I walk into a bedroom straight out of Victorian England. Big four poster bed. Thick heavy blankets in crimson. Royal blue wallpaper. Stuffed birds on the mantel above the fire.
Velvet curtains to match the wallpaper. The ceiling’s high above my head and that’s been painted with a scene straight from the Sistine Chapel. Angels in flight. How appropriate for a demon’s bedroom.
I look around me. Where’s the best place to hide? There’s not much furniture in here other than the bed and an armchair by the fireplace. Where does he keep his clothes? His things?
I have no time to think about that. I can hear someone talking out in the corridor. It’s Nico’s voice. He must be on the phone to someone as I can only hear half a conversation. My heart starts to pound when I hear him talk. I tell myself it’s fear, nothing else.
“I don’t care about that,” he’s saying, his voice getting louder as he approaches the bedroom. “You get it arranged or you get your head removed. You got that?”
I dump the suit on the bed and run over to the curtains. I dart behind them just in time. Nico’s voice is louder. He’s walking into the room. The bedroom door closes. There’s the rattle of a key in a lock. “Get back to me when it’s done,” he says.
I can’t see him from behind the curtain but there’s a creak from the chair. He’s sat down. He’s saying nothing. I hold my breath, easing my head to the left until I can peek out at him.
He’s facing the fire. He’s got his back to me. He’s doing nothing, just sitting there, staring into the empty hearth. I creep out, glad of the thickness of the carpet. It muffles my footsteps. My heart is racing, my throat dry.
I lift the gun toward the back of his head. My hand is shaking. Can I do this? Can I kill a man in cold blood? Can I live with the fact I’ll be a murderer.
Will I go to hell for this?
I hold the gun a couple of inches from the back of his head. I don’t give myself any time to think about it any longer. If I do, he’ll turn and see it, snatch it off me. Then I’m really screwed.
I take a final look at the back of his head. This is the last moment before I become a killer. I force my hand to keep still. My eyes are watering. I blink several times, trying to clear my view.
“You going to stand there?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or are you going to shoot me?”
I pull the trigger.
Twenty-One
Nico
* * *
Idon’t bother turning around until she pulls the trigger for a second time. “You took long enough,” I say, snatching the gun out of her hand. "Don’t hesitate when you get a chance to kill your enemy.”
She’s so busy looking shocked I’m alive that she doesn’t even try to stop me. “Sit there,” I tell her, getting up out of the armchair.
She opens her mouth to protest but I don’t let her start. “Sit down, Rory.”
I give her an icy cold look. It’s the look I give people before I order their deaths.
She sits down, the color draining from her face.
I look over the gun, examining the handle. “You really thought you could walk in here without me knowing about it?” I ask her. “You underestimate me.”
She opens her mouth again but nothing comes out. It’s like the words have got stuck at the back of her throat.
I continue talking as I pull the trigger a couple of times. “You didn’t think to test the gun before coming here? That’s why the Moretti name is dust. You need to plan things better, Rory.
“The Casella famiglia reached the top because we don’t do anything without planning for every contingency. I had your picture at every single one of my businesses. All my associates have been looking for you. The Red Room told me you came job hunting. Caroline told me the day you started work at the laundry. I arranged for you to bring my suit here, saved me going to get it. Thank you for that by the way.”
She continues to scowl at me, saying nothing.
“Matteo was on the door, waiting for you. Reggie rang me recently, told me you’d been to see him. Told me you wanted a gun. Why?”
“You know why.”
“I mean, why not bring a knife? Why not stab me? Make it slow and painful.”