Chapter 19 #2
What actually interests me more, though, is that Bes hasn’t mentioned his father until now. He could be absent like mine.
“I told you I didn’t think we should go into that pizzeria, and we went anyway,” I continue. “Then, later, the Blackshirts show up at the secret club we went to? That’s not a coincidence. So, either Francesca betrayed us—”
“Which, again, is impossible,” Cec adds in.
“—or Gino did. Going to Pizza Segreta was a poor choice, no matter your relationship with the owner. How could you think we’d be safe there, knowing that, not only is he not one of your uncle’s friends, but you also pay him to warn you about the Blackshirts?
Why wouldn’t he also take money from the Blackshirts themselves, or be prone to their threats, especially with his daughters’ safety to consider. ”
Cec cuts in again before I can continue. “Now children, let’s try to get along.”
Bes, however, won’t be put off. “I was assigned to the port in Civitavecchia for six months; I got to know Gino and his family intimately. There’s no possible way he could’ve betrayed me.”
Before I can argue the point, he continues. “I don’t connect with people easily. Not when I’ve been treated differently all my life: I’m the poor lad who needs glasses, the foreigner living in a country utterly unlike his own, the sad brown boy with no parents…”
He drifts off after the last point.
The moment he loses the fight in his words, ice douses the fire in my veins. My heart suddenly and acutely aches for him. No parents? I want to prod, to peel off another layer of the man that is Bes. But I don’t, not yet. Not when it won’t help the situation.
I can’t begin to understand some of the trials Bes has gone through.
I know I’m privileged as a person simply by the way I look; I’ll never know exactly what it’s like to be Bes.
I’ve certainly never had to experience the prejudice he has by being forced to move to a country that couldn’t be less like his home.
Even more so: living in the very country which currently holds a heavy hand over that same home.
I lost both my parents, too, in different ways. Yes, I had Nonna, who became my legal guardian, but Bes has his uncle and Cecilio, and the many acquaintances he’s learned to trust over the years.
“You and I aren’t so different, Bes.” He cricks his head to the side, eyes wide though he can’t meet my gaze due to his injury.
“My struggles were different than yours; I know that. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t have my own.
I’m the girl whose mother died and whose father doesn’t love her, the girl who has barely any friends because she’s been dragged along on digs and expeditions since before she could walk. ”
Cec clears his throat pointedly, reminding us of his presence.
I can’t help smiling. “And we all know how greatly Cec has suffered for being an idiot.”
Cec grimaces.
Anders flinches when I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sure Anders here hasn’t had it easy either. So few have since the Great War.”
Finally, I place a hand gently on Bes’s shoulder, mindful of his wound. He meets my eyes for a split second before glancing away.
“You’ve been dealt a shit hand, but you have to do what you can to own it. Otherwise, it’ll take everything you have and end up owning you. And that means recognizing that some of the people who you thought cared about you, only care for themselves when it comes down to it.”
A dense quiet fills the car despite the air thundering through the open windows. I lean back in my seat again, pretending not to care if Bes has an answer for that or not.
Nonna regaled me with a similar speech when I was twelve, and a boy at school said my parents left me because they didn’t love me. I gave him a black eye for that and got sent home for it. Nonna was angrier at him than at me, and made sure to tell his parents what he’d done.
She didn’t let me get away with what I’d done, either.
She reminded me that my education is far more important than anything some ignorant boob who doesn’t know the first thing about me might say.
And if I kept getting sent home from school every time someone said something that upset me, I’d never get the chance to show them what I’m capable of despite the circumstances they mock. Not because of them.
And here I am, crammed into the back of a stranger’s automobile with no knowledge of where I’m going or who I’m truly with or if I’ll live to see another week. I sure showed them.
“Prophetic.” Cec nods approvingly.
Anders chimes in. “She’s right, you know.”
“Shut up, Anders,” Cec and I say at the time.
Bes, however, chooses to keep his silence. Whether I’ve given him something to think about, or he’s finally getting some rest after being on the run for the past few days, I’m not sure. He deserves both.
“You’re right, Miss Hawkins,” he says finally.
“Gino had ample opportunity to betray us, although there’s just as much of a chance that the man I spoke to at the restaurant betrayed us instead, since he was the one who provided me with the password.
But that doesn’t excuse the decision I made to stop there.
Even if I trusted Gino explicitly, there were too many people around for us to have been truly safe. ”
I’m surprised but glad to hear it.
I sigh, biting the bullet. “And I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. There was a better way to say what I said. I tend not to think before opening my mouth to speak.”
“That’s an understatement,” Cec mumbles.
Bes ignores his cousin. “Apology accepted. And reciprocated. I should have trusted your gut; I’ve made the mistake of underestimating you far too many times.”
My cheeks grow warm. “Yes, you have.”
“Wonderful!” Cec claps his hands. “We’re all friends again—I was worried. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to choose between you.” He leans into me and whispers loudly. “Don’t tell Bes, but I would’ve picked you.”
I slap him on the arm, smothering a grin.
Not long after, we leave behind the outskirts of Milan and climb into the mountains that gently materialized in the distance.
Soon, the tall, striking crags of the Italian Alps engulf us in their otherworldly peaks.
At their base, emerald-draped slopes smooth down into rolling hills lathered in multihued wildflowers and thick, shimmering trees.
Farms large and small dot the countryside between each town, where cows and goats and pigs roam to their heart’s content.
A part of me expected the trees and plants to be completely different here; the way people talk about this place, it became a wonderland in my mind. Barring the olive tree farms, though, they look nearly identical to the ones we have back home.
The one thing Michigan doesn’t have is mountains.
In fact, nothing in the States compares to this. The peaks here boast sharp, vertical faces carved out of gray sheet rock, as if they’ve risen straight out of the prehistoric age into our modern world.
I can’t help being wholly struck in awe by them.
“The Italian Alps,” I breathe, pressing my face against the window for a better view. They’re more beautiful than I imagined.
“Call them the Dolomites,” Bes suggests. “Only outsiders call them the Italian Alps.”
My brow furrows. That’s exactly what I am: an outsider. I see his point, though. Better to know the local vernacular so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb. Besides, Dolomites sound much more impressive.
I’ve seen mountains before, of course, during my countless expeditions. There’s something about the Dolomites, though… I feel as if we’ve stepped into a place of hidden magic.
We pass a small lake, and then a larger one, the water so still and clear I can see all the way to the bottom, even as we whizz by. The lakes at home are sometimes so murky that you can’t even recognize your hand in front of your face, if you dare open your eyes underwater at all.
I figure we must be getting close to Arturo’s safehouse once we pull off the main road. Vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and flower boxes grace the yards of the modest stone homes we pass. Few cars populate the road, so those tending to them follow us with curious looks.
Eventually, darkening storefronts of dress shops and apothecaries and the like slowly replace the homes, inviting us into the heart of a small village.
When Anders takes his foot off the gas and downshifts, I sit up. Finally, we must be getting close.
A moment later, a high stone wall crawling with vines appears off to the left between the buildings. More stone emerges in the distance behind the wall, and I lean near Cec to get a good look out his window.
Ancient castle spires pierce the clear blue sky. An Italian flag flies proudly from the top of the only visible lookout tower.
I sit back, confusion and suspicion settling into my thoughts. This can’t be it. Someone careful like Arturo wouldn’t live somewhere near a tourist trap like a castle. It must be on the other side of town, away from the city center.
Either that, or this is one of the lies Bes and Cec told me.
“Where are we?” I wonder.
Bes glances back at me without meeting my eyes. “The town of Breno.”
Before I can ask more questions, Anders yanks on the wheel, the car veering down a narrow street in the direction of the castle and hugging close to the building beside us.
The uneven cobblestone rattles the car, and I’m forced to dig my fingers into Bes’s leather seat for balance, teeth chattering.
Bes sucks in a painful breath, his wound likely stinging from all the jostling.
Definitely not heading out of town.
The road appears to dead-end at some high hedges, but Anders expertly maneuvers us around them. The distance between each one leaves barely enough room for him to wrench the wheel back and forth. Where is he taking us?
“Is this normal?” I ask, surprised when Bes confirms it with a single, pained ‘yes.’
After we straighten out, the car transfers off the cobblestone and onto something metal; the wheels make a gung-gung sound as we drive over it.
Coming to a jarring stop mere inches from the stone wall, the breaks squawk in protest.
We sit in silence for some time, surrounded by thick greenery. I’m almost afraid to ask what we’re waiting for. Maybe for the wall in front of us to move, I consider flippantly, but keep it to myself.
“How the hell are we supposed to get to Arturo’s house from here?”
Not as if they’re going to give me a straight answer.
“We never said it was a house,” Cec reminds me. “But Arturo does live here.”
I think back to all the times this Arturo’s place was mentioned, and I believe he’s right: not once did they call it a house.
A moment later, the gentle whirring of machinery I’m almost certain isn’t originating from the car engages, and the metal ground we’ve driven onto begins to slope downwards. My grip on the seat tightens and panic inflates inside my chest. Jesus Christ, what now?
Bes decides now is a good time to step out of the car and take stock of our surroundings. Grasping his bad arm loosely, he stands completely at ease, gazing up at the castle and then at the hedges behind us. All while the floor continues shifting beneath him.
Eventually, the metal trap door opens up into an underground cavern. From what I can tell, it’s barely large enough for this car to fit inside.
And it’s pitch black.
“We’re not going down there, are we?” I wonder, wishing my voice was stronger. What do they plan to do with me in there?
Bes winces as he slides back into the car and softly shuts his door.
“The flag is flying high, and we don’t appear to have been followed,” he tells us, voice strained.
Anders nods at Bes’s assessment. Neither Cec nor Anders reply to my earlier concern.
“Of course we’re going down there.” I shrug in response to my own unease, accepting my fate.
I do, however, refuse to remove my firmly-planted grip on Bes’s seat.
“Because why not? You have secret passcodes and a network of spies and fancy yachts at your disposal—it wouldn’t be complete without an underground hideout with a hidden entrance. ”
“Impressed?” Cec asks.
I glance over at him. “I am, actually. But you weren’t being facetious when you told me you lied to me.”
“More like bent the truth,” Cec claims.
Bes shakes his head. “No, we’ve certainly lied.”
I grimace. What did you expect to happen? Bes said, flat out, that they would lie to me to protect others. It’s another thing to be faced with the direct consequences of it. I know, of course, that they’ve been lying about some things, but how many lies have there been? A handful? Dozens?
Did they steal Nonna’s ring off of Arturo’s dead corpse so that I’d be sure to trust them?
I take a deep breath. Pull yourself together. What would be the purpose of them dragging me partway across the world and putting their own lives in danger if they only wanted to hurt me? Even if they needed me alive, they could’ve easily tied up on the boat and never let me see the light of day.
Still, I don’t like not knowing what’s real and what isn’t.
“But, as I said before, not about anything that would’ve put you in danger,” Bes finishes.
I glance behind us. “You call all that not putting me in danger?”
“Things could always be worse,” Cec mutters, looking just as glum as when Bes told him we were going to Gino’s place.
When the car lurches forward unexpectedly, Cec reaches over and searches for my hand. I help him along by grasping his first, tightening my grip on his fingers. They’re warm and dry and exactly what I need right now. And, luckily, my hands have mostly healed over from their brush with the temple.
Anders slowly inches off the metal down into the dark, the sound of gravel popping beneath the tires.
From what I can make out of the cavern, I’d guess it’s around three times Bes’s height of just over six feet.
Though I can’t see further than a couple car lengths, so I have no idea if it persists the same way.
Once we’re on even ground, the car comes to a stop again. We sit idly in the near-darkness. The engine chips away at my nerves while the metal gears that lowered the floor down quietly hoist it back up, taking the last bit of sunlight with it.
“That’s quite a grip you’ve got.” Cec squeezes my hand back. “A fool might think you’re afraid.”
I whisper into the near-darkness. “Fools always speak the most truth.”
The last thing I see as the impending gloom envelopes us whole is Bes glancing back at me, his gaze flashing when it settles on our hands entwined.