Page 41 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“He attacked me, dear.” Bastian refused to feel guilty. “You’re aware that he was Luna’s ex-boyfriend? That’s motive. Have you questioned him? Or are you allowing nepotism to run its course?”

Zappa snorted, and Bastian almost expected steam to rush from his nostrils.

“You will leave my son out of this, vampire.”

“De Luca, tell him—” Bastian began, but Zappa shouted over him.

“You will not address the inspector!” The commissario was panting, his shirt straining against his barrel chest. “You will come to the station where you will remain until the council arrive.”

“Are the cells unlocked?” De Luca asked, and Bastian recalled that was why he was placed under house arrest—they had lost the keys to the cells.

Zappa shot De Luca a lethal glare. His eyes were red-rimmed; his skin was wan. Bastian wondered if his first impression of the man was correct, that Zappa was unwell, his heart struggling tocope with all that muscle. Or was his sickly appearance simply what happened when a person permitted unchecked rage to rule their life?

“Please, Commissario,” De Luca said. “Allow me to escort the vampire back to his apartment. I’ll secure him in place, and we’ll stay there until the council gets here. You have my word.”

Bastian tried not to smile. De Luca was convincing. He was telling the commissario precisely what he wanted to hear.

Zappa puffed his cheeks and adjusted his belt. Finally, he jabbed a finger in the air and grunted, “Get out of my sight. And if you mess this up, De Luca, I’ll have your badge.”

14

They went to a quiet corner of the piazzetta, away from the crowds, and De Luca freed Bastian from the cuffs. Bastian rubbed his wrists with relief. They had almost healed. Only a thin pink line remained, a ghostly reminder of the silver that had eaten through his flesh the previous night.

“Thank you,” Bastian said to De Luca. “For helping me. For not letting your boss drag me back to the station.”

De Luca was watching the crowd that still packed out the harbor on the far side of the piazzetta.

“It was nothing,” he grunted.

“No, it wasn’t. You could lose your job. You put your neck on the line. Does this mean you…” Bastian almost didn’t dare to hope. “Do you truly believe I’m innocent?”

De Luca looked at him, and Bastian swallowed, wanting him to say yes. Heneededthe inspector to say it, because it would be wonderful to have an ally—atrueally—right now. Other than Whitby, of course.

Instead, De Luca said, “What happened? After the mayor’s office?”

“Yes,” Whitby said. “Where did you go? And what did you mean about Matteo attacking you?”

Bastian adjusted his Wayfarers. The light was bothering him more and more, and his body felt strangely light. Floaty. The sun was beginning to affect him. As best he could, he filled them in on the face-off with Salvador and Matteo, even though his memory suddenly felt distant, as if he couldn’t quite get hold of it.

Whitby’s whiskers trembled with displeasure. “A pitchfork-wielding mob.”

“They had stakes, not pitchforks. Youdoknow what year it is, don’t you?”

“Still.” Whitby sniffed. “I would say I told you so, but I wouldn’t want to be branded a know-it-all.”

“Heaven forfend.”

Bastian realized that De Luca had remained silent throughout. He appeared deep in thought.

“Did you pick up anything from either of them?” the inspector asked. “Anything that might tell us if Salvador or Matteo is the killer?”

Bastian’s skin was buzzing now. He blinked, his vision wobbling. He blinked a couple more times and it cleared.Focus.

“Salvador is an opportunist,” he said, “but I didn’t get the feeling he was a killer. He said a lot of stuff about time running out. Something about an olive lady. And he really doesn’t like you, Inspector.”

“Probably because I throw him in the drunk tank every Friday night.”

He’s hiding the truth from you,Salvador had said about De Luca.