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Pull it together, Kennedy.
Picking up the portable karaoke machine, I darted out of my bedroom. Bonnie said she didn’t know if Franco was returning home tonight. I pinched the bridge of my nose, briefly squeezing my eyes shut. Good, this would be a clean break. My cousin would probably return my call in the next couple of days.
A classical ballad bellowed through the house. One I’d heard many times. The sound came from the sitting room. Who played the piano? Was it Saro or Bonnie?
My feet halted at the threshold of the room as my breath caught in my throat.
His skilled fingers moved over the piano keys with such precision. Dressed in only a pair of gray slacks, Franco hung his head, swaying it side to side as he got lost in the music.
This was the second time he hadn’t worn a shirt. It was like he sat under the bright chandelier on purpose. Did he do it so I could see the beast he’d become? Clearly, it wasn’t at his own hand. Bile rose in my throat as my eyes roved every detail of the severe burns. The corded veins looked painful to the touch. Before I knew what was happening, I dropped the Karaoke machine to the floor, stalked toward him, then dropped to my knees at his back. Tears streaked my face as my lips pressed against the tough skin. He flinched but didn’t flee.
The music came to a halt. My sobs took its place, filling the air.
“You’re alone because someone, someone...”
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Turned me into a beast, Kennedy!” he shouted.
My arms curled around his waist as my head rested on his back.
“No one wants to be with a monster,” he bit out.
“Who was she?”
“What?” he asked.
“Who made you believe it was better to fuck random women instead of being loved?” I cried.
“My girlfriend in college. She said she couldn’t look at me the same. Let alone touch my back. She cried and said she was sorry. That was the end of my first relationship.” His fist came down hard on top of the piano.
“Who did this to you?” My shaky fingers traced over the disfigured skin.
“My parents went on vacation. Like they’d done many times. They visited my mother’s home country, Greece. Two weeks into their vacation, my aunt called from Santorini, Greece. She said my parents were supposed to visit her three days ago. I tried reaching out to my parents.”
Franco gripped my hands, pulling me to my feet. He stood and placed my bottom on the top of the piano. His thumbs skated across my cheeks, taking the tears with them.
His gaze didn’t meet mine. It was like a part of him was going through the motions.
Franco sauntered toward the bar.
“Panic washed over me,” he sighed.
“All the worst scenarios played out in my head as I sat on the jet bound for Kamari, Greece. It was the next town over from Santorini. As beautiful as my mother’s country was, I couldn’t enjoy any of its beauty. At that time in my life, I wasn’t a made man. I was the son of a made man. My role in the business wasn’t significant at that time. Clip was the only person who accompanied me on the trip.”
Franco poured generous amounts of whiskey into two crystal glasses. He ambled over, placing one glass in my hand. I took in the tattoos on his chest and abs. Bloody tear drops stained the skull's face tattooed on his right pec. A red snake twisted from the side of his torso to the middle, baring its fanged teeth. He sank onto the piano bench.
“Clip and I stayed in my parents’ hotel room. We tore their itinerary apart. By the third day, we had a lead. My parents planned to visit a cave. You could only get there by boat. They were the adventurous type, so it made sense. The next morning, we’d take the boat we rented to the cave. At some point that evening, I dozed off. When I came to, I was tied to a chair. I screamed around the gag, but it was useless.”
He and I gulped our whiskey at the same time. I took the burn of the whiskey like a champ. That was the least I could do while listening to his story.
“I was in a cave. That’s when I realized someone had drugged me. I didn’t know if Clip was dead or alive. A man approached from the adjoining cave. Hands deep in his pockets, he leaned over, meeting my gaze. He wore a button-down shirt, khakis, and boat shoes. His must hair seemed like he ran his fingers through it several times.”
Franco placed my foot on his thigh and stroked my ankle. His touch calmed me.
Franco continued the story.
“‘He said, “Let me take a good look at you.”
