Page 73 of A Murder of Crows

“It is not only your position at stake,” he says softly. “Perhaps you should remember that, daughter. I have been very understanding, considering your actions of late. But my patience is running thin.”

And just like that, any glimpse of hope is brutally stamped out.

I don’t know what to say to this man. I barely recognise him. The words collect in my throat. Begging, pleading.

But he hangs up, without waiting for me to say a single thing.

Chapter thirty-six Caterina

Iblink as Dante opens the car door. He holds out a hand, his green eyes examining me.

I didn’t even realize we were back. Too lost in my own head, trying to find a way to save Rosa Fusco. To stop her from meeting the same end as Nicoletta.

And I have failed.

I accept his hand gingerly, dropping it as soon as I’m out. “Thanks for the ride. I… I’m going to head in. It’s late.”

“Tell me.” His voice is low. “Whatever the matter is,tentazione. I can help.”

Temptation. It has never felt so appropriate. I could unload this onto him. His shoulders are broad enough to help me carry the load.

But he won’t be able to fix this, any more than I can. Less so, from his position as a V’Arezzo. It would only put him in the middle of something none of us can possibly win.

And I have no wish to ask him to bear witness to what I’m about to do.

So I shake my head, turning my back on him. “It’s been a long day, that’s all. You don’t need to stay this evening.”

It’s been a long year. Endless.

But nothing has felt so hard as this.

Even my apartment feels wrong as I let myself in, slowly pushing the door shut behind me. Domenico isn’t lingering, making coffee, making a damn nuisance of himself, and I feel his absence like the loss of a limb.

But he isn’t here, and I wouldn’t put this on him either. I know precisely what he would say. What he would choose. And at this moment, I’m glad that he isn’t here. Glad that he’s away from this, from watching me shred the person I thought I was – that I knowhethinks I am – into bloody ribbons.

My eyes fall on the cream envelope propped up against the counter. It feels heavy in my hands, and as I shake the key into my hand, a slip of paper falls out.

Directions.

My eyes lift, taking in the emptiness of my apartment. And I turn, the door closing behind me as I stride out, Luc’s directions clutched in my hand.

***

I would never have found it without them. I doubt anybody ever would.

I circle the small, square, white-walled building in fascination. Set between an entwined pair of oak trees in the middle of the woods bordering campus, to get to it I had to almost crawl through, until it opened up into a passageway.

Whoever built this place clearly didn’t want to be found or disturbed. A single window is set into the angled roof, none in the four walls. Privacy, indeed.

The oiled door swings open without complaint, and I step inside. The air feels warm, and I wonder if Luciano has been here today. A lamp has been left on in the corner, next to a small bed with a carved wooden headboard pushed against the plain wall, neatly made up with soft looking blankets. The tiny kitchenette looks like it holds coffee and not much else, and a tiny television in the corner is framed with stacks of books, facing a battered-looking leather armchair. A handwoven rug against buttery-colored wooden floors finishes the overall look.

I blink. It’s… cozy. Not what I would have expected, from Luciano Morelli.

But it’s exactly what I need. Space to think.

It takes a moment to toe off my heeled boots, flexing the ache from my toes as I cross the floor to the bed. Fingers trailing against the soft, fleeced green blanket, I decide to take Luc at his word and grasp it, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down on the edge.

Carefully, I lay down, pressing my cheek against the soft pillow that smells faintly of Luciano, mint and familiar musky sandalwood, like the aftershave he always wears. Has always worn, for as long as I’ve known him.