“So, what is it with him?” I asked in a dull voice. “I mean, I know he’s fucked up in the head, obviously. But why does he lock himself in here?”
Enzo was quiet for so long, I didn’t think he was going to answer. And when he did, his voice was carefully controlled, but there was a flare of raw pain in his eyes for his friend. “Tristan was abused by Gino when he was a child.”
Gino was one of the men who did those things to him? An acidic taste filled my mouth.
“I’m sure you’ve seen his scars by now?”
I nodded. “Some of them.”
“Well, there’re more on the inside—alotmore—that he keeps hidden. He doesn’t even know that I’m aware of what happened to him. Luca, too. But we let T keep his secrets. We don’t want him to feel ashamed for things that happened when he was too young to stop it.”
“Whatdidhappen to him, exactly?”
He dropped his eyes to the floor, dark lashes shielding them from my view. “Gino raped him when he was a child,” he finally said. “More than once.” He met my horrified stare. "Many times, actually."
Holyshit.
Enzo pulled his sunglasses out of his inside coat pocket and put them on, hiding himself from me again. “It was the only thing that got any kind of real reaction out of him. The physical torture was something he quickly learned how to block out. But not that.” Restless now, he approached the cell and wound his hands around the bars in front of him until his knuckles went white. “When he was a child, he was kept in a cell much like this one. Iron bars. Hard floor. Cold. One blanket, not as nice as that one.” He paused, and though I couldn’t see what was going on behindthe dark glasses he wore, I could hear the compassion he felt for his friend in his voice. “Gino didn’t have a key to the cell. Only Luigi, Luca’s father, had that key.”
I was beginning to understand. “So he was…safe when he was in his cell.”
“Yes. Luigi only pulled him out during specific hours of the day to go through histraining.” I could hear the disgust in his voice now. However, it quickly changed to pride when he spoke again. “But Tristan was strong. Stronger than any of them knew. And he would fight them. He’d fight them so hard that Gino, who was in charge of all of that shit, would feel like Tristan needed to be reminded that he was nothing to them. That his life, his feelings, meant nothing. He 'put him in his place,' I heard him say once.” His upper lip lifted in a sneer, and his voice was thick with disgust. “And his place, according to Gino, was underneath him.”
Bile rose in my throat. “That’s why he doesn’t like to be touched.”
Enzo nodded. “We’re not sure what exactly triggered that repulsion—the physical abuse, the sexual abuse, or both—but it’s the way he’s been since he got out of there and came to work for Luca.”
“How old was he when this was happening? And where the hell were his parents?”
“He was six or seven when he first went to live at Luigi’s. T was given to him by his father, who was one of the capos. I’m not sure of the details of that transaction. The physical portion of his training lasted until he was a teenager. The abuse from Gino stopped as soon as Tristan was big enough to fight him off. And by that time, Tristan had gone from being a shy, skinny kid toa killing machine that couldn’t be stopped by threats or even bullets. Nothing scared him anymore. I’ve seen him step right in front of a gun to protect Luca without a second’s hesitation. I’ve seen him chase someone down with multiple bullet wounds. He doesn’t think about what he’s doing. He doesn’t get scared. He doesn’t feel anything. He just does what he was created to do. What he’s told.” He cocked his head, and I could feel his eyes studying me behind the dark glasses. “Until you.”
“I’m not sure how I should feel about that,” I said, my throat thick with tears for the little boy Tristan had once been. I understood what it was like to have your body used by men. How it made you disassociate, because you couldn’t stand the feel of your own skin.
“I didn't tell you all this so you could feel sorry for him,” he told me. “I’m telling you this to help you understand, because I don’t think Tristan would ever try to explain, or if he’d even be able to. And to ask you to have a little patience with him.”
I wasn’t a completely cold-hearted bitch. I had plenty of empathy for the man, knowing what I did now. But I couldn’t promise anything else, so I didn’t respond.
Enzo cleared his throat and took a few steps back from the cell, pulling his composure around him like a shield. “Do you need anything? Other than clothes? I’ll talk to Tristan when he gets back, or see if Sera has something you could borrow.”
“I would appreciate that.” I tried, and failed, to keep the sarcasm from my voice. I knew I’d gotten myself into this by not screaming the first time he’d shown up in my room. By making that bet against Gino to begin with and living up to my word. Not that I would’ve had a choice. Knowing what I know now, I’m sureif I’d tried to back out, Gino would’ve just taken me and locked me away, too. I'd be in the same situation I'm in now.
And just like Tristan, no one would’ve tried to stop him.
CHAPTER 5
Tristan
Luna was curled up in the corner of the cell when I returned. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, and the blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her long, dark hair was confined in a thick braid that fell over her shoulder, but the ends were unravelling without a tie. Her head rested against the wall, her eyes closed. But I could tell she wasn’t sleeping. Her face was too tense.
I was glad she wasn’t waiting for me with her questions. It gave me a few seconds to take her in and enjoy her, the way I did when I snuck into her room and watched her sleep. “I brought you a few things.”
She gave no indication at all that she’d heard me.
Taking the keys from my pocket, I kept my eyes on her while I opened the door and slid the duffle bag I’d brought her into the cell before closing and locking it again. I wasn't ready for any more contact. Not yet. “I couldn’t bring everything, so I only took what I thought you’d be most comfortable in.”
Nothing.
“Are you upset with me because of the way I left earlier?” I tried to think of a way I could explain to her. “I’m sorry…”
