Page 8 of The Italian Reckoning
My stomach twists into knots when I lift my hand and knock lightly on the front door. The peeling blue paint clings to my knuckles, so I focus on wiping it off while listening intently for any sign of movement on the other side. I’ve known Gio for years. We drink and play cards together almost every week at The Black Ox, and he talks about Belle like she’s his only reason for living.
A hundred possibilities race through my mind as the silence drags on, but just as I lift my hand to knock again, movement sounds beyond the door. The heavy trudge of footsteps precedes the clatter of a metal chain and a lock sliding open.
“Gio?”
His tired, drawn face peers out through an inch gap in the door. Darkness clings under his eyes where the skin is red from tears he’ll never admit to shedding.
My heart immediately squeezes at the sight and a heavy, grim weight settles across my brow. I press my lips together, giving quiet sympathy with just a look. It takes a few seconds for Gio to really look at me, but when he does, his face relaxes a fraction.
“Rocky.” His voice is rough with emotion and remains that way even after he clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard about Belle. What do you need?”
Gio holds my gaze for a few long seconds, then he steps back from the door and vanishes into the dullness of his home. I take this as my invitation and step inside, closing the door behind me.
The house is cold despite the warmth radiating outside. With the curtains drawn shut and all the lights off, darkness clings tothe corners of every room and haunts every door that isn’t fully closed. A threadbare carpet shifts and slides under my feet as I follow Gio through to his kitchen, trying not to focus on the faint, painful sobbing drifting from one closed door at the end of the hall.
“Coffee?” Gio’s already in the process of making it when I enter, so I simply grunt in agreement.
“How is Mia?”
“Devastated.” Gio busies himself with coffee grounds and hot water while I keep my distance. “Belle was… she was going to college. She was going to be better than all of us. Her entire future was out there, waiting for her, and now she’s just…” The clatter of his spoon slipping from his rigid fingers cuts him off and he stands there, half hunched over.
I don’t need to see his face to know he’s fighting his own devastation.
“Gio, if I’d known she was missing?—”
“What?” He spins to face me, anger blazing in his tear-filled, sunken eyes. “You would have gone out to find her? Brought her back home safe? Like you would have given her the fucking time of day!”
My heart aches harder and as Gio glares at me, my anxiety rises but I don’t take his words to heart. He needs to let something out and I’m here for him. I settle on toying with a loose thread trailing from my jeans and nod slowly. “I would have tried, yes.”
“Tried.” Gio spits, then he turns to the counter and slams his hands down on it. “We all tried and I… I failed. I didn’t even…” His head shakes, and he returns to the coffee, loading several heaped teaspoons into two mugs.
“What was she going to college for?”
Gio doesn’t respond. He stands with his back to me and stares at the kettle for what feels like an eternity. When he speaks, his voice is softer.
“Agriculture. She wanted to revitalize farming. Had all these bright ideas about crops and food growth and how she could save the world and make sure no one ever went hungry again. You know how kids are. Big ideas.”
Gio turns to face me and indicates to the rickety chairs surrounding the single white table in the kitchen. I sit to be polite, pouring all my nervous energy into bouncing my knee. “She was bright.”
“So bright.” For a moment, Gio’s eyes light up. “After her parents died, Mia refused to let her go anywhere else but here, and we saw straight away how smart she was. She wasn’t cut out for this life and we didn’t want it for her. Crime got her parents killed. She was meant for better things and she worked so hard. She…” Emotion clogs his voice. He falls silent until both coffees are set on the table and he sits across from me. “The cops say she was found out near the old textile factory. I thought… When she didn’t come home, I thought she was out partying. She’s twenty-one…Wastwenty-one. She’d been out for days before, so I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Gio, this isn’t your fault.”
“But if I’d looked for her sooner, maybe it could have been different.” He looks at me earnestly, as if the truth of his indecisions lies hidden in my eyes. “If Mia had reported her missing earlier, then maybe the cops?—”
“Fuck the cops,” I mutter. “You know how they feel about shit to do with us. They would have milked you dry before looking for her.” An unfortunate downside of my father’s desire to own as many cops in this city as possible. So many of them have witnessed or caused corruption that they’ve grown cocky and will drain someone’s bank account before they help them.
“Still.” Gio’s shoulders sag like he’s deflating and he drags one hand through his thinning hair. “I only learned she was missing when her friend Mary called for her expecting her to be here. That feeling…” He touches his chest through his loosely buttoned shirt. “It’s like I already knew something had happened, like a piece was suddenly carved right out of me.”
“Gio. This is not your fault, understand? Whoever did this, I will find them and I will make them pay. I promise you that this will not go unanswered. And don’t you worry about anything. I’ll send someone with some food, I’ll take care of your bills and the funeral costs, okay?”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” The defeat in my friend's eyes is almost as painful as the heartbreak in his voice.
“You’re not asking,” I reply softly. “I’m telling. Let me deal with this, okay? You need to take care of yourself and your wife.”
Gio nods eventually, and he reminisces about Belle in the time it takes for us to finish the shitty coffee. I drink quickly, fighting my gag reflex at how bad four heaped teaspoons actually tastes. Gio trusts me to take care of things, so after a long hug and another repeat of the promise, I leave his home confident that he won’t be an issue. Not that I’d blame him, but I don’t need my father causing more pain here.
