2. Elio
2
ELIO
Then
I made it to the third day in Castel Amaro, when I knew I had to find a way to eat. The village was tiny, a speck on a map. I had caught a ride that far with a farmer. Hitching on the back of someone’s truck was easy enough. He’d caught me at a rest stop on the outskirts of the village and run me off with a shotgun.
So much for the countryside being friendlier than the city.
I was heading south. I needed to get the hell out of Napoli and the legacy my father had left me… son of a rat.
I wandered during the day, keeping out of sight of the locals, and slept in someone’s barn at night. There was a hole in the roof, and through it, I watched the stars.
I missed my home. Napoli. They called it the city of the seven castles, but I’d always think of it as the city of thieves. It stole your heart, while its inhabitants stole everything else. Well, at least they had in my neighborhood.
My father had worked for a local Mafia and done a shit job of it. When he went down, he’d rolled over and sang like a birdie for the local police and made it impossible to stay in the city. Then the family he’d ratted on got to him and he’d joined my mother in the dirt. There was only me and my little sister, Giada, left. The state sent her to stay with some distant relatives they’d dug up from somewhere, whereas me? I was on my own. I was old enough to take care of myself and answer for my old man’s crimes… I couldn’t have stayed in the city. That life, and everyone I’d ever known, was over for me.
It was better that Giada was with family right now. They could at least feed her. She could sort out the rest herself. She might be small, but she was mighty. Once I was settled somewhere, had a job and a way to support her, I’d steal her out of her bedroom one night. The Santori siblings belonged together.
The aroma of roasted lamb threaded through the air, making my stomach cramp painfully. Fuck, I was hungry. I’d been hungry before. Since our patriarch was arrested and then died in prison for being a rat, there had been more than enough nights when I’d gone to sleep starving. Somehow, caring for my sis had pushed the mundane needs of the body out of my head. Today, I had nothing to distract me from the certain knowledge that if I didn’t get something to eat today, tomorrow, walking, stealing, or just standing upright would be a challenge.
The church bells rang overhead. It was Sunday, and the locals of Castel Amaro were out in full force for church and lunch, and passeggiata . It was the time to see and be seen, and I had my eye on someone in particular.
There was a family in town that was miles above the others in terms of wealth. An older, distinguished-looking man, and a younger man who could be his son, or even grandson.
Lifting one of their wallets would ensure a full belly for more than a few nights.
I waited until the men retired to the bar inside the restaurant where they’d just eaten a lavish lunch, and when one went to the bathroom, I made my move.
It was a tiny taverna , and the bathroom hall was cramped. I peeked into the bathroom through a crack in the door. My mark smoked a cigarette at the window, leaning on the sill and talking on the phone in a rapid stream of English.
His cigarettes and lighter were perched on top of his wallet behind him, beside the sink.
My first stroke of luck in years. Maybe ever.
Pushing the old door open only as far as I needed to snake my arm in, I reached for the wallet.
I moved slowly. Rushing caused mistakes. Holding my nerve for the endless amount of time it took to reach out and grab the soft leather felt impossible, but somehow, I managed it. It wasn’t like pickpocketing clueless tourists in Piazza Garibaldi. It was quiet here, and there was nowhere to run if the man turned around.
I gripped the wallet, tilting it so the cigarette pack and lighter slid off quietly. There was a small clatter, but the man was talking so loudly he didn’t hear. I retracted my arm, my whole body sweating. Gently, I pulled my arm through the gap in the door and let it fall shut.
I’d done it.
Somehow, I’d done it.
“What are you doing?” The voice just beside me sent my hands flying up defensively.
“Hey!” the person exclaimed as my fist met soft skin.
A young woman stood in front of me, her hands on her slim hips, glaring up at me.
Her cheek was red where I’d hit her to shove her back.
Crap. I’d smacked a girl?
“You hit me!” she cried.
Before I knew what I was doing, I clamped a hand over her mouth and maneuvered her into the ladies’ room.
She fought me, scratching my wrists and biting my fingers, like a wildcat in a sack.
“Shh, stop! I didn’t mean to hit you, it was an accident,” I whispered in her ear.
She continued to fight, so I held her firmer and gave her a shake. She was breathing hard, and her high, firm breasts were pressing into my forearm. It was distracting.
“Listen. It was an accident, okay? I thought you were about to hit me, so I hit you first… I’m sorry,” I hissed.
I had her pressed against the door, her body bucking into mine. Her face was trapped by my hand, and her huge dark eyes were glaring up at me, pure fury in their depths. At my words, some of the fight went out of that fiery glare. She sighed.
After a moment, she relaxed and mouthed a question behind my fingers. Gingerly, I freed her lips.
“An accident?” she repeated. Her voice was husky like she’d injured her throat through screaming against my hand. Her lips were full and dark red. My touch had slightly smudged her lipstick.
“An accident. I’d never hit a woman on purpose,” I told her firmly.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “If it was an accident, then you’ll let me hit you back to even the score.”
I blinked at her. What the hell?
“I don’t have time for your little game,” I snapped at her and tried to step past.
“Leave and I’ll scream that you stole Ren’s wallet,” she countered.
I stilled and frowned at her, grinding my teeth.
She smirked and tilted her head back, resting it on the door. “Didn’t you know that’s who you were stealing from? You got a death wish, or are you just clueless?”
“I was actually trying not to die, but thanks for the information,” I said roughly. Fuck. Who the hell had I messed with? Maybe I could still put the wallet back.
“Why were you going to die?” the girl asked.
She was pretty. Now that I took a second to notice, she was uncommonly beautiful. If we were caught alone, explaining that I was only trying to get away from her would be hard to believe. With her lush body, tousled hair, and smudged lipstick, who would believe I’d been able to keep my hands off such a temptation? She could cause me more than a headache.
I took a deep breath and blurted out the truth. “Not eating for nearly a week tends to have that effect,” I muttered and looked toward the window in the ladies’ room. That should be my escape route.
“You’ve not eaten in a week?” she exclaimed and then peered at me closer, a thorough up-and-down inspection. “Are you homeless?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Why? Is that a crime too here in your perfect town?”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not an answer. You smell like you’re homeless.”
“That was the cattle truck,” I fired back.
She opened her pretty pink mouth to say something else, no doubt something that would piss me off, just as the ladies’ room door slammed open and a hand reached inside and grabbed me.
“Here’s the thief, right here. Georgia, did he hurt you?”
The guy she’d called Ren was studying her carefully. She narrowed her eyes at me. I waited for her to tell the man that I’d hit her. Her cheek was still red.
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t touch me.”
I stared open-mouthed at the girl as the man pulled me out of the bathroom and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, kid, you’re coming with me.”
I sat on the soft leather seat of a town car, staring hard out the window and wondering how the fuck I was going to get out of this one. A man sat beside me. One of the men from the restaurant. Not the rich one and his son. His driver had addressed him as Signore Procuratore. Mr. Prosecutor.
My mama, God rest her tired soul, had always said I was born under an unlucky star. Every single day, the fucking universe proved her right.
The car pulled to a smooth stop outside a squat building painted a faded light blue, jerking me from my moody silence.
Carabinieri .
The local police office. I’d managed to escape Napoli and the people who wanted to hurt me and spit on my traitor father’s grave, just to be arrested in the fucking countryside. There wasn’t a soul in the world with the ability or means to come bail me out. I’d rot in there.
I clenched my hands tightly into fists on my thighs as I considered fighting my way out of the car and making a run for it. My stomach growled, a sense of nervous anticipation running through my thoughts.
“Hungry?” a gruff voice said from beside me.
The prosecutor was watching me carefully.
I shrugged and turned away, putting a hand on the door. I didn’t need this fucker gloating. I tried the handle. It was locked.
I looked back at the man.
He was staring at my tattered jeans and sneakers, one of which was held together with string.
“Did you run away from home?”
I snorted softly. “Run away? How old do you think I am?”
He mirrored my shrug from before. “It’s hard to tell. You’re tall but skinny… underfed. You’ve got swagger and confidence… but the eyes, they tell a different story. You’re hard to place, and you’re old enough to get arrested, I suppose. You fucked around with the wrong person. The De Sanctis family aren’t people to cross.”
My face drained of color, and sudden nausea hit me like a punch. I’d just tried to rob a De Sanctis? The De Sanctis family was infamous in Italy. I’d never seen any of them in person… not until today.
“You’re lucky that they’ve let me deal with your sentencing.”
I glanced meaningfully at the police station. “Yeah, really lucky.”
The man watched me for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”
“A prosecutor, I guess.”
The man nodded. “I’m not just the prosecutor, but the moral compass of Castel Amaro. Mercy is a good look for a man like me… I’m thinking of running for office in a few years.”
“Weren’t you having lunch with the De Sanctis men?” I pointed out.
The prosecutor smirked and nodded. “Indeed. I love the law, but it doesn’t pay like it ought to. A man can’t be blamed for supplementing. I have staff to pay and a daughter to support.”
I shrugged again, unsure where this man was going with his confession.
“You don’t care that the prosecutor was having lunch with a mob boss?” he wondered idly.
I shook my head. “That’s your business, not mine. I just need to eat something.”
The prosecutor chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder.
“I like you, kid. You’re a survivor. Scrappy… I like that. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you a chance to pay off your transgression. Here is your sentence: Don’t go to jail, work for me. I need a new stable boy. You can sleep in the barn. It’s still warm enough. You can eat from my kitchen, except dinners, that’s for me and Georgia.”
I turned to face the man who held my future in his hands, trying not to show my pathetic hope.
“Just shovel horse shit, that’s it? What’s the catch?”
The prosecutor shook his head. “No catch. Work for me, do what I say without question… within working hours, and you get room and board. We got a deal, kid?”
Do what I say without question? That remark alone had my hackles rising, but I couldn’t afford to refuse. I could run away easier from some bougie house than a jail cell.
“Deal.”
The man smiled with satisfaction. He nodded to the driver, and the car started again, carrying us away from the police station.
“I’m Alfredo. Alfredo Bellisario. I run this town, unless Salvatore De Sanctis is visiting his country house,” he chuckled.
“You’re friends?” I ventured. I wanted to find out a little about this mercurial man who’d spared me an uncomfortable night on a bench in a cell.
“Old, old friends. Sal grew up around here, before he started the family business. He scratches my back, and I scratch his. Don’t worry about the wallet. I’ll tell them we’ve come to an agreement.”
The car stopped, pulling in behind an apple-red Mini. The door was opening, and someone was emerging.
The driver exited to let Alfredo out. I opened my own door; I didn’t think the new stable boy merited the chauffeur opening his door for him. My feet sank into the gravel of the driveway, and I peered across the impressive forecourt at a pale terra-cotta villa surrounded by fig trees. Shit. This place was nice. Well, clearly it was nice if they had stables, but still, I’d never set foot in a house this nice.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck. God, it was hot. I hadn’t washed in days. I felt disgusting in that moment. Starved and reckless, dirty and desperate.
That was when I saw her.
The girl from the restaurant.
The prosecutor’s daughter. Of course it was her.
She shut the door of the red Mini and stared at me, raising an elegant eyebrow before sliding on huge sunglasses, shielding her eyes from me. She glanced over at her father, who was deep in conversation with a man who seemed to be the gardener, from his uniform.
She walked across the gravel. She had red heels on and a white dress with printed cherries scattered across it.
“I thought you’d been arrested,” she said. Even her voice was beautiful. Deep and smoky, older than her years.
I shoved a hand through my unruly dark waves and hoped I didn’t look as dirty as I felt.
“Yeah, well, your dad realized he needed a hand around here, and I was more than happy to oblige.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to be working here?”
“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” I said.
She tossed her hair back over a shiny brown shoulder. “They haven’t. Nothing ever happens around here. You’ll see. I give it a week and you’ll be wishing you were arrested because you’re dying of boredom.”
“I don’t know, I like boredom. I think it’s underappreciated, and besides…” I let my gaze drop down to her slender ankles, up her bare legs, and over her body, meeting her gaze again, wishing I could see her eyes. “I think living here will be plenty interesting.”
“Is that right?” Her red-tinted lips tilted at the corner. “What’s your name?”
“Elio. Elio Santori. And yours is Georgia.”
A slow smile spread over her beautiful mouth. “And you know that, how?”
“I heard it at the restaurant.”
“Interested, were you?” she teased.
I chuckled and shrugged. “Just curious about the girl who lied for me. The prosecutor’s daughter. I don’t know if your daddy would approve.”
She sighed, and I had the feeling she’d just rolled her eyes.
She crossed her arms over her chest, and I stepped closer. Her father was still occupied, and I’d be damned if I didn’t want to smell the lemon and lavender clean scent of this girl again. It was surprisingly addictive.
She watched me come closer and wet her lips. Was she nervous? Her little pink tongue darting out and swiping over her full red lips sent my blood pumping downward.
“So, Elio, for the sun god? What are you named for?” she asked, a hint of nerves in her voice. Ms. Confident could be flustered, too, then. That was interesting.
I tutted and shook my head. I had reached her. I leaned a hand on the back of her car, the metal hot under my palm, and shoved the other into my jeans pocket. A denim handcuff to keep me from touching something that would get me fired before I’d even worked a day.
The prosecutor’s daughter.
“No, my mother didn’t hold with the Greeks. She was a superstitious woman, and her gut instincts were never wrong. She named me Elio for the Latin… alius .”
Georgia considered that, tilting her regal head an inch as she mulled over the word.
“ Alius ? Other. Different… right?” she finally asked.
I nodded. “Clever girl,” I murmured, genuinely impressed.
Few bothered studying the classics anymore; fuck knew I certainly hadn’t. But Georgia was a Renaissance woman. The whole package. Beauty, brains, and moxie.
I was a fucking goner.
Then a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.
“Georgia, darling, time to go and study. I’ll show Elio around the place. You two needn’t interact much. In fact, you’ll hardly know he’s here.”
Georgia nodded, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
I watched her walk into the house, and her father watched me watch her.
“Lay so much as a fingertip on her, and I’ll make you wish I’d dropped you off at the police station.”
I glanced at him.
His jovial face was serious.
“My daughter is forbidden. Touching her means a fate worse than death for a punk like you… got it?”
I swallowed the knot of anger and resentment in my throat and forced myself to nod.
“I hear you. She’s off-limits. That’s the rule,” I muttered.
Alfredo nodded, patting my back consolingly.
He didn’t know I’d never been very good at following rules.