Page 16 of Iron Cross

“She’s wearing gloves I bought her for Christmas to cut the ribbon.” He nodded, bringing the photo to his lap. “She is telling me that she still loves me.”

I would need to be blind to not realize that there was genuine adoration between this man and his goddaughter. His love was true, just like mine. In that, we were able to see eye to eye.

“But you see this?” he said, pointing to something in the photo. “The way she is standing away from her father? The way she is holding her arm?” Morelli’s snarl was a surprise. I didn’t know a man who had lived in this room for three years was still capable of such a vicious sound.

“He’s hitting her again.” His fists clenched, wrinkling the photo, and he flinched, suddenly trying to smooth the folds out, as if the imperfection on the image might harm the woman it depicted. “That bastard used to beat her anytime she defied him. The fucking tyrant…”

He let out a sigh, shaking his head in sorrow.

“She’s refused an offer of marriage,” I said, repeating what my spy had relayed.

Morelli smiled. “My Principessa will never deign to marry someone who is beneath her.” Then he paraphrased a book that I did not expect. It was Jane Austen. “‘She is determined that nothing but the deepest love will induce her into matrimony.’”

He shook his head, joy radiating from his features.

“Is that why you’ve never married?” I asked.

“Marriage is a paper, young King.” Then he tapped his chest, over his heart. “In here? I have been married to her from the moment she first kissed me, and I opened my eyes to find her a woman, grown.”

He put the photo away into a notebook, stacking it with all the others for safe keeping, so that he could leaf through them at his leisure.

“We must destroy Eugenio,” he said, old malice returning to his features. “Before he dims the brightest star in the sky.”

Morelli was a good consigliere. If the fates had any mercy, they would not force me to kill him.

“Might I ask a favor, young King?” he asked as I stood to take my leave of him.

In the quiet of the early morning, there was nothing but the shuffling of Algernon in the corner somewhere, probably waiting for my departure so that Morelli could feed him the scrap of fruit and bread he’d set aside for him.

The man could charm a lion into its own cage.

“Name it,” I said, my heart growing sick as I stared at him, lying on the cold ground in this terrible place.

I had offered to bring him upstairs to a different room, to hide him from prying eyes, to give him comfort. But he had summarily refused. He said that he’d be seen, that Durantes spies would send word back, and he unraveled the disaster by weaving the tale of an outright war. One Durante would lose. On the off chance he did win, Durante would simply torture Morelli,not trusting that three years in my presence did not result in betrayal.

Morelliwasbetraying him. Each time I sabotaged a shipment, it was my hand in command, but his voice that drove me.

Cosima would try to save him from the wrath of Eugenio, but it would be in vain. She would only be tortured and killed alongside him.

That was a future he could not abide.

So in this cell he remained, with very few comforts.

“Among my things was a cross I wore around my neck,” he whispered, his long finger touching his clavicle as though the cross dangled there. “It was a gift from sweet Cosima. Might I have it returned to me? It would be a great comfort.”

And who was I to deny such a thing?

Chapter five

Crate Him

Kira

Blink looked uncomfortable, staring at my son through the rearview mirror. Cillian was eating nuggets in his rear-facing car seat, happily kicking the back rest with his little snow boots.

“I thought we were meeting alone,” Blink wrinkled his nose.

Blink stared down at his clothes often, disgusted with his flannel apparel, meant to blend him in with the rather humble population in Hollowbrook, known only for its touristic covered bridge that dated to the days of the pilgrims. The small bucolic town looked best in the winter.

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