Whispers: A game of Lies & Deceit

Luca

The guards surrounded the castle and surveyed the area around it. Inside the building itself, the maids were bustling about, carrying dishes and laundry, scrubbing the floors to shine, cleaning up after the previous night. After reminding me of our meeting tonight and kissing me on the cheek goodbye, Rafaele quickly made his way to his upstairs bedroom and took off his jacket, where Lynette was probably already. My brother's wife didn't interest me as much as her sister, about whom I had a bad feeling — Skye's appearance resembled a sickly, if not fatal, skin condition, thinness, dye-burnt hair; perhaps the Carbyn sisters weren't as simple as they seemed at first glance.

Standing at the entrance to the castle, the wind blowing in through the open windows and doors, I lowered my gaze to my shoes, crossed my legs and took a deep breath. I felt like I missed Amalfi - the Italian town had become much more at home to me in recent years than my native London. The greyness around me was killing me, plunging me into a gloomy reverie that I could only try to shake off by increasing my workload. The sea, with its tranquillity and silence, the peace to be found in the crashing waves, in the spray of cold water, reminded me that in a world where there is hell, there is also heaven.

Here, apart from my father's shop, which burned with some periodicity, I had nothing. A slow, throbbing pain began to pound in my temples as I realised how many problems I would face on my return to Italy, even though I still couldn't figure out who had caused the two restaurant fires: I had made enough enemies over the past few years who were determined to take not only business and territory, but also the title of "the man who destroyed Moretti".

A gust of cold air hit my face with the clear smell of earth before rain, forcing me to look up. The glass doors to the courtyard were open, as they had been the night before, and Silvio was sitting at the large table where a few hours earlier there had been large Italian dishes and bottles of dry white wine. His large back, the intimidating scars on it hidden by the thick fabric of his charcoal jacket, looked dull and lonely against the grey sky.

Tapping my heels on the tiles of the house, I approached the man and saw a laptop and a cup of espresso in front of him.

"Is there a problem with the bar tab?" I asked, stepping around Silvio and sitting to his right, the man sitting on the edge with only the corner of the table between us - so I could study his face. Tilting my head slightly to the right and squinting my eyes, I watched as he slowly lifted his gaze from the laptop screen and turned coldly to face me. Taking a deep breath, Silvio leaned back in his chair and picked up the small cup of espresso with his large hand; I could see the turquoise vein lines paint his skin.

"Some vitals didn't add up," he replied blankly, taking a sip of his drink. The piercing look in his brown eyes slowly began to ignite a fear in me that chilled me to the bone, "Nothing serious".

"You should be more careful," I said slowly, realising that our small talk was turning into a cold verbal battle for me.

"Just helping Rafaele out," Vitali said as he set his empty cup down on the saucer.

I crossed my legs and squeezed them tighter — to control my aggression, which pierced my skin with a sharp heat that made it hard to breathe. The man sitting in front of me had full access to the financial records of the bar through which I laundered my illicit earnings; I had a right to be angry at Rafaele for such reckless behaviour.

"And what caused this altruism?" I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.

"The usual help to a friend," the man replied evasively.

Talking to Silvio, I had the oppressive feeling that he was controlling his every word, trying to keep me at a distance. His piercing brown eyes and bushy eyebrows were lifeless and vacant, giving the impression that the man was incapable of smiling.