvini problem, but you won’t trust me on one simple fucking matter?”
“My life is no simple fucking matter.”
“And neither is mine,” said Valla, rather brusquely.
“Right. Well, suppose I’ve trusted you this far. What’s another hundred paces? Lead on, My Lady.”
There was only one man outside the door of the ancient crypt known as the Underway. Stacked slate stones wrapped with years of dead brown ivy growth. The mortar, long since crumbled to dust. The roof of the edifice was earth and sod, as though the World Mother herself had reclaimed it with time.
“He’s already in there,” the door guard said, stepping aside as Valla nodded.
Sal felt a twinge of fear, likely brought on by the idea of not knowing what or who awaited him within.
Valla pushed through the door herself and led them down a dimly lit stone tunnelway. The air tasted stale, smelling of mildew and bringing to mind unpleasant memories, distant and near. They crossed paths with a number of Moretti soldiers as they delved deeper into the Underway. Valla nodded to a few made men, even calling out a greeting and a good-natured insult or two in passing.
The Underway was a veritable rat’s nest of tunnels and caves. To Sal’s eyes, each turn and offshoot looked the same as the last as they followed a seemingly endless route through the stone tunnels.
Sal couldn’t for the life of him, figure how Valla was keeping her way.
Finally, they reach a cavernous open room, deep within the ancient crypts. Six chairs circled a stone table, yet only one of them was occupied.
The Man in Shadow Page 10
