In the background, female voices were shouting.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Giorgia came by with the kids; she has a date and wants them out of the house. She wants them to spend the night at Mamma’s, but Mamma isn’t well. Penny told her she can’t just dump them here.”
“She’s saying this in front of Davide and Gemma?”
Fuck. That was the last thing they needed.
“It isn’t Penny’s fault,” Orlanda defended. “I told you, it’s been a lot.”
“Tell Penelope to shut her mouth! Tell Giorgia to leave. I’ll come and get them.”
“But you’re working.”
“Not now, I’m not. Tell them I’m on my way.”
—
Valerio heard raised voices as he walked along the landing, towards his mother’s apartment.
“You’ve never liked me,” Giorgia’s voice rang out. “You hated me from the first day we met. You were jealous of me then, and now you’re even more jealous!”
“Oh, get over yourself!” Penny scoffed. “Why the hell should I be jealous of you?”
Giorgia’s voice: “Look in the mirror sometime.”
Penny again: “You’re right, I never liked you. That’s because I know what you are: a spoiled, delusional bitch. My brother was too good for you, but he’s an idiot and never saw you properly.”
“Shut up, both of you!” screamed Orlanda.
The door opened and Davide stormed through, slamming it behind him, his face a mask of disgust. He crossed to the iron railing and leaned heavily on it. Then he turned and saw his father, and Valerio watched something wrestling in his expression.
Thirteen years old, Davide was nearly as tall as Valerio, voice deepening as he raced out of childhood. He’d always been such a funny kid—quiet and shy, intensely interested in music and football and extreme sports. He’d recently started to notice girls, and took painful care to douse himself in body spray, and to comb and gel his hair into a rigid crest. Easily embarrassed in front of his friends, he kept his distance from Valerio in public, telegraphing disinterest. But there was the tender child in him still, the little boy who had bad dreams and cried out for his babbo. This was the face Valerio saw now: the core of unshielded loneliness and grief. Valerio rapidly closed the distance to his son, and pulled him in close.
The feel of Davide in his arms was almost too much to tolerate.Valerio’s throat was tight with the pain of love, the image in his mind of a young body broken and bloodied in front of Poggioreale.
“Go get your sister,” he said. “You’re coming home with me.”
—
Valerio’s anger towards his sisters and ex-wife came out as revulsion. He couldn’t stand to look at them.
Giorgia, in a skintight black dress and heels, hair curled and draped down her back, trailed behind as he marched through the apartment.
“If I’d known you would take them, I would have called…but you never have time for us! You can’t just expect my life to stop—”
Valerio gave her a look and she shut up.
His mother sat in her armchair, a vacant expression on her face, the rosary clutched in her hand. He kissed her on the head before leaving.
—
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the city center, the kids dipping in and out of the shops on Via Toledo. On another day, Valerio would have left them on their own. But he didn’t want them out of his sight.
There was one diversion: Sonia called, asking for the passport Nikki had given him, so he dragged Davide and Gemma to the police station to drop it off.
For dinner, Valerio took the kids to Cosimo’s pizzeria, then, afterwards, back to his place. They were sitting together on the sofa, watching a superhero movie, when there was a knock at the door.
