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‘Oh, enough with the hurt feelings,’ Bertrano said, flapping his hand. ‘Enough, enough.’ He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with a malice Larenzo had never seen before. ‘Why do you think I saved you, Larenzo? You, a Palermo street rat, worthless, hopeless, rough and untaught? Why would I save you?’
Larenzo stared at him, the pressure in his chest painful now, taking over his whole body. He stared at the man he’d once thought of as his father and could not speak.
‘No answer, eh?’ Bertrano nodded. ‘That’s because the only answer is the one you’ve refused to accept, even when it was staring you in the face. You were my safety net, Larenzo. My backup plan. No more than that.’
Larenzo’s hand was clenched so hard around the phone his fingers ached and his knuckles were white. ‘Tell me what you mean,’ he demanded.
‘I wanted someone I could blame,’ Bertrano said simply. ‘That’s all you ever were. What is the English expression?’ He closed his eyes briefly, his mouth curving in a cold, cruel smile. ‘A stooge.’
Larenzo didn’t answer, couldn’t speak. The question that burned in his throat was one he was too ashamed to say. And yet somehow he found himself saying it, needed to say it. To hear the answer. ‘Didn’t...didn’t you ever care about me?’
Bertrano gazed at him pitilessly. ‘No.’
And still he resisted that awful truth. ‘But so many years...my schooling, the business...’ But he wasn’t thinking of that. He was remembering days at the beach, and evenings playing chess, and the way he’d felt loved and accepted by Bertrano. All of it false? All of it a ploy? He shook his head, unable to process it. Desperate to deny it.
‘I was fond of you,’ Bertrano allowed, ‘in a way. You were so eager to please, after all. But the reason I sought you out, Larenzo, was so I could put the blame on you if it all went bad.’ He sagged against his seat. ‘Which, of course, it did.’ He shook his head. ‘Your lawyers were tenacious, I’ll grant you that. I thought I’d destroyed any evidence that could convict me. I suppose it’s my own fault.’ He shrugged wearily and looked away, a man who no longer had any hope. Just as Larenzo had been. Just as he felt now, for he was starting to see how it all made terrible sense.
The questions Bertrano had first asked, about whether he had family, or if anyone would come looking for him. Anyone who would care. And then how Bertrano had encouraged Larenzo to pursue his separate business interests while he tended to the rest. Putting the business into Larenzo’s name. He’d thought Bertrano was being kind, but he’d actually just been constructing an elaborate web in which to ensnare him. All of it, everything, had been false. A lie. This was so much worse than what Larenzo had thought. Grief poured through him in an unrelenting river, a grief deeper and darker than any he had known before.
Bertrano let out a weary sigh. ‘Poor Larenzo,’ he mocked. ‘Always wanting to be loved.’
Larenzo could take no more. He slammed the phone down so hard it cracked the cradle and then walked out of the visiting room without looking back.
Outside he braced his hands against the roof of his hired car and took several deep, even breaths to calm his racing heart.
All of it a lie. All of it a ploy.
Even now, he could scarcely believe it. This was what he’d come back for? This was to help him move on? Then, with a new, cold clarity stealing over him, Larenzo realised it would. Because now he knew that nothing was real. No one could be trusted.
* * *
Emma paced the living room restlessly, trying to suppress the anxiety that had settled like a stone in her stomach, weighing her down. Larenzo had been gone three days. He was due back tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, and yet he hadn’t contacted her in over forty-eight hours. The last time she’d spoken to him had been when he’d arrived in Terni, intending to visit Bertrano in the morning. He’d sounded resolute and yet also upbeat, and Emma had felt so thankful for his willingness to do this, so admiring of his courage. Now she wondered sickly just what he had found.
She tweaked an ornament on the Christmas tree she’d had the doorman bring up to the apartment. She’d bought it outside the Natural History Museum, a mammoth tree whose top touched the ceiling. Ava was enchanted by it, but it meant Emma had had to decorate only the top half of the tree so her newly walking daughter couldn’t pull all the decorations off.
Still, she thought the apartment looked beautiful, decorated for Christmas. Besides the tree she’d bought a nativity scene and set it up in the hall. Boughs of evergreen and holly garlanded every doorway, and filled the rooms with their fresh, spicy scent. She glanced under the tree to where she’d put several presents: a few toys for Ava, and a photograph for Larenzo. Her chest tightened as she thought of them all spending Christmas together, a family.
