Chương 16
A camping lantern stood on a desk. Two folding chairs faced each other. The air smelled of damp wood, gasoline, and river mud.
Rafe poured bourbon into two paper cups.
Luca did not take one.
“You stopped drinking with me,” Rafe said.
“I stopped pretending it made us honest.”
Rafe sat.
“You think Sofia understood this world because she copied account numbers.”
“She understood you.”
“She hated me.”
“She trusted you once.”
“That was before she decided fear made her virtuous.”
Luca placed the case on the desk.
“What did Brennan keep?”
Rafe nodded toward a folder.
“Treatment logs. Pharmacy communications. The original formulas.”
Luca did not touch it.
“Why keep them?”
“Insurance.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
Rafe looked toward the boarded window.
“Brennan wanted money. Vescari wanted access. You wanted miracles. I kept all three moving in the same direction.”
“Matteo got worse.”
“He was already sick.”
“So you let Brennan experiment.”
“I told him to stabilize the boy until a specialist in Switzerland agreed to review the case.”
“Was there a specialist?”
“Yes.”
“Name.”
Rafe gave one.
Luca did not recognize it.
The name would be verified later.
“You knew the medication was not approved,” Luca said.
“I knew it was not standard.”
“You changed the bottles.”
“Brennan changed them.”
“Under your order.”
“Under pressure.”
Luca almost laughed at the careful distinction.
“Sofia died under pressure too.”
Rafe stood.
“I loved her.”
“No.”
“I did.”
“You loved the version of her that never cost you anything.”
Rafe’s face changed.
There was the wound.
Not exposure. Rejection.
“You sound like her,” he said.
“I should have sooner.”
Rafe crossed to the desk and touched the leather case.
“You think giving me to the government saves Matteo?”
“No.”
“Then what does?”
“Removing him from us.”
Rafe stared at Luca.
“Us.”
The word came out contemptuously.
“You will lose everything.”
“Yes.”
“The houses, the accounts, the men—”
“Yes.”
“Your freedom.”
Luca’s breathing remained slow.
“Maybe.”
“And when Matteo is older? What will you tell him? That his father surrendered because a maid whispered in a room?”
Luca looked at the older man.
“No. I’ll tell him his mother spoke, and I finally listened.”
Rafe’s hand moved toward his jacket.
Luca did not move.
The pistol beneath Luca’s own jacket remained untouched.
Rafe stopped.
“Draw,” he said.
“No.”
“You came armed.”
“Habit.”
“Then use it.”
“No.”
Rafe’s eyes shone with anger and something more fragile.
“You owe me the dignity of facing me.”
“I am facing you.”
“Not like this.”
“You mean not in the language you taught me.”
Rafe’s hand remained inside his jacket.
Luca could see the conflict in his face. Killing Luca might preserve nothing. Surrender meant humiliation. Flight meant becoming dependent on men he despised.
All his choices had narrowed.
That was what power felt like when it belonged to someone else.
“You were a frightened boy,” Rafe said. “Your father had just died. Men were circling. I made them fear you.”
“You made me fear what happened if they didn’t.”
“I made you survive.”
“You made survival the only thing I knew how to call love.”
Rafe looked away.
The river struck softly against the pilings.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Rafe said, “Your mother used to sing when she cooked.”
Luca had no memory of it.
“She burned everything,” Rafe continued. “Eggs. Sauce. Toast. Your father complained, and she threw a spoon at him.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You were two. You laughed so hard you fell off the chair.”
Luca felt the memory trying to become his because Rafe told it well.
“That is what you do,” he said.
Rafe’s smile faded.
“You give me a piece of my life and charge me obedience for it.”
“I am the only one left who remembers.”
“That does not make the memories yours.”
Outside, a board creaked.
Rafe heard it.
His hand closed around the weapon beneath his jacket.
Luca remained still.
“You brought them,” Rafe said.
“Yes.”
The confession emptied the room.
Rafe drew his pistol.
Luca did not.
Red points of light appeared across Rafe’s chest from positions beyond the boarded windows.
His face went white.
“You wore no wire.”
“No.”
“You said no police.”
“I said I came alone.”
Rafe aimed at Luca.
The distance between them was less than eight feet.
Luca saw the slight tremor in the barrel.
Rafe had taught him to watch hands, shoulders, eyes. He had taught him that the moment before violence was always longer than people remembered.
“Put it down,” Luca said.
“You would let them take me.”
“Yes.”
“After everything.”
“Because of everything.”
Rafe’s finger tightened.
Luca thought of Matteo offering him the stuffed lion so he would not be scared.
He thought of Sofia pressing wax into a seal.
He thought of Elena’s father waiting unnamed beneath industrial dirt while a family believed he had abandoned them.
Luca did not reach for his gun.
Rafe looked into his face and understood.
Not that Luca had become fearless.
That he had chosen fear without violence.
The pistol lowered by an inch.
Then another.
It touched the floor.
Officers entered from three directions, shouting commands. Rafe was forced to his knees, hands behind his head. The lantern shook as someone struck the desk. Bourbon spilled across the paper cups.
Mercer took the folder of medical records.
Another officer opened the leather case.
Rafe looked up at Luca while handcuffs closed around his wrists.
“You think this makes you different?”
Luca looked at the man who had raised him, used him, protected him, and damaged everything he called protection.
“No,” he said. “What happens next might.”
Rafe was taken outside.
No shots were fired.
Luca remained in the office until the river sounds returned.
Mercer approached him.
“We’ll need a full statement.”
“You’ll get one.”
“The pistol under your jacket?”
“Unloaded.”
“Slowly.”
Luca removed it with two fingers and placed it on the desk.
Mercer checked the chamber.
May you like
“Why bring it?”
Luca looked at the weapon.
