Chapter 14 #3
Cec attempts a small smile, but it comes off as disingenuous. “Can’t disagree with you there.”
Bes’s reply is startlingly lighthearted. “Meglio solo che male accompagnato.”
“And that one?”
“That one’s more akin to Bes: ‘Better alone than in bad company.’ Italians simply aren’t living unless they’re socializing, or hosting their family and friends. However, that particular proverb warns about picking your companionship wisely. Better to be alone than with unworthy people.”
I watch Bes embrace Gino with what I can only describe as gusto, both men patting each other’s backs.
“That is very like Bes.”
Unable to help myself, I draw parallels between this interaction and the one with Ailsa in Alexandria. And, as with Ailsa, I can’t help thinking Gino is more than he appears.
I choose, however, to keep that to myself for the time being, even as the gears in my mind continue to turn.
When Gino finally releases Bes, his attention falls to Cec. His dark eyes instantly fill with rage, his smile dropping into a thin, angry line.
“Di nuovo tu,” he sneers.
“Lovely to see you as well, Gino.” Cec nods, leaning slightly on his cane. “How long has it been?”
Gino places his forearm horizontally along the stomach while his thumb and first three fingers touch each other and point downwards, his pinky finger outstretched and quivering. “Long enough for me to maledire il tuo nome .”
“Glad to see nothing’s changed,” Cec mutters to me. “Although, if he hadn’t caught us in the first place, he wouldn’t feel the urge to curse my name every time he sees me.”
Caught us? I’m about to ask him to elaborate, when Gino’s gaze lands on me. His anger dissipates.
“E chi è questa bellezza?” he purrs.
Since my Italian is more than a little rusty, all I got from that was beautiful woman, in the form of a question.
“Amelia Hawkins.” I hold out my hand for him to shake. “Buona sera, signore.”
He grins at me. “Buona sera!”
Taking my outstretched hand, he turns and kisses the top of it. His moustache hairs scratch against my skin. I don’t care for it.
“That’s… different.” I wipe the back of my hand on my dress. At least he didn’t take my face in his hands and kiss both cheeks.
Gino looks to Bes. “Non é necessario di indossarla qui. è sicuro.”
Bes nods, then regards me. “He says you can take off the scarf, Miss Hawkins.” He gestures to the entire restaurant. “You’re safe here.”
I hesitate. What will these southern Italians think of an American with blonde hair and blue eyes who doesn’t speak their language? I have a similar olive skin tone in the summer, but I don’t look like them. Will they think I’m a Nazi? Some other foreigner who means them harm or they can snitch on?
No, I’m not taking it off. I don’t care what Gino says; I’m not comfortable having so many eyes on me, not when we’re trying to keep a low profile.
“I’ll keep it on, thank you.”
Bes nods, but the old man bellows out a laugh. “Come sei bella, mia cara! You do not need to hide yourself.”
I grit my teeth. Call me beautiful one more time, signore…
“It’s merely a precaution,” Bes explains on my behalf. “The Blackshirts were out in fine form today, and we didn’t want to draw unwanted attention.”
“Si, I can see why, but this is normal, bambino. Their presence…” He searches for the right word. “Mi sta soffocando.”
Bes shakes his head. “I didn’t realize it was so awful here.”
“You’ve been gone long. But now you are back!”
Bes frowns. “Not to stay.”
“No, no, of course, not to stay.” Gino busies his hands with his apron ties. “But long enough for a slice, eh? I have fresh.”
“What kind?” Cec wonders. “You know I hate olives.”
I gawk at him. “An Italian who hates olives? Now I’ve seen everything.”
Cec smirks but doesn’t answer.
“Who cares what you want?” Gino barks, waving his hands irritably. “You’re lucky I don’t spit on your pizza. You will eat what I give you, donnaiolo, and you will like it.”
Gino makes a spitting gesture.
That was malicious. “What did he call you?”
“A philanderer.” Cec sighs. “Unfortunately, it’s an earned nickname.”
Bes attempts to diffuse the situation. “Prenderemo tre fette, Gino. Of whatever’s ready.”
Cec’s shoulders slump as Gino nods and stomps off. “He’s absolutely going to spit on my pizza.”
I guide him to a small table nearby that’s just opened up. He sets his cane against the wall and drops dolefully into the chair. It creaks in protest.
Gesturing at Bes to follow, I notice he’s already taken a seat beside another man across the room.
They lean in close and speak to each other in hushed tones.
Dressed in a tan suit, the man dons a white fedora that blocks most of his face.
He’s nondescript enough I didn’t notice him when we came in, and suspicious enough now to raise my hackles.
I watch Bes and the stranger for a moment, straining to hear what they’re saying to each other. When I can’t hear anything, I decide something.
I’m going to do a little snooping of my own, see if anyone else here knows about the God Men.