Chapter 24: Carla at the Door

Luca booked a suite at a hotel on the Brooklyn waterfront, and by ten that night I had stopped feeling my feet.

I sat on the bed with the Saint's Lamp in my lap and polished it with the edge of the bedspread.

It was a small job, and I did it badly, and it kept my hands busy.

Luca stood at the window, looking down at the snow on the river.

He had hardly spoken since the club.

He didn't need to.

Every few minutes he turned and looked at me, and each time I felt a little steadier.

At eleven, someone knocked.

It was a light, uneven knock, from low on the door.

Luca crossed the room and opened it on the chain.

Carla stood in the corridor in a wet coat, with snow in her hair and no gloves.

Her mascara had run, and her lips were blue.

"I need to talk to my sister," she said.

"Go home, Carla."

"I haven't got one." She laughed, and it caught in her throat. "Mother changed the locks."

Luca looked at me.

I put the lamp on the nightstand and stood.

"Let her in," I said.

He took the chain off.

Carla walked into the room slowly.

She stopped in the middle, and she did not sit, and she did not look at the lamp.

"Mother told me this afternoon," she said. "The ledger. The word she wrote."

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