Chapter 4: The Last Night

Gaspare closed the study door and did not turn on the lamp.

The only light came from the garden, and it lay in a pale square across the desk.

"Naples," he said.

"My mother's idea."

"It's a good lie. It will hold for a week."

"A week is all I need."

He took off his jacket and hung it over the chair.

He did it slowly, with his back to me, and I knew him well enough to know he was giving himself time.

"Why did you say it at the table?"

"Because it was my last Sunday."

"There will be other Sundays."

"Not for Rosaria Lanzetta."

He turned around.

In the grey light the scar through his left eyebrow looked white.

"Say what you want," he said. "Tonight. Whatever it is."

It was the first time in nine years he had asked.

I had imagined this moment many ways, and in all of them I asked him to cancel the plan.

I didn't, because I knew what he would say.

"I want terms."

"Terms."

"For the nights we have left. No promises, and no goodbyes. You don't tell me you'll come for me and I don't tell you I'll wait."

His jaw tightened.

"Rosaria."

"Those are my terms."

He looked at me for a long time.

"Agreed," he said.

I crossed the room and put my hands on his shirt.

He didn't move.

"Gaspare, you've never once asked me to stay."

"I'm not going to start tonight."

"Then take me upstairs."

He lifted me off my feet before I finished the sentence.

He carried me through the dark hall and up the staircase while the guards at each landing turned to face the wall.

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