Jessie Keane - Lawless

They left his father’s corpse lying there, covered in blood and tears. Astorre stumbled out of the room as if he was drunk. Gilberto took Astorre’s arm to steady him as they went out onto the powdered, noise-muffled streets. And there – there – walking along the other side of the road in the softly drifting grey veil of ash, his eyes on the two men as they came out of the police station, was Corvetto, walking among a phalanx of his men, well guarded, safe enough to sneer. Astorre surged forward. Gilberto grabbed him.

‘Don’t be a fool!’ he said. ‘You want to be laid out next to your father? There are too many of them. Be sensible, Astorre. Pick your time.’

Astorre knew Gilberto was making perfect sense. Standing there soaked in his father’s blood, sick and dizzy with horror and loss, the nightmare miasma from the volcano fogging his sight, choking his throat and filling him with dread, he acknowledged that Gilberto was right. Astorre would wait, and when he was ready, when the timing was perfect, then he would have his revenge. He looked at Corvetto. Their eyes locked. Astorre lifted his arm and flicked his thumb against the underside of his teeth. Corvetto’s smile died.

Like you will die, thought Astorre.

Corvetto had understood the gesture. It meant I am going to get you.

Corvetto walked on, surrounded by his heavies. For a moment, seeing Astorre Danieri there, he’d felt a chill, someone stepping on his grave. But he was safe; his guards were many and his home was a fortress. Astorre Danieri’s father Franco had been a thorn in his side, needing removal. Now the deed was done. If necessary, he would apply the same remedy to the son, Astorre. Let him make his threats; it was Corvetto who had the power – not him.

Minutes after she had spoken to Bella at the graveside, Ruby was getting into her car, thankful that it was all over. Her mind was churning over all that Bella had said. Big solid Rob was at the wheel of the Mercedes, Rob with the toffee-coloured hair and the sexy khaki-green eyes. She knew that Daisy thought he was gorgeous, and he was.

Her old chauffeur Ben had retired after Christmas, and Rob – the minder that Michael Ward had assigned to her months before his death – had taken over the job, with Kit’s permission. Kit was Rob’s boss now, Michael’s successor, and she supposed it was generous of her son to spare Rob – who was after all Kit Miller’s own personal attack dog, his own right hand – for this.

Ruby sighed. Thoughts of Rob always led on to thoughts of Kit, and to the Christmas just past, a dismal Christmas without Michael. She’d received many cards from her business associates, and her old friend Vi – as usual. Also as usual, she’d got one from her long-estranged brother Joe and his wife Betsy, written as always in Betsy’s hand. A card at Christmas! That was all the contact she ever got from Joe these days, and he didn’t even write the damned thing.

Of course she always sent one right back – she did that religiously, every year – but she sometimes wondered why she bothered, when it was clear that they were no more than strangers now. It went without saying that there had been no card from Kit – and no presents either. Not so much as a short visit to wish her well.

He promised Michael he was going to try to forgive me .

Didn’t look as if he was trying very hard.

He wasn’t trying at all.

‘That was bloody awful,’ she told Rob as she slid into the back seat.

Rob said nothing. Of course it was awful. It was a funeral.

‘Let’s go home,’ she said.

‘Holy shit ,’ said Rob, straightening in his seat, looking ahead.

‘What? What is it?’ Ruby craned her head to see. There were lines of cars parked up in front of them, there were people moving about on the pavement. She couldn’t see anything past all that. She could see some of the Danieri family, standing beside a black limousine parked four spaces from her Mercedes.

‘Over there,’ said Rob, indicating the far side of the road.

More parked cars, people milling about, everyone dressed in the heavy black of mourning, and…

‘Oh God!’ she burst out.

Kit was walking across the road, moving toward one of the Danieri limousines. Bella’s daughter Bianca had already departed, with her youngest son Fabio. But Vittore the eldest was still there, just getting into a limo with his mother.

‘Fuck,’ said Rob.

Ruby threw her door open. ‘Stop him, Rob, will you? Quick!’

Rob was already out of the car, moving around the front of it. Ruby followed, her heart in her mouth. If Kit reached the Danieri party, there would be massive trouble. The situation was a tinderbox, ready to blow: one spark, and all Bella’s efforts to defuse it would come to nothing.

Kit moved fast, even though he seemed to be weaving a little, unsteady. By the time Rob caught up with him, he was standing in front of the Danieri limousine.

‘So that bastard Tito’s planted at last,’ said Kit loudly, with a laugh. ‘And not a fucking minute too soon.’

A gasp went up from some of the remaining guests at Kit’s words. They turned and stared at this crazed-looking interloper. Ruby hurried up; Rob quickly put himself in between Kit and Vittore. Bella, black-veiled, inscrutable, stood there unmoving. Vittore, blank-eyed with hate, looked like he wanted to do Kit extreme damage.

Kit was swaying on his feet. He was scruffy, unshaven, his tie askew, his shirt collar grubby.

‘You’re drunk,’ Ruby realized, saying it aloud.

Kit turned his attention to her. ‘Mother dear,’ he said, as if seeing her there for the first time. ‘Hello! I am, in fact, royally pissed. Because I’ve been celebrating the funeral of one of the worst scumbags ever to walk the earth.’

Vittore cursed in Italian, his tone vicious, his eyes murderous as they rested on Kit’s grinning face.

For God’s sake, Kit, what are you doing ? Ruby wondered in panic.

‘So here I am. Paying my respects to the dear departed,’ he said, giggling like a lunatic.

‘This is not the way to do things,’ said Ruby.

‘No?’ Kit’s eyes grew sharper as they met his mother’s. ‘And how would you know? You don’t even keep your kids, do you, much less bury the bastards.’

Ruby felt a stab of pain at that.

Rob placed a hand on Kit’s chest as he lurched forward.

‘Mate,’ said Rob in a low voice. ‘You’re drunk. Your mum’s right. This ain’t the way to behave. Let’s get you home.’ He took Kit’s arm.

Kit shook him off. ‘Nah, not before I say what I came to say.’

‘You’ve said enough,’ snapped Vittore.

‘Not by a long shot,’ said Kit, shaking his head.

He was still grinning, swaying, and Ruby thought that he wouldn’t even remember this tomorrow, he was so pissed. But Vittore would.

Kit, you fool.

Daisy had told her Kit was drinking. She hadn’t yet seen him drunk, but today he was far gone, almost insensible. Is this my fault? she wondered in anguish.

She knew that Kit had a lot to bear. He’d lost a woman he truly loved, and Michael, all in the space of a few months. It was enough to bring the strongest man down. And her efforts to reconnect with him, with this precious son she had lost at birth and then refound, were still being met with suspicion and sometimes with downright fury.

‘I just wanted to tell you all how pleased I am that Tito’s dead,’ said Kit.

‘Oh God…’ said Ruby, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘Bella, I’m sorry…’