44. Savio
CHAPTER 44
Savio
THREE YEARS LATER
Piano Sonata in B minor - Franz Liszt, Krystian Zimerman
T he first time I heard them screwing in the barn, I let it go.
Hell, I’d been young once, and even in my fifties, Andrea and I fuck in there when the house is overflowing with teenagers and we need some space.
But, on this occasion, it’s different?—
“Eric! Stop!”
When our farmhand doesn’t stop, when the woman cries out again, every single one of my protective instincts stirs to life.
I stride in, ready to strangle the bastard with my bare hands, but I immediately realize I got the wrong end of the stick.
The woman’s cry morphs into laughter as she twists on the hay, hissing and hopping—I think her foot fell asleep.
Either way, I get the hell out of there.
But I don’t forget.
Something in my brain doesn’t let me.
So I monitor him.
Days pass, and Roman flies through his homeschooling tests, surpassing his age group by two whole grades.
Arabella breaks her arm by falling off the gymnastics set we bought her, which I proceed to toss out despite both my daughters’ pleas.
Thiya stuns the entire family by playing Liszt’s Sonata in B minor off the top of her head—all thirty minutes of it.
Andrea and I go skinny dipping no less than three times.
Somehow, we end up taking in three parrots because an elderly neighbor had to move into an assisted living facility.
Andrea’s suspicions about the paper girl being bullied by someone on her route are confirmed when she has to quit thanks to a dislocated shoulder and the police come to take her statement.
Andrea even disappears for two days because Junia, Paolo Lorenzo’s wife, contacted her out of the blue and asked if she wanted to attend her niece’s wedding in Vegas.
Amid the chaos that is life with my wife, I hear about a girl in town who was raped.
Eric Roberts’ name gets whispered around.
And I know .
I have no proof.
But I know.
Only when he’s pleading for mercy, on his knees, his face a bloody mess do I wake up from the trance I fell into once realization struck.
And even then, it’s because a hand brushes my spine.
Immediately, I know that touch.
I tense.
Guilt spearing me.
Until she croons, “Leave him, Savio. Let’s go inside.”
Automatically, I take a step back.
But it’s hard.
Putain , it’s hard.
I want to kill him. I want to strangle him. I want to?—
“He raped a girl,” I rasp.
“Leave him to the police. Once they jail him, the prisoners will make him pay for his sins.”
“He could have hurt Thiya or Arabella,” I croak, ignoring the farmhand’s denials as he sobs through bloodshot eyes.
Her fingers clutch at my shirt. “But he didn’t.”
No.
He could have.
That’s enough to earn my hatred.
Shit like this hits differently when you have a daughter. Never mind two .
“I swear I didn’t touch your kids, man. I swear. I swear. Jessie was asking for it?—”
“Be quiet,” Andrea hisses, the words spat with such vitriol that Eric cringes. “Do you want to die today?” When he sobs, shoulders heaving with them, she asks me softly, “Did we hear our cue?”
The shudder that rattles down my spine has me taking another step back.
“No.”
My bruised and battered knuckles curl into fists, but not with the intention of continuing to beat this asshole black and blue.
With a soft hum, Andrea nuzzles her nose into the bicep that’s bulging from exertion, then steps over to Eric. She kicks him in the balls. Once. Then looms above him and murmurs, “Eric, I expect you to confess to the police.”
“You— He?—”
She ignores him and, in a singsong voice, promises, “If you tell the police that Savio hurt you, I’ll tell them that you hurt me .” Her smile is angelic though her words aren’t. “I’m sure you know what their reaction would be to the town’s local celebrity being assaulted by you…”
His throat bobs as he scuttles backward on his knees then scampers off.
She doesn’t watch him go. I do . Loathing boils in my blood and the urge to finish what I started chokes me.
“He doesn’t deserve to live,” I growl.
She returns to my side, tugs on my elbow, and leads me over to the washing station where she cleans me up in silence.
Then, when my hands are no longer covered in Eric’s blood, she cups my chin. “He didn’t hurt our girls.”
“He could have. Don’t you get it, Andrea? He could have dragged them in here and?—”
“But he didn’t. They’d have told us.”
“Someone’s Thiya suffered?—”
“And he’ll pay for his sins.”
Breathing heavily, I close my eyes. My rage refuses to abate so I slam my hand into my abdomen. My old scar, the one she gave me, gives me the release I need when agony spears me quite literally in the gut.
But not for long—she snags my wrist, nails digging into my forearm to stop me. Before I know what’s happening, her mouth is on my knuckles, and when she pulls back, her lips are anointed with my blood like some fucked-up lipstick.
“Don’t ever do that in front of me,” she snarls, the words in stark contrast to her actions. “I know you hurt yourself. I’d do anything in my power to stop it. You won’t and I understand. But do not do it in front of me,” she repeats, the words softer now when she can see she has my full attention.
“I want to kill him,” I grind out.
“‘Only God can help me now.’ You promised.”
I rub the back of my neck with my free hand. “I did.”
She’d made me vow that I wouldn’t act without hearing those words.
“You do not break your vows to me,” she commands, her statement all the more powerful for the red staining her lips…
Eyes locked on them, I tip up my chin. “I know.”
“Good.” She leans on tiptoe and presses our mouths together. I can taste me . It shudders through my system. The brutal side of my soul is appeased as she rubs our tongues together, pushing me backward until I’m pinned to the barn wall.
“What— EW!”
Arabella’s shriek has us jerking apart like we’ve been stung with a cattle prod.
Hand patting her hair, Andrea clears her throat. “What’s wrong?”
“You two were kissing,” Arabella whines, while Lola cackles—Diana and her kids live with us now.
She turns to shoot me a look that promises ‘later’ and then guides our daughter and her best friend to the house, bickering with her all while Lola stirs the pot with comments about K. I. S. S. I. N. G. and cooties.
As I watch two-fifths of my entire universe walk into our home, I rub my chin.
She doesn’t know how close I came to breaking my vow to her.
And she never will.