Chapter 13 #3
“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Please thank her for me.” It wasn’t her fault that I was a hostage.
“Will do.” He folded the tablet’s cover into a stand and placed it on the table, positioning it so we could both see the screen. “As requested, Mr. di Pietro, we’ve located your uncle. Here he is.” He tapped a window, and an empty chair appeared on the screen.
We could hear the sounds of a struggle. A moment later, a big, beefy guy dragged a man in a leather jacket into the frame and pushed him into the chair. The man cussed and fought him and tried to get back up. Then a guy wielding a gun appeared, so he scowled and sat back down.
The guy with the gun pointed at the camera and said, “Talk to your nephew.”
The man looked confused, blinking a few times before asking, “Sal? Are you there?” I’d assumed he could see us, but apparently not.
Salvatore replied with a curt, “Yes.”
His uncle started speaking in rapid-fire Italian, but Fitzpatrick cut in by saying, “In English please, Mr. Bianchi.”
Bianchi asked, “Are you alright, Sal? Are they mistreating you?”
“Don’t pretend you care about me,” Salvatore said flatly. “The only reason Ashcroft was able to track me down is because you gave him my name.”
“They forced it out of me. I couldn’t help it!”
“As a matter of fact,” Fitzpatrick interjected, “he gave us the names of his entire crew within minutes of being brought in for questioning. He probably hoped my employer would go easier on him if he cooperated.”
“I’m sorry, Sal,” his uncle started to say. “I was only—”
“Thinking of yourself, same as usual. I don’t care about that. I just need you to answer one question.” Salvatore took a breath, and then he shocked me by saying, “I want to know if you killed my parents.”
Fitzpatrick murmured, “Interesting.”
Bianchi’s eyes darted around the room, as if he was looking for a way out. After a moment, Fitzpatrick prompted him by saying, “I suggest you answer the question. You know how much my employer, Mr. Ashcroft, values cooperation.”
Salvatore’s uncle started to fidget. Maybe to buy himself some time, he asked, “Who told you that, Sal?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Bianchi’s voice rose. “Whoever told you is a liar! Why would I do such a thing?”
Salvatore’s voice turned into a low growl. “To isolate me and get me to come work for you. I was fifteen years old when my parents died, Flavio. Fifteen, and you used me. You exploited my abilities in order to fill your pockets.”
“I made you rich, too! I didn’t keep all the profits for myself, and I never forced you to do anything! You helped me willingly.”
“What choice did I have? I thought I needed you. I barely knew my relatives in the US, or in Sicily. You told me I couldn’t count on them, because they were untrustworthy.
You took me out of Rome, away from everything I knew.
You put me in a position where I had to depend on you for food, and clothing, and a roof over my head.
You manipulated me and made me feel like I owed you! ”
His uncle snapped, “I didn’t hear you complaining when the money started rolling in. You certainly enjoyed buying yourself designer clothes, and expensive trinkets, and dining at the finest restaurants.”
“I never cared about the money, not like you did, and I never would have helped you if I’d known you killed my parents! They were good people. They were kind to you! How could you do something like that?”
“I didn’t kill them! I swear it on my life, Sal. But I’m not sorry they’re dead. We both know they would have held you back if they’d lived. You’d be nothing now, a penniless bum like your father.”
Salvatore yelled something in Italian, leapt up, and threw the tablet across the room. He was shaking with rage as he turned away from us and pushed back his hair with both hands.
I stood up slowly and looked at Fitzpatrick. I expected him to be angry, but his response was simply, “Oh, dear.”
Salvatore took a few deep breaths, and after a moment, he muttered, “Sorry about the tablet.”
Fitzpatrick shrugged. “No bother, it’s easily replaceable. Would you like my men to continue questioning your uncle, or are you satisfied with his reply?”
Salvatore was quiet for a few moments before saying, “I don’t think he killed my parents. He’s a lot of things, but I don’t really believe he’s a murderer.”
Fitzpatrick crossed the room and retrieved the cracked tablet as he said, “Even so, you’re clearly owed some payback after everything Bianchi did to you. Shall I instruct my men to rough him up a bit before cutting him loose?”
Salvatore shook his head.
“In that case, I’ll bid you good night, gentlemen.” Fitzpatrick gave us a little bow before leaving the room.
Salvatore’s back was still to me. His hands were shaking, so he balled them into fists.
I started to reach out to try to comfort him, but he headed for the door and said, “I’m going back to work.
The sooner I finish, the sooner we can get out of here.
Now that I know Ashcroft let my uncle live, there’s every reason to believe he’ll let us go once the job is done. ”
After he left the room, I sat back down, pushed my plate away, and exhaled slowly.
I understood Salvatore so much better now. It was easy to see how he’d gotten involved in something illegal. But I didn’t understand why he’d felt the need to hide all of this from me. If he’d explained it, I wouldn’t have held it against him.
Not that I would have expected him to lead off with it.
This wasn’t the kind of thing you told someone you just met.
But he’d chosen to keep me in the dark for days, and weeks, and months, even though we kept growing closer.
That was the truly upsetting part. I’d thought we were building something special, but he wasn’t being honest with me.
And yes, I fully understood that we’d agreed to lie to each other about our past, but we’d had very different motives for that.
I didn’t want to talk about all the ways I felt like a failure, because it was embarrassing.
But in his case, he’d chosen not to tell me about a huge part of his life, and about something that could—and had—very literally put me in danger.
I wouldn’t have done anything differently if I’d known. I still would have wanted to be with him. But he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth.