I know Rome pretty well, although this neighborhood not as much. But I walk back the way we’d driven and fifteen minutes later, I get to a gas station with an attached café and walk in. Only a couple of tables are occupied but there aren’t enough people here that I can go unnoticed.
Everyone turns when the bell over the door jingles as I enter. I tuck my hair behind my ears and make my way to the counter where two men stand sipping espressos.
The bartender acknowledges me and, after ordering an espresso I won’t drink, I ask if I can use the phone to call a taxi. He does one better and calls it for me, and I pay for my coffee with the credit card then walk back outside to wait for the taxi which pulls up just a few minutes later.
This is too easy, I think, but I climb in and give him the address, which is about a half-hour ride.
The driver eyes me in the rear-view mirror but I ignore him and settle in as we drive, thinking I’ll ask him to wait and drive me back to Uncle Jack’s and sneak back into my room without anyone noticing I even left. Even if Stefan comes back, if he peers into my bedroom, he’ll see the pillows and assume I’m sleeping and that will be that.
And if I do get caught, I’ll deal with the consequences. I’m sure Stefan will punish me, but I’ve survived Gabriel Marchese’s wrath. How much worse can Stefan Sabbioni be?
When we pull up to the house, I ask the driver to wait, telling him I’ll pay him for that time too. He agrees and I climb out.
This isn’t the best neighborhood, and I’m aware of that as I make my way to the front door of the small house that belongs to Alex’s aunt.
I only know where it is because Alex’s dad worked for my father years ago when we were all kids. A couple of times, my mom would let us pick Alex up and take him with us when we went to a park or a pool. His mom had died when he was just a baby, so I guess in that sense, I was lucky. I had my mom for eight years.
Before I push the button to ring the doorbell, I twist my engagement ring so the diamond is on the inside. I hope Alex won’t see it.
I realize the doorbell doesn’t work so I pull open the screen, which wobbles on its hinges, and knock loudly. There’s a light on around the back of the house which I saw walking up here, but the front room is dark.
A few minutes and two more knocks later, I hear the chain and the lock turns and Alex’s aunt, a fifty-something woman with small features and a look of worry on her face opens the door.
That worry turns darker the moment she sees me.
I greet her, pretending I don’t see the way she’s looking at me. She mutters something, makes the sign of the cross. I don’t need to catch the words to know what she’s trying to say.
She doesn’t want me here.
And when I see Alex roll up behind her on a wheelchair, both legs in casts up to the thigh and stretched straight out in front of him, I can understand why.
“Alex!” I rush in, tears flooding my eyes.
I saw him beaten. I heard his bones break. And as terrible as that was, this, the result, the consequence he bore for me, it’s more overwhelming than all of it.
“Gabi,” Alex says when I hug him, trying not to hurt him as I do.
He hugs me back as best he can, one arm around my shoulders as I bury my face in his neck.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
“We talked about this,” he says, pulling back.
I straighten and look down at him, look at the stitches on the side of his head where the doctors must have shaved his hair to close the cut. I remember when he’d been struck by the broken beer bottle and I hate the man who did it.
“It’s not your fault. And besides, I’d do it all again if I had to,” he says.
At that, his aunt calls out to God.
He turns to her, tells her it’s okay, and to go inside.
She looks at me, distrust in her eyes. I don’t blame her. “She shouldn’t be here,” she says. “She’ll get you killed.”
“I just want to give you something,” I say, reaching into my clutch to take out the Ziploc of cash. “They’re dollars but you can exchange them for Euros. There’s almost ten-thousand here.”
I hold it out to her, but Alex puts his hand over mine. “No need for that, Gabi. I told you that, too.”
“Just let me do this one thing, Alex. It’s nothing compared to what you did for me.”
“You’d have done the same thing if our roles were reversed. And Gabe…” He trails off.
A moment of silence passes between us. We’re both thinking of Gabe. Of what happened. Of the consequences he bore.
“I shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” I say, needing to not think about my brother.
“Do you still have the passport?” Alex asks.
I nod, feeling the sharp edges of the diamond in my palm. I don’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t matter. That my circumstances have changed. I gesture to the money instead.
“Please, take it.”
Alex nods, giving his permission. His aunt cautiously takes the money.
That’s when the front door crashes in and Alex’s aunt screams and I scream too, jumping in front of the wheelchair, thinking it’s my father’s men and they somehow followed me and came back to punish Alex again. Maybe to finish the job this time.
But it’s not my father who walks inside. Who stands there brandishing a gun. It’s not his men who stalk into the small house as if they own it, as if they have every right to be here.
It’s Rafa and two other men I don’t know.
And behind them is Stefan.
15
Stefan
So this is Alex? He’s a fucking kid. Her age, I’d guess. With two broken legs and fresh bruises on his face and arms.
But he’s got his hand on Gabriela and is tugging her back behind himself, away from me.
As if he’d stand between me and what I want.
The older woman has dropped to her knees and is sobbing, praying out loud and Gabriela, my deceitful little fiancée, stands beside Alex, eyes wide. The makeup of earlier has smeared around her eyes and her hair is wavy from the up-do. She looks stunning and messed up and utterly terrified all at once.
“What the hell is this?” I ask as I step over the splintered wood of the door and deeper into the house to collect what’s mine.
When I take Gabriela’s wrist, she pulls back, and I see how Alex’s hold on her tightens as he sets his other hand on his lap and cocks his pistol.
He must have had it tucked into the side of the chair. I would too if I were him.
The sound of Rafa’s gun being cocked comes from behind me and I raise up my hand to stop him or anyone else from shooting.
“You’re Alex?” I ask, noting the plastic bag of American dollars on the dirty carpet.
The younger man nods, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll ask you exactly once to get your hands off my fiancée.”
His eyebrows furrow together, and he turns to Gabriela.
I notice she doesn’t quite meet his eyes when she nods to him.
“It’s okay,” she says, her voice quaking. She must know it’s not okay. Not at all.
He lets her go.
I turn to her, look down at her hand. I see the platinum band, so I twist the ring until the diamond is on the outside. This, I guess, is her following my order to not take it off.