EIGHTEEN

followed by a loud crashing sound that reverberated through the apartment. Immediately, Lucas abandoned all thoughts of ice cream and rushed out into the hall.

"Where is she?!" Arturo roared. There was another bang that seemed quieter, possibly his fist making acquaintance with Lucas' wall.

"She said she doesn't want to see you," I heard Luke argue, his voice considerably calmer. Still, I could tell he was grinding his teeth together.

"So she's here," Arturo spat. His voice seethed with urgency, but even that couldn't penetrate the dull ache in my chest. Nothing could stir from within me any sort of rational response.

A shiver ran down my spine as I heard the door into the living room slamming against the wall. My damp clothes had turned ice cold, clinging to my clammy skin. I closed my eyes and tried to tune out the world. I prayed that Arturo's reaction would not be violent. That somehow, he would forgive me.

I would never forgive myself.

His footsteps drew nearer until they halted right in front of me. I dared to open my eyes a crack, and found that he had bent down so we were level. I stared into his eyes, then let mine fall closed again as I waited for him to lash out.

What he did next surprised me no end. He bent down and drew me into his arms.

"Florence," he mumbled against my hair. The warmth of his body breathed life into me, slowly warming up my freezing temperature.

My hands wrapped around him, and I began to cry again. I sobbed against the soft material of his shirt as he stroked my back with his palm. I didn't speak or even try to, and he didn't press me for answers.

"She's been like this since she arrived," Lucas told Arturo calmly. Too calmly, considering the relationship they shared and the things they had been through. "She turned up around an hour ago."

"I know."

"How do you-"

"Has she said anything?" Arturo demanded, cutting the other man off abruptly. All the while, his hand kept tracing patterns on my back.

"She said something about a gun," Lucas explained. "That she fired it. I expected you to already know."

"My men are working on it," Arturo snapped.

"I'm sure they are."

The venom of both men's voices was comparable to that of two snakes striking.

I let out a shuddering breath as Arturo's hands moved to cup my tear-stained cheeks. He brushed his thumb back and forth.

"I-I-I'm sorry..." I stammered, dropping my eyes. I couldn't bare to look into his for the shame of what I had done.

"It's just a gun, Florence," he said calmly. "It doesn't matter."

"Of...of course it does!" Roughly, I pushed his hands away from my face. "Of course it matters."

"I didn't mean-"

Just then, Arturo's phone began to ring. His eyes widened quickly and then narrowed, anger cutting through them. It seemed he was not accustomed to being interrupted. His snapped his jaw shut and pulled out the phone, stepping away from the sofa. He began pacing the room, barking rapid orders down the phone.

I didn't listen to what he said. I was too consumed with the thought of my finger twitching around a trigger.

Eventually, with a final, growled goodbye, the phone was slammed shut and pocketed.

"Thank you for looking after her," Arturo told Lucas coldly. I didn't need to see his face to know that the politeness strained him. Had I not been distraught, I might have been touched that such a display of good manners could be exhibited from the man I loved.

As it stood, I was distraught. Too distraught, apparently, to pick myself up off the sofa. Arturo crossed the room in two large strides and wrapped his strong arms around me, cradling my thighs.

"Fuck," he muttered, retracting his hands. "She's soaking wet and freezing cold."

Any warmth his voice had held when thanking Lucas had now vanished, along with any final vestiges of goodwill.

The ice in Arturo's voice was colder than the spilt water on my lap.

"Couldn't you have given her some spare clothes?" he snapped irritably.

"And risk you cutting my eyes out in case I'd looked at her?"

"You didn't have to watch, but it is so reassuring that you have some form of a brain in that head of yours."

With a deep breath Arturo lifted me from the sofa and cradled me to his stony chest.

"You're just taking her away?" Lucas stepped in front of the door as Arturo attempted to carry me through it.

"Yes, that was the general idea," Arturo drawled. "Now move."

"You can't." Even I could detect the quiver of hesitance in his tone. "She came here for a reason - she came to me, not to you."

"She came here," Arturo began flatly, "because this was the closest safe house she could find."

"How...how do you know that?" Luke demanded.

"Because she was only four blocks away. Move."

"You can't just-"

"Luke," I croaked. "Please. Let me go."

I lifted my head from Arturo's chest to meet Lucas' eyes. I could see the hurt that flashed behind them, the embarrassment of being turned down. He quickly hid it with a shake of his head that managed to rearrange his facial expression entirely.

The door slammed behind us.

"I can walk," I told Arturo hoarsely. Swallowing sob after sob had made my throat red-raw.

He ignored me.

"You can put me down," I continued.

More silence.

The silence followed us, in fact, until we reached the car. I tried to extricate myself from Arturo's arms in order to climb inside myself, but his grip remained iron-like.

It wasn't until he had strapped me in and climbed into the other side that the silence was finally broken.

"Are you fucking stupid?!"

As far as first words went, those weren't exactly what I'd been hoping to hear. Fearfully, I turned to Arturo.

"I-I didn't mean-"

"You could have been killed!" he continued angrily. He cupped my face roughly in his hands and pulled me closer across the car. "You could have died!"

"But I didn't!"

A low growl erupted from Arturo in response, and I saw his jaw muscle tick so hard I was surprised it didn't snap. For a second, he stared into my eyes with such intensity that I felt my heart turn to ice. It was as though he was paralysed in a fit of rage, unable to move but desperate to do so.

"I...I killed someone," I whispered.

Arturo slowly pulled away from me and leaned against the door, his body angled towards it. His fists were clenched.

"You didn't kill anybody," he said flatly. I could hear how much control it required to keep his voice level. "You shot the guy in the leg. He'll survive."

"How do you..."

"I just know."

The resignation in Arturo's voice was clear. He let out a deep breath and his shoulders seemed to sag.

"How," I demanded, "do you know?"

The mixture of feelings that fought for dominance in the pit of my stomach made me feel sick as they staged their battle. Guilt that I possessed within me the ability to pull the trigger. Fear that the same thing might happen again. Happiness that I was alive, but also anger and relief mingling dangerously. Worry that Arturo might see me in a different way now, and suspicion that he wasn't telling me the truth.

Would he do that, I wondered? Would he lie in order to protect me; to shield me from myself?

"It doesn't matter how I know," he muttered finally.

I glanced across the car and watched as his frosty gaze focused out of the window, the muscles in his sharp jaw taut.

"Arturo," I pressed, "it matters."

Finally he turned to me, eyes blazing, but behind them I saw an anxiety that made my own chest tighten.

"What matters is that you're alive."

"To you," I scoffed. "What about me? What about what matters to me?"

"Does it not matter that you are alive?" he demanded.

I could have slapped him. I wanted to, but the warning glint in his eyes flashed a little too brightly.

"What matters," I ground out, "is that I...killed somebody."

I stared down at my hands, voice trailing off with the final part of my sentence. All I could see was red; my hands would be stained forever.

"You didn't kill him," Arturo repeated.

"And how do you know?!" I exploded. "How the hell do you know, Arturo? You might be the head of one of the most dangerous mafias, you might be powerful and fearless and ruthless, but I am asking you how. Do. You. Know?"

His lips parted and then clamped firmly shut. His eyes, which once had been cold and unforgiving, softened. The anger that burned behind them had been replaced by something. Replaced by...guilt.

"I..."

Arturo was speechless. Arturo fucking Lucchese didn't have a word to say. And suddenly all of the writhing emotions inside of me turned to one. They merged and grew and burned into a solid pit of anger.

"It isn't a difficult question," I snapped, turning in his direction fearlessly. "How did you know I didn't kill him, huh? How did you know where to find me?"

"It wasn't hard to work out that you would run to Lucas," Arturo shrugged coolly.

Suddenly, like a jigsaw coming together, everything made sense. The anger inside me flared, leaving no room for hurt or betrayal or doubt. His words didn't sting like they should have.

I leaned closer to him, until I was only an inch away. I didn't move my hard gaze away from his, even though I felt like I might crack under the pressure.

"You said yourself, I didn't just "'run'" to Lucas." My voice came out low and soft but lethal, and, for a moment, I was startled. I sounded just like Arturo. "I went to Lucas because he was four blocks away."

"It was an approximation."

"It was precise," I corrected. My right brow raised, just a hitch. "Now I want to know how you knew that I was exactly four blocks away."

Arturo stared at me as though he wanted to put a hole in my head, and quite honestly, I felt the same way.

When it became apparent that I was going to receive no answer, I continued.

"And it wasn't just today that you displayed a magical form of telepathy, was it?" I scoffed. "You just happened to know that Sofia and I were at a diner, too!"

"Cazzo!" Arturo growled. His fist tightened around the door handle until his knuckles were white.

(Fuck)

"Is that all you've got to say, Arturo?" I snapped. "Because I've got a few of my own, how about Stronzo! Testa di cazzo! Figlio di puttana! Fottiti-"

(Asshole! Dickhead! Son of a bitch! Go fuck yourself)

"Stop." Arturo caught my hands in midair that had been wildly gesticulating.

"What," I leered, tugging against his grip, "am I annoying you? Do you feel out of control?"

"Basta!" he snarled, grip tightening on my wrists.

(Enough)

Silence broke out between us as we glared across the car. Usually when Arturo touched me, I became his; I would do anything to keep his skin against mine. Now I wanted nothing more than for him to let me go. His fingers, usually so gentle, were rough and controlling; they had morphed into chains. And that wasn't the only thing that was different. His breathing, too, had picked up speed. Usually he was as cool as a cucumber on ice, but now his nostrils flared with each exhale, as though fire might protrude from them at any moment.

It was a tiny change. I noticed.

Finally, Arturo broke the silence. He had regained his composure somewhat, and his voice, rather than silky, was cold.

"What are you suggesting?" He didn't raise a brow, because that would be a demonstration of more emotion than he claimed to harbour, but I saw his right one twitch.

"You follow me," I shrugged. "When I go out, you must follow - or your men, at least."

The more I spoke, the less confidence I had. Arturo's hard gaze made me feel as though my words belonged to a child.

"You really think," he began, "that I have time to follow you around?"

I opened my mouth and promptly closed it again. Did I? Arturo was a busy man, but he also had many other men at his disposal. Would it really be ludicrous to assume he paid a few of them to keep tabs on me?

"You have plenty of men," I pointed out weakly. "Why not?"

"After your father's take over of the Genovese mafia, do you really believe any of my men are sat around twiddling their thumbs?"

I considered. Then, slowly, I shook my head. "No."

"Antonio may have been a weak leader, but Raimondo is not. A war is still on the horizon, Florence, and every chess piece is required for the game."

Finally my wrists were released. I pulled them into my chest and rubbed them, though Arturo's grip had not been tight enough to cause damage.

This time when I spoke, my voice came out softer.

"Then how do you know?"

"I knew you were at the diner because Sofia told me," he responded evasively.

"Why would she tell you?" I countered.

"Because I asked where you were. Unfortunately she just happened to leave out the fact that the diner wasn't the only place you'd been."

"Okay," I nodded. "That's fair. But how did you know to find me at Lucas' apartment? How do you know that...that the guy I shot isn't dead?"

Arturo let out a short breath and reached into the breast pocket of his suit, where I knew he kept cigars. His hand hovered there for a moment and then returned to his lap, empty.

"Lucas called me," he explained. "He didn't know what to do with you."

"That doesn't sound like Lucas," I said suspiciously.

"No," Arturo shrugged, "it doesn't. But he did accuse me of doing this to you when I first picked up the phone. He thought I'd made you upset."

"And when you told him you hadn't..."

"He told me where to find you."

I nodded, expelling a deep sigh. Already I felt a little lighter than I did before, a little more like I could breathe.

"That still doesn't explain how you know exactly where I shot him."

Arturo frowned slightly. "Do you remember when I took you to the Docks?" I nodded. "In one of our warehouses, we have CCTV that covers most of the city."

"How-"

"A few NYPD officers are on our payroll," he interrupted before I could finish my question. "As soon as Lucas told me what had happened, I had my men scan over the footage."

"So I didn't kill him," I breathed quietly.

"No," Arturo confirmed, "you didn't kill him."

Finally I allowed happiness to wash over me, along with a strong wave of relief that flooded my body, right down to my toes. I hadn't killed anyone. Arturo was honest with me. Everything was going to be okay.

But. But there was just one nagging thought that wouldn't go away.

"So where is the guy now?"

Arturo remained silent for a minute more. He stared out of the window as if with his gaze alone he could burn everything we drove past.

"We don't know," he said quietly.