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Which is what made his betrayal so horrifying.
And there’s a part of me now that’s afraid I’m trying to get those feelings back. Like if I can see Santoro again, maybe he’ll be the man he used to be, back before everything went so fucking wrong. Even though I know that’s pathetic and impossible, and I hate myself a little bit for it.
But regardless of my motivations, this is my decision, and I have to face my nightmare with my head held high or else succumb to it.
Chapter 30
Stefania
Giorgia doesn’t stay much longer after the night Davide gets that call. I spend as much time with her as I can before taking her back to the airport and giving her a big hug in front of the security line.
I make her promise to call when she lands and I swear I won’t ghost her anymore.
If her visit had happened even a week or two earlier, I’d be a total homesick mess all over again now that she’s gone. Instead, when Bruno drops me off back home, I’m too busy trying to focus on Davide to think about my own problems.
He hasn’t told me much about the phone call, only that it was a man from his family’s past who did something terrible to them, and he didn’t handle it very well. I keep thinking about the look on his face that night: the pure panic in his eyes, like his brain was shutting down and he didn’t know how to stop it. I sat him down and rubbed his back while he stayed on the phone, sitting utterly rigid, barely controlling his breathing. I couldn’t hear what the man said and Davide mostly just grunted in reply, but when the conversation was over, he hurried away to his father’s house.
He hasn’t been the same since. I can tell this is weighing on him heavily. That night, I cook him dinner and pour him a good glass of wine, and he seems slightly more relaxed as we eat out back on the patio and talk about little things. I tell him more stories about Giorgia and home, and he talks about his childhood.
“The man that called the other night,” I say softly, leaning back in my chair to study his reaction. “That was Uncle Luciano, wasn’t it?”
He nods slowly, his eyes dark and guarded. “He wanted to set up a meeting with me about the guns he stole. Simon was against it. Father was for it. In the end, I decided to go ahead.”
I chew on my lip and tilt my head. “Is that a good idea? I saw the way you reacted, and I just?—”
He grunts and stands up. “I’m fine. You shouldn’t have seen that, but I’m fine.”
“Davide—”
“I’m fine,” he says again and walks to the door. I’m surprised by the reaction. He’s normally more willing to talk, except now he’s completely shutting down when it suddenly matters.
Instead of letting him escape, I follow him into the main downstairs room. “You’re obviously not. I know you don’t want to admit it, but whatever’s going on with that guy is really getting to you, and I want to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He stands near the kitchen island, taking deep breaths.
I go to him. He doesn’t pull away when I put a hand on his chest and run another through his hair, gently scratching at the nape of his neck before standing on my toes to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“You can talk to me,” I say very quietly, afraid that I’m stepping over an imaginary line, but I’m done pretending like this relationship with him isn’t turning into something more serious.
I want to take on some of his burden. Maybe I can’t ease his pain, but I can listen when he talks and sympathize when he needs someone to be there for him. He doesn’t have to be the big, stoic, emotionless mafia enforcer anymore; I’m here for him now.
“I know I told you I’d talk about how this happened—” He rubs the back of his burned hand. “But it’s an ugly story, dolcezza. I don’t think you want to hear it. Especially not now that I’m going to see the man that caused it.”
My breath comes faster. “Santoro burned you?”
“In a way.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I can still smell the fire, you know. It’s a mixture of smoke, scorched hair, and melting flesh. God, it’s a disgusting smell, and even after all this time I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. Fire doesn’t bother me, but the smell of it triggers all those old fucking memories.”
I hug him hard and lean my head against his chest. His heart is beating slow and steady, which surprises me. “If it’ll help, I can handle it.”
He grunts and doesn’t sound like he believes me. But he talks anyway.
“I was twelve when Uncle Luciano betrayed my father. I don’t know what his long-term plans were, but the story goes, my father found out that Santoro had been stealing money from the Famiglia and slowly building a stockpile of funds. He was investing in restaurants and building his own little real estate empire, and by the time my father caught him, he’d already amassed some serious power very quietly and behind the scenes.
“But when my father found out, he went ballistic. You have to understand, Uncle Luciano was like blood to us. He and my father came up together, they were best friends since grade school, and to find out that he’d been betrayed by his closest confidant really sent my father into a rage. He sent men after Santoro, some of his best killers, and I think that caused Uncle Luciano to panic. That’s when he decided to take me.”
I stare at Davide, trying to picture the story. This man was in their family, in their lives, like an actual blood relative, and he decided to betray them for money. It’s hard to imagine someone could be so cruel.
“What do you mean, take you?” I prompt, gently prodding him and stroking his chest with my fingers.
