Dishonorable

“She’s not there,” I told him.

Charlie turned to me, tilting his head to one side as if he didn’t understand, then faced the car door again, barked once more, waiting.

“She’s not coming back.”

I went into the house and to my study. On the way, I told Nicola to pack Sofia’s suitcases. I’d send them to her later.

After reviewing the security footage on the memory card, I made several copies, put one in a safety-deposit box, sent one to the seminary for Damon, and took one personally to deliver to Moriarty. This time, though, we’d meet in a public place. I chose the restaurant and made sure I arrived early.

Choosing a booth in the back, I ordered my dinner and waited.

When he finally arrived, I didn’t rise to greet him but wiped my mouth and gestured for him to take a seat.

“All healed up, Raphael?”

Although he strove for a casual vibe, his eyes darted around the room. This wasn’t one of his regular restaurants, and Moriarty, for all the friends he had in high places, also had enemies.

“All healed up. Thanks for asking.”

A waitress came by, and he ordered a glass of water.

“That’s not much fun, is it? Water? Order something else. My treat.” I turned to the waitress. “A double whiskey.” The waitress nodded and left. “You’re going to need it.”

“My men are right outside. If you need another beating to learn respect—”

“Beatings never worked for me, Moriarty. Didn’t my father ever mention how hard he tried? You know where he ended up.”

His face didn’t change, and when the waitress delivered his drink, he sipped it.

“What’s this about?”

“Fire at the Guardia property,” I said.

“Shame about that.”

“Huge loss.” I stared at him. “When did you find out the old man was my buyer?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, taking another sip.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway.” I ate the last potato on my plate and washed it down with some wine. “Did you know about the new security system they had installed? Top-notch new manager, apparently.”

Moriarty shifted in his seat.

“Turns out there were a couple of cameras at the front gates of the property.” I ate another bite of my steak, set my knife and fork across my plate and, after wiping my mouth, threw my napkin down on top of it.

“Get to the point, Raphael.”

“Happy to,” I said, raising my hand for the check. I reached into my pocket to take out the envelope containing photographs of the images from the security footage. “Interesting how sophisticated these things are these days. Amazing, actually.”

Moriarty glanced around the restaurant but didn’t touch the envelope. The waitress reappeared with my check, and I handed her some bills.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A car coming and leaving the night of the fire. Lights out. A driver and two passengers. Your business logo on the side window—I always did think it was a pretentious one—sticking out like a sore fucking thumb. License plates that confirm the vehicle belongs to you.”

He grabbed the envelope, peeked inside, and quickly tucked it into his pocket.

“Where did you get these?”

“Marcus Guardia doesn’t play nice, Moriarty. He will cut off his own nose to spite his face.” I replaced my smile with something much more sinister. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay far, far away from me, from my family, from Sofia and Lina Guardia. You’ll stay away from anything having to do with me, my family, Sofia, or Lina. Hell, from anything that you might even think may be remotely associated with me, my family, or the Guardia sisters. If you don’t, a copy of that memory card as well as the photos you have in your pocket will be delivered to every news outlet throughout Italy, along with every single prosecutor, every judge… Do I need to go on?”

He didn’t reply.

I rose to my feet. “Any debt you think I owe you is wiped out. Stay the fuck away from me, or the next time, I will fucking choke the life out of you, you disgusting pig.”

He didn’t have a chance to speak. When one of his men stepped in my path, I knocked him with my shoulder and kept going. He didn’t follow. I walked out of the restaurant and to my car and drove home, finished with Moriarty and his debts, one more step closer to walking away from my past. Only problem was, I knew I’d never give it a chance to let go of me because I knew I couldn’t let it go. Not when it meant letting go of Sofia.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sofia

I left by train from Siena to Venice that evening. Once I checked into a small hotel, I called the attorney who’d overheard my conversation with my grandfather and left him my address, telling him to forward any paperwork to me here. I called Lina and told her I was in Venice, told her what had happened and what I’d done, and told her I needed to be off-line for a few days.