2. SQUALO
SQUALO
My phone rang twice before it died completely. My father again, trying to convince me to come to dinner so we could play happy family in front of his new fiancée, who was the same age as me. Another woman trying to fill the role of my mother while looking more like a sister, or a distant cousin.
Once, he told me he kept doing this because he was lonely.
But I know he feeds his ego more than the hole my mother left behind when she died.
Part of me believes he does it out of guilt.
I found a note she wrote, explaining in detail how she caught him fucking one of the maids while I burned with a high fever and she was too busy taking care of me.
She wrote that she knew he had never loved her, that their marriage had been nothing more than an alliance between two families filling their own pockets.
But deep down, I know she loved him.
And she loved me.
Death ruins lives. The dead rest in peace while the living suffocate beneath their own guilt.
His punishment was being stuck with an arrogant asshole of a son like me. Mine was growing up with a father who couldn’t show affection or love, but never hesitated to throw money at me, raising me to become exactly what he was.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I guess we all came from the same rotten one.
Turns out I was always meant to be this way. Being an asshole was in my blood, a spiteful reflection of my own father.
He wanted me to take over the company, and I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. So I did what I knew best, drowning my sorrows in alcohol and women.
Living on the Amalfi Coast meant tourists were always coming to have fun, and fun happened to be my favorite thing.
The coastline stretched for miles, lined with sprawling villas, while the marina overflowed with yachts.
Almost every weekend, I rented one for a party everyone was desperate to get into.
My reputation as the rich fuckboy wasn’t exactly breaking news.
It was gossip everyone already knew, including the two women draped over each of my arms as I sank into the white leather sofa on my father’s yacht.
Both wore red sequined bikinis. Both were blonde, hot as hell, with faces similar enough to make me wonder if they were sisters.
Then again, that could’ve been the alcohol talking.
I laughed, my eyes half-open, catching a glimpse of someone weaving through the crowd before the blonde on my left shoved her tongue into my mouth. The music grew louder, the heavy bass buzzing in my ears. The speakers were close enough that I could feel the sofa vibrating beneath me.
“Oliver!”
A man’s voice cut through the music. Judging by the familiar tone, it could only be Gianni.
The blonde pulled away and leaned back against the sofa. Her palm settled on my chest before slowly trailing lower, stopping at my crotch.
I laughed, looking at Gianni.
“You finally made it.”
“Can we talk?” His eyes moved to the two women before settling back on me.
“Sure.” I draped an arm over each of their shoulders, giving him a clear signal that he could say whatever he wanted in front of them. Somewhere between the shots and the kisses they’d been stealing all afternoon, they’d mentioned they were flying back to Poland tomorrow morning at ten.
He didn’t budge.
“Alone?”
I shrugged, pushing out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.
“Ladies, how about the two of you take a walk to my cabin?”
They giggled and nodded. One took the other’s hand, and they slipped between the dancing bodies toward the cabin where my bedroom was.
I leaned to watch them disappear below deck, then let out a slow breath, biting the knuckles of my clenched fist as my eyes rolled.
“Do they look like sisters?” I asked, tilting my head.
“They’re twins,” Gianni said, resting a hand on my shoulder. He paused, then said. “Identical.”
I exhaled.
“You have to stop doing this,” he said. “You’re getting wasted every single day, and it’s starting to mess with your vision and your memory.”
“The more you talk, the more you sound like your sister.” I raised a brow.
He laughed. “She’d probably prefer seeing you like this,” he said with a chuckle. “Trust me, she’s nowhere near worried about you.”
“Does she know you’re here?” I asked. “Last time she called me, she threatened to call the cops for endangering human lives.”
“You?” He laughed. “With what? Your dick?”
I laughed too. “I told her if she was that concerned about me, I’d show her what a good boy I could be.” I chuckled. “She never called again.”
A burp escaped me, my stomach twisting.
“You’re disgusting,” he muttered, finally sitting down. “She’s right, though. You might not be endangering anyone else, but you’re sure as hell doing it to yourself.”
I waved the thought away.
At this point, even if I died and disappeared, no one would really care. They’d miss my money more than they’d miss me. It was one of the saddest, most pathetic truths I’d ever had to swallow.
Maybe I deserved it.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll stop.”
I raised two fingers in a salute.
“For you,” I whispered, kissing his cheek. “Bro.”
He shoved me away, scrubbing at his cheek with a look of disgust. Gianni was too Italian, too proud to let his best friend kiss him on the cheek. I was too British to care.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, getting to his feet.
As he pulled his hand from mine, the back of it caught me square in the right eye.
“1Cazzo! Man, are you alright?” His expression shifted the second he saw me squeezing my eye shut, the sting already spreading from the accidental hit.
I just laughed, pressing a hand over it.
“It’s just an eye,” I said. “God was gracious enough to give me two. I’ll survive.”
He shook his head with a weary sigh.
Just as he straightened to his full height, a man in a leather jacket approached.
His black hair was slicked back, and the sharp scent of cheap cologne mixed with the alcohol in the air, turning my stomach.
I’d seen him a few times with Gianni before, but he’d never told me his name. Just that he was someone he knew.
The moment Gianni noticed him, his whole body stiffened. The easy grin vanished.
“Dante,” he said, forcing out a nervous chuckle. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see if we’re good for tonight.” He laughed, a crooked smirk pulling at both corners of his mouth.
Gianni nodded.
“I just had to see my friend before I leave.”
“Alright,” the man said. “The boss said we have to be there in ten minutes, so you’d better hurry.” He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair before disappearing into the crowd in the middle of the yacht.
“Who is that guy?” I asked, grabbing Gianni by the wrist. “If you’re in trouble and need money, just say it. I’ll deal with it.”
My brows pulled together as I searched his face.
“We both know things with your father aren’t exactly great, and I can deal with this myself,” he said.
“This job is the one, Oliver.” His eyes lit up.
“I’ll finally have enough to send my sister to college and…
” He trailed off before a small smile crept onto his face.
“Enough for Isabella and me to get far away from here.”
“If you need money,” I said, reaching into the pocket of my white linen pants.
“No.” He stopped me with a shake of his head. “I can do this on my own.”
He sighed, pulled a key from his pocket, and placed it in my hand.
“Can you keep this for me?” He smacked his lips together. “I’ll come back for it in the morning.”
I nodded and slipped the key into my pocket. My whole body still swayed with the alcohol, the deck rocking beneath me or maybe it was just me.
He patted my shoulder a few more times before getting up and walking over to Dante. They laughed, clapped each other on the back like old friends.
Even drunk, I knew Dante was bad news.
My eyelids grew heavier. Instead of getting up, I rested my head against the back of the sofa and stared at the night sky. The stars blurred together as everything around me spun. Even after I closed my eyes, the world refused to stop turning.
Sleep came quickly, but it wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory from when I was ten years old.
I woke up by myself this morning. My feet touched the wooden floor, and my chest tightened, like my body already knew something was wrong. It was so quiet, and the house was never quiet.
At first, I thought everyone had left and forgotten me, but then I remembered it was Sunday. No one worked on Sundays here.
My stomach rumbled. Mom made pancakes every Sunday, so I decided to wake her up. My parents had slept in separate rooms for a long time, and Mom’s room was close to mine. I tiptoed toward it.
The door was unlocked, and the window stood open. Chills crept over my hands and feet, while the rest of my body stayed warm beneath my pajamas.
Mom was still asleep.
I stepped closer. The lamp was still on, and there was a letter lying beneath it, but I ignored it. I walked to the bed and gently shook her shoulders, trying to wake her.
“Mommy,” I whispered. “Wake up.”
She didn’t even flinch.
Her skin felt cold beneath my fingers, and she looked paler than usual, but I didn’t give up. I wanted those pancakes so badly. No one made them like Mom.
“Mommy, Mommy,” I tried again. “Please wake up.”
She didn’t wake up.
I took two steps back from the bed and walked around to the other side. I climbed onto it and crawled toward her, then lay down on her chest. The moment my cheek touched her cold skin, I realized I couldn’t hear her heartbeat.
Something was wrong.
I gasped, scrambled off the bed, and ran through the door.
“Mommy isn’t waking up!” I shouted. “Can someone come?”
I ran to my father’s bedroom, but it was empty. The bed was neatly made, as if no one had slept in it. I hurried downstairs, hoping to find someone, but the house was empty.
My mind went blank.
All I could think about was holding Mommy. I wasn’t thinking about pancakes anymore. I wasn’t thinking about waking her up. I just wanted to be with her.