She’s a tough woman in many ways, but her heart is soft when it comes to children. I remember how she cried the night she babysat, and the kid went nuts and tried climbing into the tablet. Neri believes she can love a dark man, but my truth will prove too much.
Enjoying the feel of her arms around me in the garage, I choose to keep my mouth shut about Gino and Los Angeles. It’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.
Until the kid showed up at my safe house, I’d gotten good at forgetting Gino. Every time she cries, though, I hear him. Each tear brings me back to that decadent mansion in LA. Every time I catch sight of her napping, I think of the boy left to sleep in his piss on the floor.
It wasn’t my job to help him. I hadn’t given a shit about anyone since Priscilla. I wasn’t playing hero for that kid. I couldn’t save my mother or Priscilla, so why the fuck would I be able to help him?
Pushing away those memories, I cook dinner for the group. Neri helps me, but she doesn’t care about seasoning or cook times. Relaxed this evening, she teases her father over his frequent yawning.
“Papa misses his bed,” she says as if she doesn’t fear she’ll lose everyone she loves tomorrow.
I admire her ability to set aside worries that’ll ruin her. It’s a skill I used to have. Then she and that kid entered my life, reminding me of shit I want to forget.
Around six, we eat at the long dining room table. Is this how life will be in Playa Cielo? Every day with the same people laughing and bickering. I could get used to them. I did with Nilsson and DeMarco, and neither man was half as interesting as this family.
But the kid will be a problem. She watches me as I walk around the table, dumping stroganoff on each plate. When I get to hers, she refuses to look away. I don’t know what she wants, and she rarely makes sense when she opens her mouth.
Then, to prove me wrong, she says as clear as day, “Thank you, Cobain.”
The room falls silent. They’re all turning stupid over her ability to speak. I just stare at her and see Gino.
Finally, she looks away and starts eating the food I cooked. I remember Gino liking the sandwich I made him once. He wanted me to talk to him. Why would I, though? I was his father’s bodyguard, not the kid’s fucking nanny. Even if I was, the family’s policy was to ignore the child.
“Make my son tough, so he’ll take over the business one day,” his asshole father demanded more than once from the nannies.
Each one wanted to coddle Gino. The kid constantly cried, desperate for affection and attention.
“Don’t make him soft!” Alfredo roared when one of the nannies chose to hold the crying child.
I was very aware that Gino’s situation was fucked up, but he wasn’t my problem. No one was. Technically, I only had to keep the asshole alive. Not that I’d lose any sleep if he died. I’d just get another job. My life meant nothing. Neither did theirs.
When Anika sits on her knees to reach the plate easier, I think of how easily a child’s tiny body can break.
“Cobain, can I have some?” Neri asks softly when I remain stuck behind Anika’s chair.
Shaking off those memories again, I finish filling the plates before sitting next to Neri. She doesn’t demand answers, and I appreciate her ability to give me space.
Priscilla always wanted to know what I was thinking. Not because she cared. No, she just enjoyed ripping people apart. If I said I was thinking of my mother, she would remind me that I hadn’t been able to save her.
“Do you think she blamed you, Cobain?” Priscilla always asked while feigning sympathy.
During dinner, I glance at Neri. There’s little doubt she’s very capable of doing cold-blooded shit. In fact, I’ve never seen her give a second thought to the people she’s killed.
But she’s never amused by suffering. When I mentioned my mother’s death at the last safe house, Neri clearly wanted to comfort me. She read my signals and allowed me space, though.
Like she does tonight. Rather than push me, she subtly caresses the back of my hand. I don’t have to spell out that too much affection in front of everyone would embarrass me. She just knows. More importantly, she accepts I’m an asshole and doesn’t expect me to change. She thinks I’m enough.
That’s why she can’t know that I let Gino die. Neri will never look at me the same. She’ll wonder why I hadn’t taken charge like she did with Sunny and Anika? Did I have no heart?
Cheap women and expensive booze silenced my urge to help him.
Yet I wasn’t blind to how Gino wouldn’t survive if no one stepped in. While my mother couldn’t offer her heart to me, I was given the basics. I never went to bed hungry. The nanny hugged me when my mother wouldn’t. I was well educated. Not once did I wander the house, starving and covered in shit.
Alfredo was evil. I knew that, but so was I. How could I save a fucking kid?
So, I didn’t. He died alone one night, and I buried his little body. Not much older than Anika, Gino just wanted someone to love him. There was no Neri or Kai to save him. No Sunny to hold him when he was afraid. No one cared, so he didn’t get lucky like the girl enjoying my stroganoff did.
Being a hero isn’t one of my skills, but I know how to kill. I butchered his father and the men who tried to stop me. I burned down his gaudy house filled with crap that he valued more than Gino.
But I didn’t save the kid.
And Neri would have.
There’s no amount of killing that’ll fix what I allowed to happen. Hiding for a decade didn’t change anything either. And telling Neri the ugly truth won’t alleviate my guilt or bring Gino back to life.
Despite my unease, I’ll have to find a way to deal with Anika. She isn’t Gino. If we survive the next few days, she’ll grow up and think of me as her grumpy uncle or some shit.
Then one day, I’ll have a kid with Neri. Her heart will demand one, and I won’t be able to tell her no. Somehow, I’ll look at my child and not see Gino’s sunken eyes staring blankly like when I found him at the bottom of the stairs.
Though I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, I won’t dump my guilt on Neri by telling her the truth. No, I’ll carry the burden of that kid’s death alone.
SUNNY
Kai says tonight will be the last we spend in this house. I’m relieved, I guess. This place isn’t home. It’s where people stay when they’re in trouble. The men who lived here are dead, and I keep wondering where their bodies might be hidden. Jedidiah would say I’m the reason they died. I’ve caused so much suffering because I refused to follow the rules.
He’s probably right, but I don’t care. I’m tired of rules. Besides, more than anyone—even Jacob, who held Anika’s head down with his boot, or Kenneth, who always hit me—I hated Jedidiah the most.
Listening to his lectures every day, I believed he knew how wrong and stupid their beliefs were. The other men often behaved as if on the verge of violence but never him. He remained calm, happy even.
But, of course, Jedidiah got to live in the nicest hutch and watch TV and use a heater when it was cold and air-conditioning when it was hot. He got to rape all the women and boss around all the men. He got the best of everything and never paid any price. So, yeah, he probably was happy.