34. Andrea
CHAPTER 34
Andrea
FOUR DAYS LATER
Maybe Tomorrow - Stereophonics
W hen you’re in love with a man who was literally tortured, it diminishes your ability to say that the time spent away from the love of your life is that .
It might feel like torture to me, but I’d never undermine what Savio went through by saying it out loud to him.
It’s why I hover outside his church every morning, just waiting for a glimpse of him from the coffee shop across the street.
On the fourth morning, for the fourth time, I don’t see him, but I do notice a woman rushing from the front door of Santa Cecilia. I recognize her—she had lingering bruises on her cheek the morning I met Savio. That pedophile bastard, Lorenzo, had struck the fear of God into her before she disappeared from the chapel.
Today, those lingering bruises are back in full force.
The itch on my shoulders where my wings are has me jerking to my feet. My recently ordered espresso goes flying, but I leave some cash to cover the mess and my bill before I rush onto the street.
When the usual white spots begin their waltz around the periphery of my vision, I heave a sigh, but she’s getting away.
This is Lorenzo’s wife.
Their niece is his victim.
She is his victim.
Every Watcher bone in my body pushes me onward until I reach her side.
The state of my breathing is shocking, but when I grasp onto her arm and tug her to a halt, she jerks in surprise at the sight of me.
“Are you well? Do you need an ambulance?”
Apparently, I look as shitty as I feel. Still, I play on it: “C-Can you help me sit down, please?”
She blinks in surprise but shuffles me over to a nearby bench and does as I ask. “Do you need water?”
Bobbing my head, I tuck my hand into my pocket and shove some euros at her. “P-Please.”
She disappears with the cash and returns five minutes later with three bottles in hand and a bunch of change, which she drops on my lap before twisting the cap on one for me.
“You need to be more careful, dear,” she chides as she holds the bottle to my lips. “Not everyone can be trusted with money.”
With my breathing settled and the eye-waltz finally at an end, I take a deep sigh and shift on the bench. “I can’t thank you enough.” I pass her an unopened water. “Have one. Please.”
She accepts but studies me over it as she takes a sip too. “You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you learn Italian?”
“We were almost based here at one point when I was a child, so my mother prepared me for that.”
That’s Mom—always prepared.
She studies the fond smile on my lips before admitting, “I recognize you. From the church. Padre was…”
“Staring at me?” I don’t enjoy lying, but it’s required now: “He’s a fan.” Not a full lie…
“A fan?”
“I’m an author.”
“Truly?” A wistful sigh escapes her when I nod. “Once upon a time, I used to want to write stories.”
“It isn’t too late. That’s the joy of writing.” It’s now or never… “I had a friend, once upon a time , whose husband would leave bruises like those on her cheeks…” As expected, she freezes. “He ended up murdering her.”
“I-I had better go,” she mumbles, gathering her things together and surging to her feet.
Before she can, I snag her hand, look straight into her eyes, and whisper, “What if I could help you get away from him?”
She releases a bark of laughter. “There’s no ‘getting away.’ Til death do us part…”
“You don’t have to divorce him to escape him. You’re not the only person he hurts.”
Her brow instantly furrows. Unlike Diana’s mother, who was complicit in her abuse, this woman straightens her shoulders before perching on the edge of the bench. “Who are you?”
“Someone who is concerned for you and your niece.”
There’s no way I can tell her my source, but I don’t think I’ll need to.
Her head whips around to face me, eyes wide, lips parted with horror. “My niece?”
Slowly, I nod.
“He… hurts her?”
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
Her mouth tenses. “You think I’d let him?—”
I study the bottle in my hand. “Some would.”
“I didn’t. My God, she’s only a child.” Her throat bobs as she presses her fingers to her trembling lips. “Barely fifteen. He…?”
“Yes,” I answer her silent question. When a sob escapes her, I assure her, “I can help you.”
“Both of us? She lives with us. God, I?—”
“Both of you.”
“I’ll kill him,” she growls, switching from a meek mouse to a furious lioness, determined to protect her cub. “She’s lost her parents, and now this? I’ll, I’ll, I-I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something!”
I grimace at her, thinking of how I’d disturbed Savio in the act of doing ‘something,’ and even as guilt fills me, I pat her knee. “Sometimes, the best form of revenge is to be happy.”
“What?!”
“He will be alone and miserable unless you go to the police…”
“They won’t do anything. His brother is one of them,” she sneers.
“Then we get you out. Move you somewhere else.”
“Who are you?” she demands again, more fire than before.
“Some of my friends call me their ange divine ,” I say with a husky laugh, but my tone turns somber as I vow, “I can help.”
“Is this a scam?”
“I have nothing to gain apart from the relief of knowing that two of my sisters in Christ will no longer be hurt by a man who is supposed to protect them from the world.”
My words comfort her.
Sagging into the bench, she cups her cheek. “He got out of the hospital and did this. Even when he’s weak, he’s as strong as a bear.”
I don’t have the same contacts I do in the US, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make this right. “You never have to see him again if you don’t want to. Is he working?”
“Yes. He works twelve-hour shifts, three days a week.”
“Then we have time.”
“We do?”
“Yes. You need to pack your things, and I need to get you out of Rome.”
“I-Is this really happening?” she breathes. “Please, tell me this isn’t a joke?”
The tears pricking her eyes begin to fall, and it isn’t my place, but I grab her hand and hold it in mine. “This is no joke. But we must act. Fast.”
She swallows. “Y-You’ll come with me to pack?”
“Of course.”
“I-I don’t even know your name,” she breathes.
“I’m Andrea.”
“Junia. I-It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I can’t do much for Savio right now, but this is a burden I can take away.
“No, Junia, the pleasure is all mine.”