Page 47 of The Consequence of You
“I will put a bullet in the skull of anyone who hurts you. And not just because your father pays me to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I mumble into my coffee. He unfolds his paper and goes back to reading the sports section, as though he didn’t just casually threaten to blow out the brains of a nineteen-year-old over breakfast.
I don’t know what will happen between Asher and me. Maybe this will be a few weeks of fun, or even fizzle out in a couple of days, but Rossi has nothing to worry about.
Asher won’t hurt me.
I’d have to give him my heart for that to happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CALLIE
Luca is the image of our mother. That’s all I can think about as I watch my older brother walk up the steps to our family home. His hair is neatly styled and slicked back in a way a lot of Italian men wear it, and it’s thick and lustrous, like our mother’s. He has her eyes. The same almond shape, in the same shade of chestnut brown. Even his lips are the same shape as hers, as they curl up into a smile as he catches me watching him. He’s much taller than she was, of course. Mama was a similar height to me, just over 5ft, and Luca towers over me now.
At twenty-three, he’s four years older than me. We were close growing up, but we’ve barely spoken since he moved to Sicily. We’re practically strangers. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him since he left, and we’ve never discussed the past.
It was always the plan that once he finished his degree,and then his master’s in business studies, he’d move back here to manage some of our father’s bars and restaurants. However, it’s come around quicker than I thought it would, and the actual reality is finally sinking in.
I’m nervous.
I tell myself we won’t see that much of each other now, even though he’s home. My university course is full-on in terms of contact time, and I presume Luca will keep later hours, spending most evenings in one of our family establishments. But there is no doubt we’ll see more of each other than we have done for a long time.
Despite my nerves, and the fact our relationship is virtually non-existent now, it felt wrong to not be here to welcome him home.
Luca lifts his suitcase up the steps effortlessly, as his driver takes the car around to our underground garage, where he’ll unload the rest of the luggage.
My brother’s skin is more olive toned than mine, clearly from the time spent near the Med. He puts down his case on the top step and leans down to greet me.
“Ciao, sorellina. Look at you. So grown up.” He kisses me softly on each cheek. “I’ve been gone too long.” He shakes his head, a sad look on his face. His Italian accent is much more pronounced than mine, having lived in our home country far longer than I ever did.
We head into the hallway where Rossi greets him with a handshake.
“Good afternoon, Signore Messina.”
“Good to see you again, Rossi. And please, you know I’d prefer you to call me Luca.” Rossi nods.
“Of course. I hope your journey was pleasant?”
“Yes, all on time, no delays.” I stand to the side, watching them interact, glad Rossi is here, too.
“Signore Luca, I took the liberty of ordering in a light supper for you. Are you ready for it now?”
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. Callie, will you join me in the conservatory to eat? You too, Rossi. It’d be good to catch up with you both.”
I nod numbly and follow him through to what was our Mama’s favourite room in the house.
We’re deep into autumn now, but the sun has been shining all afternoon, so the conservatory is warm. It’s south facing, and I’m struck by how the garden is still lush and green. It was modelled to look like the outdoor space back in our Sicilian home. I’m ashamed to admit, I rarely sit in here to appreciate it anymore.
Luca takes one of the large sofas and I sit opposite him. We sit quietly as Rossi brings out some olives and dips, and some fresh bread and uncorks a bottle of red wine. My brother and Rossi pour themselves a glass, but I opt for a glass of water instead.
The tension in the room is palpable. Unsurprisingly, the few conversations we’ve had over the last few years have been stilted. Why would they be anything else, when the entire reason Luca moved out to Sicily was down to me? I can still remember the night Papa told him.
CALLIE-AGE 16
The door to Papa’s study slams shut, but his raised voice can still be heard. Luca came home drunk again tonight. Since our mother’s death, his behaviour has got progressively worse. He’s nineteen, so legally he’s allowed to drink, but he’s binge drinking to the point of not knowing what he’s doing. He brings a different woman home every weekend, showing no respect toPapa, and it sounds as though Papa is refusing to stand for it any longer.
The door swings open again and Luca staggers past me.
