Page 74 of The Italian Reckoning
Do I apologize? Do I talk to him? Do I blame him? Should I stand up for him and be a good son? Should I walk away? What do I say? What do I do? What’s the safest option here?
“I would never intentionally bring harm to Mary,” Matteo says after a moment. “I hope he knows that.”
For the first time in his life, my father looks small. Without all the fancy clutter on his desk or a guard by his side, he’s just a man standing in front of a window with no way to defend his actions. His eyes lift to mine and he looks as if he’s expecting me to comfort him.
In the past, I would. Fear would drive me to soothe him and make sure I wasn’t on the receiving end of his wrath.
But not this time.
“Your inaction caused this,” I say quietly. “I asked Mary to sketch out a drawing of the man who took her. When she’s done, I’m taking it to Sarah to see if she can get a hit in her database.” In truth, I’m hoping the picture will trigger her buried memories and everything she’s forgotten will come back to her. Then we’ll finally nail this guy.
“Fine,” Matteo says and he drops heavily into his leather chair. “Fine.”
I find Domenico upstairs with his arms wrapped tightly around his daughter. She clutches at him and sobs against his shoulder, sobs that ease when the floorboards creak under my feet.
“Sorry,” I say when they move apart, although Domenico keeps his hand on his daughter's shoulder. “How are you doing?”
Mary looks at me with large doe eyes and hastily buries her nose in a tissue. “I–I keep scolding myself for going to the club,” she murmurs thickly through her tears, and as they well up again, Domenico pulls her close.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice thick. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“I hate to bring it up,” I say cautiously, wringing my hands together as my heart rate picks up. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of Domenico’s wrath, but it’s been a few hours since I called Sarah and I can’t keep her waiting forever. “Can you tell me what happened? What exactly happened?”
Domenico’s eyes narrow to slits, but Mary pulls back from him and nods. “Dad said you’re gonna get your detective friend to help, right?”
“That’s right.”
She sniffles and sits down on a nearby chair and picks up a sheet of paper. “I was running late and I took a shortcut,” she says, her voice raspy. “And I got hit over the head and then I woke up in the back of a car. I was on the floor so I pulled myself up onto the backseat. He’d bound my wrists but it wasn’t that strong. The string was easy to wriggle off, and I could hear voices.” As she speaks, her voice grows distant as if she’s reliving the events in real time. “They were arguing. One guy was talking about how it wasn’t his fault, that the car had swerved and that the other guy was an asshole for driving with his lights off. They started fighting, and I got out of the car and I ran. And then I heard a gun go off and I screamed and he?—”
Tears pour down her cheeks, and she presses her face into her crumpled tissues. Domenico moves to sit next to her and cuddles her close.
“He tackled me and we fell, and then I just started fighting. I kicked and I scratched and I bit, I did everything I could think of, and then we were face to face so I tried to claw his eyes out, and then the other driver was there. Blood was pouring from the side of his neck and he dragged the asshole off me and told me to run. So I did. I ran. And I didn’t stop until I made it to a restaurant and they called the cops.”
Shit.
My heart breaks listening to the fear and upset in her words while the horrific story unfolds, and it amplifies the urge deep inside me to ensure we catch the fucker. For her. For Sarah. For everyone.
“And you drew him?” I ask softly.
“B–Best I could.” She sniffles and shakily hands me a drawing. It’s a decent pencil sketch of a man with a thick beard and narrow eyes. She even drew the scratches she left down the left hand side of his face.
“This is him?”
She nods quickly. “Is it enough?”
“You have no idea how great this is.” Flashing a warm smile, I glance at Domenico. “I need to get this to Sarah.”
“Let me come,” Domenico says tightly. “I want to talk to her myself.”
“I was going to bring her here.”
“But her evidence is in her apartment, correct? I want to look at it.”
Nodding, I stand and briefly glance back at Mary. “Are you sure you want to? I can bring her evidence with me.”
Domenico shakes his head and kisses the top of Mary’s. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart. I promise.” She nods repeatedly and murmurs something I can’t hear. Domenico kisses the top of her head once more and stands. “Let’s go.”
Out in the hall, he releases a sigh so loud it’s like he was holding it the entire time.
