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Chapter fifteen

Have You Seen Algernon?

Eoghan

“ R ed wine?” Morelli said, delight sprinkling into those near-sighted silver irises.

I turned the bottle to him, and let him look at it in his desk lamp light.

“A 2001 Brunello di Montalcino Riserva Soldera,” he read aloud as I took a seat on the floor in front of him. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” I lied. “Unless you count the start of the war.”

“Ah, a last drink before the big battle,” he said, pulling out the cork and smelling it. “Mmm, this is quite a treat for me, Irish King.”

He smiled, his teeth a little weathered, his beard glinting gold in the lamp light.

Normally, I would wait until the end of our meeting to bring her up. But there was no time tonight. There was no point in delaying.

“Cosima’s still making inquiries about you,” I said, with a chuckle. “Our spies tell us that she has spies among my army, all still searching for you.”

I put the glasses on his desk, and he began to pour.

“She’s a good, loyal girl,” he said. “I always knew that she’d be something extraordinary.”

His frown deepened, his eyes were glassy, as his mind wandered.

He had started doing that more over the last year or so. His mind would simply drift off. He had once joked that it was proximity to death that made him so scattered. Old age, and his pending execution.

Or maybe I had driven him mad by keeping him in this godforsaken cell.

“I regret so much when it comes to her,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “I was a crueler, more ambitious man once. Of all the men I have killed, and tortured, of all the suffering I have caused… what suffering I caused her will be the only black marks on my soul.”

He took a drink, then placed it quietly down.

“You truly were in love with her.” I swished the glass in my hand, but did not drink it. “Your own goddaughter.”

“Hmm,” he said with a nod, as he brought the wine glass to his mouth again, taking a healthy swallow.

He sighed with satisfaction, smacking his lips.

“This Brunello is excellent,” he declared with a smile on his lips, his voice beginning to slur.

His next movements were agonizingly slow. He sucked the wine in between his lips, the sound of it grating on my nerves, before he finally swallowed it with pleasure. Like he was at a wine tasting.

“Will you be my confessor, as I have been yours?” he asked. “I suppose it’s no harm.”

I shrugged, because at this very moment, I could not tell him no. “If you like.”

He had finished his glass and poured himself another. He gave me a toast, and I lifted my glass as well. I brought it to my lips, but did not drink. He, on the other hand, took a healthy pull.

“I did the unbelievable crime of taking her too young,” he said, his voice pained. “I made a young girl fall in love with me, then took her before she was ready.”

I wanted to strike him. Or, at least, I wanted to want to strike him. But I couldn’t even let myself feel that kind of hate.

He was so weak and frail, his memories were the last place he could still go, given the cage I kept him in. I had watched his sins haunt him day by day, and it made him more and more determined to win me over so that he could save his beloved.

How could I hate a man like that? How could I hate him when he was so much like myself?

“How old was she?” I asked.

“It was the day she turned nineteen,” he said with a sad, guilty laugh. Like he couldn’t believe the absurdity of it all.

“Fuck!” I scowled, feeling the alcohol of earlier that day roiling up my throat. “And you were… thirty-nine?”

Christ, if I had a daughter and a man that age went after her… I’d murder him. Plain and simple. I wouldn’t even bother with the joy of making him suffer. I’d just end his life, because I would not risk the possibility of him coming back.

“I know, Irish capo , I know!” He placed his hand on his forehead, and for the first time, his brow knitted together. “I was an ambitious man, remember? A man of lesser scruples.”

He was ashamed. Truly ashamed.

“If I had the girl, I could supplant Durante. That was what I wished for more than anything, because of the disaster Eugenio visited on us again, and again, and again! I thought the girl and her feelings would be a small price to pay.” He downed the wine with far less reverence than his first sip, then placed the empty glass on the desk again.

“I knew I was wrong the moment I woke the next morning, realizing that she deserved so much more than just to be used and discarded.”

A tear sparkled in his eye.

“I learned far too late that she wasn’t the price.” He shook his head, his fingers tapping the book he was still reading. Queen Margot .

The blood-soaked queen on the cover, staring in horror at the head of the soldier whom she had adored as a lover.

“She was the reason ,” Morelli said sadly. “I might have begun seeing her as a means to an end. But now…”

He poured himself another glass, swaying in his seat.

“She is the end itself. Poor little dove. What have we done to you?” He kissed the tips of his fingers, which he held together in front of him like a prayer.

“I have always loved her. That part I do not regret. From the moment she kissed me, I have loved her. That was the only thing I have done right in my sinful existence.”

Two tears streamed down his cheeks, disappearing into his silver beard. His gray eyes looked almost white. I’m sure blindness would set in if he stayed here much longer. Then what would he do about all of his books?

“Would you grant a dying man a final wish?” Morelli’s slur disappeared, and I almost jumped at the shock of it.

We had frequently spoken about his death as if he were dying of some terminal illness, and not the simple passage of time that would lead him to the business end of my knife.

“You think you deserve one?” I asked, even though I knew that I would grant it.

“No, but I will ask for one, all the same.”

“You may ask, but I may not grant it.”

He took that into consideration, taking a sip of the wine again.

Then he nodded. “I know that the war and blood between your people and mine will not resolve in a day, or even in this little cell.” He looked around, almost laughing at his pathetic surroundings.

“But if there ever comes a time where you could bestow a little kindness and mercy on Cosima Durante during this war we have all anticipated… I ask that you do it.”

“Your final wish is to ask me to be nice to Cosima Durante?” I asked, chewing on those words. “You’ve already asked me to spare her. Kindness… that’s a different thing. Have you heard the venom in her voice?”

Morelli laughed. “Ah! I see you have spoken to her recently. Her tongue lashings are acerbic, are they not?”

He let out a small sigh, smiling as if her hostility was another thing he was fond of.

Maybe he was. To truly love someone is to love them for everything—even their sharp tongues and dangerous tempers.

“Please be more than nice to my Cosima,” he said. “Be merciful .”

He placed the glass, still half full, onto the desk, laying his palm flat against the warm wood.

“Do not let her fall to the same fate as your mother.” His eyes darkened from silver-white to the darker gray that they had been when I first took him.

My heart stopped for a beat.

“I will try to treat her as I would wish an enemy would treat my wife.” I placed my glass into the space between us, tipping it to him for a toast.

He picked up his, and we clinked them together. He drank. I pretended to drink.

“To Kira Kekoa, and Cosima Durante,” Morelli said.

“To Kira Green ,” I corrected. “And Cosima Durante.”

“Hmm,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I suppose it is my regret that Cosima could not be my bride. I waited too long, it seems. I wanted time to depose Eugenio. But now it’s too late.”

“Aye,” I said. “But Eugenio will fall, no matter what.”

“Will Cosima fall with him?” he wondered, sadly. “I am sad to not be able to pick up my sword and defend her as I should. As a real lover should.”

He shook his head again, and his shoulders slumped, his face growing pale as it had been a few minutes ago.

“I think you’ve done more than most for her,” I said, putting the glass down, having grown tired of the farce. “You could not have done more even if you were by her side, weapon in hand.”

The Mafia would fall. I would make it so. And I would spare her as well, if only because I would not be able to stand the guilt of letting down an old friend.

Then a question popped into my mind, one that tasted of old resentments. Maybe it was not the time to ask such a thing, but I needed to ask it all the same, for my own sake. For Kira’s.

“I’m curious, friend,” I said, as we were halfway down the bottle. “If you loved Cosima as you say, then why would you have joined your nephew in the exploitation of my wife?”

Had I not known that the debtor who exploited my wife was his nephew, and that he would have joined in on those vile activities, I would have let him die years ago.

I had made him bleed for me. Made him bleed for my art. I bled him still, to make paint for the masterpieces I kept on creating, like sweet traps to ensnare Kira back home.

“Because…” Morelli let out a sigh. “Eugenio wanted a spy in your camp. He used his daughter as… as inducement.”

His nostrils flared in anger, his frown deepened.

“Betrothed her to some Irish soldier scum, and forced her to… to…”

“To make it official,” I said, putting a kinder spin on what Eugenio would have made his daughter do.

To consummate the engagement.

“I am a jealous man,” he said, shaking his head. “She banished me from her side, trying to protect me. Can you believe it? Her, such a sweet young thing, trying to protect a blaggard like me?”

He laughed, and I tried to join in, only managing a small snort in agreement.

“Sweet Cosa. She told me that we would never see one another again. She said that we should be strangers from then on.” His humor disappeared, and he frowned again. “When that did not work, she called me every cruel name she could. She said I was too old, too weak. She said I disgusted her.”

His eyes lifted to me, and he shrugged.

“My Cosa knows how to twist the knife.”

If I hadn’t before, I certainly knew after today… the way she attacked my wife was vile.

“I was in such a rage… such a rage…” He looked so defeated.

He had long stopped savoring the drink like a sweet nectar. Now downed it the way a drunk downed whatever cheap swill they could get their hands on.

“I was glad to see my nephew disappear. I had thought about ridding the world of him for a long time.” Morelli had started swaying again. “I was glad to not have… participated. Not only for you, but for myself. It would have been another sin I committed against Cosima.”

We sat in silence for a while. I had run out of things to say.

No, that wasn’t quite right. I had plenty of things to say, but none of them could change the course that we were on. I could not turn the ship around. We could not turn back time and make better choices.

He looked genuinely remorseful, as he finally said, “I don’t know how we came to such a situation. You and me, sitting and drinking together. It would have been impossible three years ago.”

He picked up his glass. He drank it quickly, before pouring himself another.

“You’re a decent man, Eoghan Green.” Again, the slur was gone, and I sat up straighter, narrowing my eyes and looking for the signs that the wine had done its work. “I hope you, and not one of your lackeys, will be the one to kill me.”

“Does it matter who pulls the trigger?”

“I suppose not,” he said, looking to the side. “Though it would be nice to see one friendly face before I burn in the eternal pit.”

“Well, I’m sure I can accommodate that for you.” At least that was a promise I could keep.

“I thank you.” He chuckled. Then he squinted, looking around as if he was missing something. “Have you seen Algernon?”

Fuck.

“No, I haven’t.”