Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Just as I’m locking up after the last customer has left, my phone buzzes in my jeans back pocket. I grimace, having had enough late-night calls lately.
Taking it out, I glance at the screen. To my relief, it’s not the police again or a hospital, but Bernie, the owner of the bar where Roberto frequently nurtures his alcohol problem.
Am I going to hell for hoping he is calling to tell me Roberto has drunk himself to death?
I answer the call. “Bernie,” I greet. “What’s up?”
“Roberto is causing trouble again,” he states, and I curse quietly.
“What happened?” I ask, heading to the back of the bar and my locker.
“He got blackout drunk again and started making a scene outside the bar. I tried to get him back inside, but he wouldn’t listen. Someone called the cops, and now they’re threatening to take him in. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep them at bay, Carolina.”
“On my way,” I respond, hanging up.
“Cindy!” I call out toward Donny’s office, where she’s been hiding out all night. “Could you take care of closing, please? There’s an emergency,” I say, pulling on my jacket.
“Again? All right, but you owe me twice now,” she says.
I roll my eyes but manage to shout a quick “Thanks!” before heading out through the bar’s back door.
Roberto could rot in the drunk tank forever for all I care, but his arrest could cause serious complications. Chiara might end up in foster care, and my chances of getting her back would be slim to non-existent. My situation hasn’t improved since the last time they rejected me.
Josh fiddles with the radio while I drive through Harlem, trying to find a station that doesn’t play country music. He only manages to make it worse.
“Stop that shit. Are you nervous?” I quickly glance at him before returning my focus to the road.
“No. It just feels too quiet, I guess,” he responds.
I nod. Tonight is unusually calm. During our recent late shifts, we’ve made it a point to request the patrols near or in Harlem.
Neither of us would admit it, but ever since we saw how Carolina lived, we both felt a need to ensure the streets around her house were secure.
The fact that I’m driving around her neighborhood again confirms what I’ve desperately tried to deny.
I care about this girl.
I’m not entirely sure in which way yet, but I care enough to want to personally ensure her safety at night. That’s more than I’ve ever felt for any woman except Sophia.
Fuck.
As I think about this fuck-up, I notice movement to my right. Turning to see what it is, I spot a black ponytail swinging as a girl sprints down the street.
“Is that…” Josh starts, seeing the same thing.
“It is. Is someone chasing her?” I quickly scan the street from where she came from, but there’s no one in sight.
“No, it looks like she’s running toward something. Follow her,” Josh says.
I’m already doing so, but I step on the gas to keep pace with her. “Why is she running at this hour?” I ask, but he’s bracing himself against his seat belt, ready to spring out of the car if necessary.
We tail her around a corner, only to see another police car parked in front of a bar.
Two cops are confronting a middle-aged man, and Carolina doesn’t slow down until she’s standing protectively in front of him.
Her chest heaves, and she is panting hard, but her arms are outstretched in a stop motion.
It’s odd. The shortest woman I know always ends up in front of others, attempting to shield them.
“Which officers are they?” I ask, trying to make out the faces of the policemen.
“Taylor and Del Moro,” Josh answers with a grimace.
“Fuck, let’s go.”
We exit the car and approach the tense standoff. The guy who seems to be the bar’s owner stands nervously at the entrance, his eyes darting between our colleagues and Carolina.
“I’ve got him now. There’s no need to take him in. I promise to get him home safely,” Carolina says, her voice steady, still panting slightly.
“I don’t think so,” Taylor responds. “He’s caused a lot of trouble and is a risk to everyone around him. We need to take him in.”
Del Moro, meanwhile, smirks cruelly at Carolina.
“Look at him…” she motions over her shoulder, “… I’ll have to practically drag him home. He’s in no condition to hurt anyone but himself, and I promise to make sure he won’t do that. You’re done here. Thank you for your service.”
I suppress a smile at her sassy tone, but Taylor remains unfazed and reaches for his handcuffs.
“No.” Carolina’s eyes fill with panic as she turns to Del Moro. “Martin, please,” she says, clearly struggling with the fact she has to plead with him, but he merely grins.
“Rules are rules, Costa.”
And enough is enough.
I walk over and place a hand on Del Moro’s shoulder. “Indeed, my friend. And the rules do state that if there’s a reliable person to ensure an individual can sober up safely, we don’t need to take them in.”
He shakes my hand off. “He disturbed the peace in this bar. We have to arrest him for that.”
I look over to the bar owner. “For that, the owner would need to press charges. Are you pressing charges?”
He seems much more relaxed now, leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “Absolutely not.” He smiles smugly.
I turn back to Del Moro. “See, no need to bring out your fancy handcuffs. You can leave now, rookie.”
Del Moro shoots me a glare, then turns back to Carolina. “Trash, the whole fucking family,” he spits out before muttering to Taylor, “Let’s go.”
They climb into their car and drive off. I watch them until they’re out of sight, then turn back to the remaining group. During the confrontation, Josh moved closer to Carolina, who now regards me with a cold, apathetic gaze.
“You know, I’m always ready to accept your gratitude,” I joke, hoping to ease the tension.
She bites her cheek before managing a stiff, “Thanks.”
That definitely didn’t lighten the mood as I’d hoped.
“Are you okay?” Josh asks.
I look at her more closely. Her cheeks are pink, either from the cold or from running. Her hair is tousled, her ponytail barely hanging on, and an apron is tied under the leather jacket she’s left open.
Did she work this late again?
She had classes today and also spent hours working with Sophia. Does this woman ever sleep?
“I’m fine,” she says curtly before turning to the man. “Let’s get you home.”
She attempts to guide him, but he slurs, “No! I want another drink, pig!”
My eyes meet Josh’s, who’s already watching me.
Carolina snaps at the man, “Stai zitto, non voglio sentirlo, ci sono poliziotti qui!”
He slurs back, “I don… give a fuck.”
He tries to push her away but missteps and loses his balance. She takes the opportunity and slings an arm around his waist, looking fucking tiny next to him.
“We can help you get him home,” Josh offers.
She shakes her head and starts to walk with him. “No, thanks.”
Josh blocks their path, standing in front of them. “You can’t drag him home on your own.”
“Get out of the way,” she hisses at him, her face angry and her eyes brimming with embarrassment while she struggles to keep the man up. Then her gaze falls on Josh’s badge, and she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before whispering, “Please.”
I don’t think I’ve heard her ever say that word before, and now she has said it twice. Josh simply nods and steps aside, allowing them to pass.
We watch as Carolina tries to support the drunk, who stumbles over his own feet and is cussing her out the whole time as they move down the street.
“Is that her father?” I ask Josh, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s her uncle,” the bar owner says. “Her parents are dead.” My stomach drops at his words. “Do you guys know her?”
I glance at Josh.
“We do. We’re friends,” is all he shares.
“Then do me a favor and keep an eye on her, okay? That girl is a gem and doesn’t deserve the rough hand life dealt her,” he adds before nodding and retreating into his bar.
The weight of Roberto’s body presses heavily against me as I half-drag and half-carry him up the stairs to our apartment. Each step feels like a mountain, and the stench of alcohol on his breath is overwhelming.
I have to breathe through my mouth to avoid the smell.
“Come on, stronzo,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just a few more steps.”
Once inside, I manage to get him to his room, using every ounce of strength I have. I let him fall onto his bed, not caring how he lands.
I need to get away from him.
I head to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. The embarrassment of Clay and Josh witnessing, yet again, another sliver of my life threatens to bring tears to my eyes, but I blink them away.
A loaf of bread on the counter taunts me, and I consider making myself a sandwich, but a loud thump echoes from Roberto’s room, followed by his slurred shouting.
My heart sinks. I don’t want him to wake Chiara. Rushing to his room, I find him sprawled on the floor, having fallen out of bed.
“Oh, Dio, come on,” I say, trying to help him up.
It’s a struggle, but I manage to get him on his feet. When he stands, his eyes, clouded with anger and alcohol, lock onto mine.
“You thin… yer better tha… me?” he slurs.
I want to tell him to just go to sleep, but before I can open my mouth, he pulls his arm back and punches me. The force of the blow sends me reeling, and pain explodes in my temple. Stars immediately take over my vision as it blurs, and my body sways from the impact.
He stumbles back to bed, mumbling incoherently, and leaving me in a daze.
I drag myself to the bathroom, my head throbbing. I lock the door behind me and let myself slide to the floor. The cold tiles against my skin offer a slight relief from the pain, but the weight of the night presses heavily on my chest. I take a deep, shaky breath before I whisper to myself.
“Only two more years.”