‘Crime really does pay,’ said Millie, releasing a low whistle. ‘The question is, which of these Mafia families would I have to marry into to get a sarcophagus?’

We stopped at the inked circle on the map and Millie pointed at something in the trees. ‘I bet it’s right on the lake. Prime cemetery real estate. Classic Falcone, eh?’

We made our way along the hidden path. When the branches of overgrown trees tapered away and the way widened, we found ourselves standing on the edge of the lake. There, secluded by the surrounding trees, and poised along the waterfront, was the Falcone mausoleum.

‘Holy crap,’ muttered Millie. ‘How many gangsters are in this thing?’

The mausoleum was a gargantuan structure made of unblemished white stone. On either side of the main chamber, decorative Roman columns marked a small square courtyard filled with hundreds of long-stemmed red roses.

Two weeping angels guarded the entrance to the mausoleum and above the double bronze doors, the Falcone crest had been erected. Thick block letters were etched into the stone:

CASA DI FALCONE

LA FAMIGLIA PRIMA DI TUTTO

We stood, dwarfed, in front of it.

I pulled the switchblade from my pocket. ‘Should I leave it on the steps?’

‘I guess.’ Millie frowned. ‘It could get stolen, though.’

‘We can’t break in,’ I said. ‘Look at those doors.’

She made her way up the steps and started jiggling the horseshoe handles. With a deafening thud, the door yielded, and she heaved it open, her mouth dropping into a perfect O as she swivelled to face me.

I sprinted up the steps. ‘Oh my God!’

‘We’re breaking in!’

‘We’re going to get in so much trouble!’

‘OK, wait.’ Millie composed herself. ‘Maybe you should go in first with the switchblade and put it somewhere. I’ll keep watch, then when you come out, we’ll swap, so I can see what it’s like inside.’

I was already slipping inside. My pulse was racing and I couldn’t wait any longer. The darkness was pulling me in.

Millie closed the door behind me. It thumped against the stone, sealing me off from the outside world. There was a sudden absence of warmth, and a staleness in the air. I felt peculiar, as though I was not only stepping into a tomb but into the past as well.

CHAPTER TEN

THE MAUSOLEUM

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. At the end of the passageway, a crescent-shaped stained-glass window sprinkled rays along the ground. At my feet, sparkling shades of blues, greens and reds streaked towards me. On either side of me, tombs were inlaid into the marble like drawers, with stately black handles on either side. They were all marked with a simple plaque, engraved with gold lettering. A corresponding Roman numeral accompanied each name on a separate line.

I brushed my fingers over the inscriptions as I shuffled along, listening to my footfall against the stone floor.

A heavy bronze door had been pushed open at the end of the passageway. The room beyond was dusky, illuminated by a handful of errant rays coming from the window behind me.

I froze in the doorway.

Someone was sitting on a marble bench in the middle of the room. He had his back to me – facing towards another wall of tombs, where Angelo Falcone’s inscription seemed to glow brighter than the others.

Like a statue cursed to life, Luca turned to face me.

‘Oh.’ That was all I could come up with. Seeing him again, alive and so close, his blue eyes blazing in the dimness, caught me completely off guard. Something was snaking around my stomach, clenching and unclenching, as the memory of our last moments together came flooding back.

‘Sophie,’ he said with unexpected casualness. ‘What brings you to my family’s grave?’

He remained seated, his hands resting on black jeans. His face was still paler than it should have been, but he sat straight with shoulders squared, which made him seem tall and strong, as he had been before. Before I had my hands pressed against the wound in his side.

I cleared my throat. ‘Um, hello.’

He let the silence linger, watching me. I fixed my attention on his boots – shining silver buckles gleamed across black leather. The boots of a soldier.

‘I was just …’ What was I just? ‘I thought I’d come by and …’

I snapped my head up, searching his face for the answer. His eyebrows lifted, disappearing under strands of black hair. ‘You were just …?’ he prompted.

I pulled myself away from the memories, from the past. Wasn’t that the whole point of my being there? To forget. The switchblade. I fished it out of my pocket and held it between us. ‘I came to give you this.’

He flicked his gaze over it, slow, appraising. His brows drew together. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I was just going to leave it outside somewhere you would find it. But then the door was unlocked and I thought—’

‘You thought you’d trespass into my family’s inner sanctum.’

My cheeks were getting hot. I brought my hair around my face to cover them. ‘Something like that …’

He stood up and came towards me. He wore his injury well, but it changed the way he carried himself, dipping him slightly to one side. I could smell his aftershave and see the small lines underneath his eyes. Did he know how well I knew his face now? It was burnt into my brain from that night. I knew the length and thickness of his lashes. I knew the ones near the corner of his eye were pale, while the rest were jet black. I knew the line of his cheekbone, and where it curved above his jaw. I knew too much.