Chapter 21 #2
“Cristo, Silas. Get off me,” Giovanni shouted, his voice muffled as he was doubled over, facing the floor.
“Open the door, Anna,” Silas called.
“Darling, don’t you think—” Anna tried, but Silas was getting impatient.
“Open the god-damned door!” Silas yelled, stamping his boot, and Anna rushed to do so, careful not to let go of Beatrice’s arm.
“I will put you out myself if I have to,” Silas spat, dragging Giovanni into the hallway. Beatrice could hear Giovanni responding with a string of angry Italian and Silas retorting likewise as they struggled down the corridor towards the stairs.
“Gio!” Beatrice called after him. “Gio!”
“Stop, Beatrice,” Anna commanded, grabbing Beatrice’s shoulders and staring at her intensely. “You must let Silas do what he needs to do, you must let him calm down?—”
“Calm down? What if he kills him first?” Beatrice exploded.
“It won’t come to that,” Anna said soothingly. “They are men, they just need to fight it out.”
“Won’t it?” Beatrice shook her head and wrenched her arm from her sister’s grip. “You think Silas is incapable of such violence when he is angered? You forget what I have seen him do.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrows at Anna and watched realization dawn on Anna’s face. Beatrice was talking about her father’s death.
“He didn’t do that lightly,” Anna said determinedly, her eyes blazing in defense of her husband. “He was only trying to save you.”
“What do you think he’s doing now?” Beatrice demanded, pulling on her shoes and tying her housecoat. “Our father murdered our mother and beat us, and Silas struck him dead. Do you think Lucifer has less punishment in mind for the man he thinks has ruined his sister?”
Anna’s eyes widened at the use of her husband’s dangerous moniker.
“He loves you, Bea,” she said earnestly. “That is all.”
“Well, so does Giovanni,” Beatrice replied breathlessly. “And more importantly, I love him. I won’t lose him now.”
“Beatrice, wait!”
But Beatrice couldn’t wait. She ran out of the bedroom, chasing the sound of angry shouts that floated through the house. She ran into Georgia, who was hurrying towards her with a red, tear-stained face.
“Oh, miss, it’s such a brawl!” Georgia gasped, “in front of everyone, too!”
“Keep Master Caleb away,” Beatrice commanded, sending Georgia running down the corridor with her skirts hitched up. The last thing they needed right now was the poor child seeing the two men he loved most in the world trying to beat the living daylights out of one another.
“You scoundrel!”
Beatrice swept up her own skirts and ran breathlessly to the balcony overlooking the grand entrance hall.
Silas and Giovanni were at the bottom of the grand staircase, circling each other like boxers.
It didn’t look good. Giovanni’s lip was bloody, and a purple bruise was beginning to swell up on his eye.
Silas had removed his waistcoat and was rolling up his shirt sleeves, a predatory look in his eyes.
“Do I have to beat you senseless myself and then throw you out?” Silas demanded. “Or will you behave like a gentleman and take your leave?”
“Of course, I will happily take my leave,” Giovanni inclined his head with a mocking bow. “Provided I am permitted to take my wife with me.”
“She is not your wife!” Silas swung at Giovanni and Beatrice winced, relieved when Giovanni dodged it effectively.
He had been rattled up in Beatrice’s bedroom, but when she looked into his face now, she saw the same cunning and ease she had seen all those years ago in the boy of seventeen.
Silas seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“The street brawler never really goes away, does he?” Silas taunted. “I was foolish to think there was anything more to you.”
“We are more than our beginnings. We are what we make ourselves,” Giovanni said, his dancing footwork allowing him to jump back from Silas’s wild swing. “You taught me that.”
“I did not teach it to you so you could misuse my sister,” Silas snarled.
This time he did not swing wide. His fist met Giovanni’s jaw with a sickening crack.
Beatrice winced and covered her mouth. She was afraid to speak, afraid to intervene.
She was worried that if she distracted Giovanni, she risked him getting even more hurt.
Giovanni was reeling from the blow but struggled back to his feet, breathing heavily and massaging his face.
“I did not misuse her,” Giovanni said, circling Silas cautiously. “I love her. I have always loved her.”
“Like a brother, you said!” Silas shouted. “What kind of fraternal love is this, you Italian bastard?”
“I was wrong to say that,” Giovanni reddened at Silas’s words and his fists shook slightly, but he spoke calmly. Beatrice could see it was taking all of his strength not to lash out at Silas. “I was afraid of telling you the truth—I have known I loved her since she became a woman.”
“I should have known better than to trust a rake like you,” Silas sneered, taking a wild swing. “You were just waiting, weren’t you, for the moment she came of age?”
That seemed to be too much of an insult for Giovanni.
“I couldn’t have known, Silas!” Giovanni shouted. “How could I predict I would fall in love with the woman she became?”
“Why does he not strike Silas?” Beatrice turned to her left to see Anna at her elbow, looking down on the fight with her hands clenched tightly on the banister.
Beatrice could see how worried she was and felt a flicker of pity for her sister amidst her own fear.
She covered one of Anna’s hands with her own.
“Because he does not want to hurt him,” Beatrice said reassuringly. “Giovanni never wanted that.”
Anna looked at her intently as if searching her eyes for the truth. Beatrice knew she had not been as honest as she should have been with her sister.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anna asked softly, as they watched the men they loved circle one another, tossing insults. “We could have avoided all of this.”
“Because I was afraid. So was Giovanni. With good reason, it seems.”
Silas delivered a heavy blow to Giovanni’s abdomen as if to prove her point, causing him to cough and splutter.
“If you think by letting me beat you senseless that I shall tire of my thirst for your blood, you are sorely mistaken,” Silas growled, pushing Giovanni away so that he stumbled. “You have betrayed me, and no amount of punches will make up for it.”
“Cristo, Silas,” Giovanni coughed. “Do I need to be dead on your doorstep before you believe I will not leave Beatrice behind?”
“Not even your death would make me believe a word from your mouth,” Silas yelled, throwing another punch. This one landed on Giovanni’s nose with an ugly crunch and he fell down, sputtering as blood spurted from his nose.
“Gio!” Beatrice shouted, rushing down the stairs towards him.
“Get out,” Silas commanded, standing over Giovanni threateningly. “Take your blood with you.”
Despite being unable to speak for the blood flooding out of his nose and down into his mouth, Giovanni shook his head, refusing to move.
“I said get out!”
“Gio,” Beatrice reached his side, collapsing onto the floor beside him and pressing a handkerchief to his face, his blood spilling all over her. “It’s all right, my love.”
“Step aside, Beatrice,” Silas commanded above her. “If I have to knock him unconscious to throw him out the door, I will.”
“Enough, Silas!” Beatrice shouted, standing up to face her brother, protecting Giovanni from his wrath. “Stop it!”
“You don’t understand, Beatrice,” Silas glowered down at her. “He and I, we are done. He betrayed my trust. I never want to see him again. He can die in the gutter for all I care.”
“Then you shall never see me again,” Beatrice declared boldly. “Is that what you want? Where he goes, I go. I will follow him to the ends of the earth, to die in the gutter beside him if need be.”
Behind her, she felt Giovanni fumbling at her side to grasp her hand, squeezing it in silent gratitude. Beatrice took a deep breath and stared into her brother’s eyes, finding the strength to say what she needed.
“He is my choice, Silas. What will yours be?”
Silas stared at her. Silence fell. It was broken only a moment later by the sound of the front door closing and quiet steps entering the entranceway.
A man stood there. He was older, certainly dignified, and he held a cane and hat in one hand.
The other hand held a bunch of yellowing letters that looked strangely familiar to the letter Giovanni had from his mother.
The man stared at them in open-mouthed surprise, then his eyes found Giovanni, face a mess of blood and bruises.
“What have you done to my son?” The man cried, his staff dropping to the floor.