4. BLUE
BLUE
It wasn’t until one in the afternoon that I finally stepped outside. The thought that Gianni might not be coming back—and that I had to find him by two—sent a wave of panic through my chest.
I remembered when we were younger. We would go to the port and light the lamp, hoping Dad would come back—that if he needed to find his way home, the light would guide him.
The part that breaks me is knowing that Dad crossed the ocean to find happiness away from me, and my brother, in search of his own happiness, lost his way home to me.
People always leave me. I got used to staying behind, holding a light in case they came back, hoping for a reason why they left. But the only thing I ever got were questions about why I was never enough.
It doesn’t change no matter how old you get. Years don’t change time; time changes you. But a hurt mind always stays the same—vulnerable.
The path I took to the port was the same one I had followed when I was five. The boat sirens sounded the same. The seagulls were still there. It was as if everything had been trapped in a single loop that never ended, yet I was the only one forced to live it all over again.
And yet again, everything has fallen onto my back.
The excuses and lies I used to cover for Gianni and his mistakes.
The chores I did for my mother so she could rest. And yet again, I forgot that I was only one person, leaving myself in last place, as usual, thinking someone would do the same for me. They never did.
I walked slowly, my eyes fixed on my sneakers before drifting toward the port.
The roads here were narrow and tightly curved, almost every stretch lined with a fence for extra safety.
People used to jump often, but the waves and tides made rescues too dangerous.
I always kept to the right side. Looking down at the sea without seeing the bottom left my muscles locked in place.
As long as I could make out what was beneath the surface, I was fine.
But the moment the water faded into its darkest shade of blue, panic came, filling my head with thoughts of what might be swimming beneath me.
So I stayed close to the stone houses on the right, where the road led me to the farmers’ market. The sharp scent of goat cheese mingled with rich olive oil, while a breeze carrying the fresh fragrance of citrus grew stronger with every step.
There is a saying, Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto.
And that’s exactly how people lived here, eating well, laughing a lot, loving even more.
Smiles were spread on every single face, laughing from the heart while they shared the food and bringing more people to try.
That’s what they believed love is. People.
Spending time with strangers can make you feel less lonely.
Chit-chat filled the air, bits and pieces of conversations drifting past me. Then a thin, fragile voice I almost didn’t recognize reached my ears.
“Gabriella,” a woman called. “What brings you here?”
I turned to face a tall brunette whose dark brown eyes reminded me of a doe’s.
Every time I saw her, she greeted me with a smile.
It was almost suspicious how one person could wear it so often.
Annie always said that was simply who she was, a ray of sunshine that drew people in without trying.
That’s how my brother fell in love with her.
Isabella was beautiful, the kind of person you looked at and wondered how both sides of her face could be so perfectly balanced that it hardly seemed real. But more importantly, she was good for Gianni.
“Hey,” I said. “I came…” I stepped closer, then glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “Have you seen Gianni?” I asked quietly.
Her brows pulled together. “Yes. Last night. Is everything alright?”
She looked calm, but panic tightened my chest until each breath felt shallow.
“I’m worried,” I said, forcing the words out. “He didn’t come home last night.”
“He mentioned he got a new job,” she said. “He was excited about it.” She reached for my trembling hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Let me call him. I’m sure he fell asleep after getting drunk with Sinclair.”
I swallowed hard, but the knot in my stomach only tightened. The feeling that something was wrong refused to leave, no matter how many times I told myself I was overthinking, just like I always did.
She walked back to her stand, where baskets of lemons and oranges were stacked in neat rows.
Behind them, she pulled out a large bag made from old ripped jeans, with little daisies and blue butterflies stitched across the fabric.
Digging through it, she found a flip phone covered in pink rhinestones and pressed the buttons to call Gianni.
After the second ring, the color drained from her face. She ended the call and tried again, but each time it rang unanswered.
“Did you try calling Oliver?” she asked, her voice beginning to shake. This didn’t feel like one of those usual moments when he’d just show up out of nowhere.
“He was the first person I called. He said they only spoke for a little while last night, and that was it.” My voice started to shake. “If he doesn’t show up by two p.m., we’ll have to go to the police.”
“No.” Her voice came out louder as she stepped closer. “We can’t. This job he did…”
I swallowed, my eyes locking with hers.
It could only mean one of two things. Either he was using again, or he was caught up in something connected to it. He’d promised he would never touch it again, never poison himself like that. But Gianni always did what Gianni wanted, and no one could stop him, not even himself.
Her gaze dropped to the ground. She placed her flip phone into my palm.
“Take this. We should wait until tonight. If he doesn’t show up, we can go to the police together.”
With my left hand, I covered the one holding the phone. My fingers brushed against hers.
“If he’s in any trouble, I have to know.”
She nodded.
“He isn’t. It’s just… this job he started. He wanted to keep it a secret until he knew he had it.”
She lied.
My heart was beating so fast. If I hadn’t said it a thousand times before, this time I was a hundred percent sure something was wrong. She knew it too. She knew whatever had happened could get even worse. I just couldn’t tell whether she was protecting herself or him.
Someone called her from behind.
An older man at the neighboring stand waved us over with his wrinkled hand. His white shirt was stained where cherry brandy had spilled across the table while two women stood beside it, trying to keep the bottles from tipping over.
She turned toward him and nodded, then looked back at me, her brows drawn together. Her face was already apologizing before she even said she had to go.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” she said. “My grandpa needs me.”
I should’ve let her go, but my thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone. I bit down on my tongue, then blurted out, louder than I meant to,
“Is he using again?”
The color drained from her face.
“No. No.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”
“He promised,” she silently added.
If she was trying to reassure me this was the truth, she was failing miserably.
But I think those words were more for her than for me.
I swallowed my response as she walked away.
My mind spiraled, every piece I tried to fit together refusing to lock into place.
The puzzle stayed unfinished, and I was left staring at an empty board.
Gianni and I always told each other everything.
Well, almost everything.
I never told him how much I despised Oliver, or what he did to make me hate him.
But I always knew he knew. He never told me how he and Isabella started dating, but I knew he asked her “wanna be my girlfriend?” question beneath the fireworks at the Light Festival in the summer of 2000.
No one knew they’d been dating for a full year, but I did, because Annie told me.
Everything else, though, everything about us, about the way pain found us, about how we were falling apart and sinking so deep we couldn’t see a way out, we carried together.
We promised each other that if one of us went, we would go together.
I know priorities change, but not with us. Our family was just the two of us.
Knowing he might be out there, in trouble, hurting, made my heart scream. It cracked into thousands of tiny pieces, and there was no one left to tell. Because he wasn’t here. Annie was miles away, and I was left with a landline that barely worked.
In a world full of people, I was just one person against the whole world.
He started using in high school. One of his friends offered him opioids, just for fun, and before anyone realized what was happening, it wasn’t him taking the drugs anymore. The drugs had taken him.
Oliver paid for rehab. He told us Gianni had been accepted into a student exchange program in London and would be back in a year.
Gianni asked him to lie. We only found out the truth when the rehab facility called my mother to tell her he’d tried to commit suicide.
Another thing I added to the list of reasons I hated Oliver.
But part of me knows that if I’d known, it would’ve been worse.
When Gianni got out, he met Isabella, and he traded one addiction for another. He became addicted to her. In some ways, they were the perfect couple. But as much as I loved him, and as much as she was good for him, he wasn’t good for her.
That kind of love was poison in its own way. We all knew it. Still, we wanted to be loved the way they loved each other.
My mother’s way, my father’s way, I didn’t believe in either of them. All I believed was that maybe, one day, I might find someone. But every day I prayed I’d never find a man like my father, and I prayed I’d never become like my mother.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even realize I’d wandered down to the marina.
My stomach churned as the smell of seafood reached the tip of my nose from the nearby restaurant, but my eyes settled on a white twenty-one-meter Maiora 20 Flybridge yacht taking up two berths in the port.
On it, across each side of the stern, navy-blue lettering spelled out name: Deep Blue.
Yachts like this were easy enough to charter if you had the money.
They sailed out of the harbor for days at a time, disappearing into the open sea before returning just long enough to unload their guests, refuel, and welcome the next ones aboard.
Today, though, something else caught my eye.
A large sign beside the ladder connecting the stone quay to the yacht read:
“Searching for new staff members. Cook and maid needed.”
Between Gianni and everything else racing through my head, the thought of stepping onto a yacht made my stomach tighten. The idea of nothing but miles of dark, open water beneath me sent panic creeping up my spine.
I shook my head as if I could throw the thought away and tried to back away from the marina. My eyes kept darting from one face to the next, searching for Gianni instead of watching where I was going.
Predictably, my heel caught on the uneven stone.
My arms flew out in a hopeless attempt to save myself. I staggered back two clumsy steps before hitting the ground with a sharp yelp.
“Seriously?” I muttered, brushing gravel from my palms. A groan slipped out as I rubbed the sting from one hand.
Somehow, I’d managed to trip over absolutely nothing.
Again.
A loud burst of laughter came from two men leaning against the wall, cigarettes between their fingers as they looked my way.
“What’s so funny?” I shouted.
My eyes met a pair of familiar green ones.
“You.” He raised a brow, pushed himself off the wall, and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I see you’re still learning how to walk.”
“And I see you still talk like you have a stick up your ass.”
His friend shoved his shoulder with a snort, trying and failing to hold back his laughter.
Oliver, of course. Asshole that he was.
He folded his arms across his chest, dropped the cigarette to the ground, and crushed it beneath the sole of his shoe.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll make you,” he said.
“Are we threatening women now?” I shot back.
“No,” he said evenly. “Just you.”
He straightened and walked towards me.
“I swear to God, B…” His jaw tightened. “Gabby,” he corrected himself. “Sometimes I want to wrap my hands around that thin neck of yours and…” He lifted his fists in the air, acting it out.
I swallowed.
“B… B…?” I mocked. “Did you forget the name of your best friend’s sister, or has ethanol eaten your brain?”
“No,” he said calmly.
“Do it.” I lifted a brow. “You’re already an expert at destroying the people around you. What’s one more person six feet underground?”
My heart hammered in my chest, but my mouth kept moving, spilling thoughts I’d buried for years. I watched his expression shift. The green in his eyes darkened.
His fingers curled into fists.
“I fucking hate you.” He stepped closer until only a breath separated us.
“I fucking hate that tongue of yours.” His voice dropped as he pressed the tip of his finger against my temple.
“I hate that you never fucking think before you speak.” His jaw clenched.
“I hate that I can’t snap that neck of yours because I care about Gianni. I wish I never fucking met you.”
He wished he’d never met me.
Why did it still hurt?
“I wish so too,” I said quietly. “And I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Fine.” He took a step back. “From now on, if we see each other, we go our separate ways.”
“Finally.” I let out a breath. “The only smart thing you’ve said in ten years.”
He scoffed, shoving past me.
“Thank God one of us can think for both of us.”
His friend hurried after him, trailing behind like a lost puppy as they headed towards the restaurant.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
For once, I wished I’d held my tongue. For once, I could’ve used him to find out more about Gianni. But my damn pride had been stronger than my need to find my brother.
Instead of hating Oliver, I hated myself.
Life always had some plan for me. And somehow, Oliver Sinclair was always standing in the way.