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“What the fuck are you doing?” Luca’s voice booms, reverberating off the walls as he towers over me.
“I was just…” I trail off because there’s nothing I can come up with that will sound believable.
“You were snooping around,” he accuses.
“You were gone for a long time. I came searching for food.” I scramble to my feet as he begins to stack the folders and various other documents. “I thought the house was mine. That I could go where I wanted.”
“Everywhere but the study,” he snaps, turning back to me with a glare so murderous, I’m surprised when it doesn’t end me on the spot.
“Why? Because you don’t want me to see those pictures?” I point to them. “I already know what you do for a living, remember?”
“There’s nothing here that is any of your business. You know your role, Carina. You are to obey. That is all. So stick to it.” He throws a finger toward the doorway.
Biting back a nasty retort, I say, “Yes, sir,” and make to leave, but just as I do, that niggling in the back of my mind makes its way to the front, and I suddenly know. “The Ferryman.”
“What did you say?”
I turn back to him. “The connection you’re looking for in the murders. It’s the Ferryman.”
“The Ferryman,” he repeats. “You mean the myth.”
For a moment, I hesitate to tell him about my thoughts, afraid he might accuse me of thinking about everything in criminal terms. But it’s hard to do otherwise when that’s what I grew up around. It’s why I learned to dread visits from the Sinacores.
“A real man,” I say. “Someone dangerous.”
His brows pinch together. “Like my family.”
It’s not a question but a statement.
“Maybe more? I…” I chew on my bottom lip as I recall those hushed conversations behind closed doors. Things that wouldn’t have been said if they’d suspected a ten-year-old was listening in from her hiding spot. “I heard your father speaking to mine about it. It’s doubtful they were talking of myths.”
A mixture of confusion and quick, deep thought, the kind someone gets when they’re desperately trying to piece a puzzle together, crosses his expression. His wheels are spinning at a rapid pace, his gaze growing more intense as he seems to near whatever conclusion he’s coming to.
“Have you heard of the Ferryman?” he mumbles to himself.
Although he asks the question, something tells me he’s not expecting a reply from me. So I don’t answer.
Instead, I continue with what I know. “I never knew his name. That’s just what I heard him called when I was a kid.”
Luca drops into the seat behind the desk and rubs the scruff on his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, he begins to rifle through the desk drawers.
“What are you searching for?” I ask, peeking in.
“Something Tony may have left. I think he was onto—” He stops abruptly mid-sentence and looks up at me, as if he’s just remembered I’m his enemy. “Leave me.”
The order makes me bristle, and it takes a lot of willpower not to snap a “fuck you” at him.
Gritting my teeth, I start to leave, but before I do, I say, “You’re welcome.”
14
LUCA
“Have you heard of the Ferryman?”
Tony asked me that the last time I saw him in person at the Sapphire Club.
I snorted into my glass of whiskey. “Do you need a ride across the river to Hades?”
