“He seems rattled about you and me spending yesterday together.”
Niccolo presses two fingers to his jaw. “Rattled, you say. Isn’t that intriguing?” He eyes me and then Kayden. “Us together. You with her. Could be a deal with Neuville, which means we have a problem.”
“You have a problem,” Kayden says. “Because whatever Donati is doing, it’s in response to this leverage you have over him. And it’s a situation we don’t need while I’m locating the necklace.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Yes.” He holds out his hands on either side. “Handle two assholes, or get the insanely expensive necklace delivered to me by The Hawk himself.” He drops his hands. “I’ll handle the assholes. Whatever the case, go back to your romantic frolicking and consider it handled. And somewhere in the middle of the kiss kiss, bang bang you two are enjoying, find me my damn necklace.” He knocks on the door and it opens, but before he exits he gives Kayden a pointed stare. “It occurs to me that I am the reason your woman made it out of France alive, and now I have graciously forgiven her costly amnesia. That is two favors you owe me.”
The comment sounds almost like a joke, but it isn’t. He’s deadly serious. As he turns away, Kayden snaps, “Mafia king,” the way Niccolo had called him Hawk, and I now know that means business.
Niccolo freezes, but does not turn. “Yes, Hawk?”
“We both know you owe me times two,” he says, and it’s clear he means Elizabeth and Kevin.
He pauses. “He who laughs last is dead,” he says, and then disappears.
Understanding comes over me in a quick jab. “He means he’s dying.”
“What are you talking about?” Kayden asks. “Is this something Neuville told you?”
“No. But it’s in his eyes. They’re my mother’s eyes.”
“And a dying man is worse than a caged man.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Right now we need him and he needs us. But after that, I’ll be making the long kiss good night I’ve planned for him a little shorter.”
We take a car service back to our neighborhood, and begin to explore Trastevere on foot. Kayden seems determined to introduce me to the locals, all of whom know him well, and they look at him with respect that swells me with pride.
Come five o’clock we make our way to the tattoo parlor and I start to get nervous, asking Kayden a million questions about the pain before we arrive.
“This place is a hole-in-the-wall,” he says, as we arrive at the location, “but Drago is the best in the business.”
He holds the door for me, and we enter, greeted by dangling plastic jewels from the ceiling, seventies-style purple and orange splatters all over the walls, and loud Italian rock music. A woman who doesn’t speak English takes our coats and leads us to a private room where Drago, a fifty-something man with a toothpick in his mouth and tattoos on pretty much every part of his body, greets us.
Thirty minutes later, I’m in a chair with him working on my wrist while Kayden holds my other hand, and we’ve decided my Hawk gets pink wings. A prospect I’d be excited about i
f not for the pain of Drago carving out my skin. I don’t like that thought. “He’s carving my skin,” I tell Kayden. “Literally carving it.”
“Let’s talk about dinner.”
“Carving my skin.”
Kayden smiles and kisses me. “Pasta. Wine.”
“Lots of wine.” Pain sizzles down into my fingers and I grimace. “Lots and lots of wine.”
He laughs and begins teaching me Italian curse words, and he and Drago commend my quick grasp of the language.
Finally, I’m done, and my wrist is bandaged. Kayden helps me to my feet and pulls his T-shirt off. “My turn.” He straddles a chair that allows him to lean forward, his back exposed. “Two more, Drago.”
I grab a chair and sit in front of him. “Two more skulls?”
“That’s right. Annie and Charlie.”
“My parents?”
“Yes. Your parents.”