"Oh, I don't know which is yours, Damiano." She inspects each one carefully and then thrusts the red one toward him. "This one, I think."
"Good choice, Mamma." He gets up and takes it from her, cradling it his palm as if it’s something precious. "I'll treasure it."
We stay for another half hour, drifting from one topic to the next as Beatrice weaves her way through tangled memories. I get the sense Damiano wants to spend more time with her but it's obvious she's worn out so we rise to leave.
Beatrice pulls me in for another hug, this one weaker than the last.
"Take care of my boy. He'll need you. And tell Gabriele I understand."
Unsure what she means, I promise I'll do as she asks. Damiano kisses her cheeks and smooths her hair back from her face with aching tenderness.
The moment we get in the car, he becomes tense. He takes his phone from his pocket and calls someone. When he gets no answer he leaves a message.
"Gabriele, your time is running out. I swear on my fucking life if you don't call Mamma in the next seven days, I am going to burn you out of your house and drag you here to face her."
He ends the call and slumps against the seat, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he heaves in deep breaths. I reach over and place my hand on his. He pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. For once it’s not about desire or possession. He’s seeking comfort and I’m only too happy to give it.
"He was ambushed near his house in Rome," Damiano says after a long silence, and I realize it's Gabriele he's talking about. "Someone shoved a broken bottle in his face. The scarring, it's bad. He doesn't leave the house anymore."
"Your mother doesn't know?"
"No, she'd burn down Rome to find the man who did it to him."
It's hard to imagine that frail woman doing anything of the sort, but when she spoke about her sons I caught glimpses of a fierce love that might make her capable of anything.
"He's never been caught?"
Damiano lets out a sigh. "He fled the country but believe me, I'm still looking for him."
"Will it help?" I ask. "If you find him?"
"Probably not, but it's the only thing I can do to help my brother."
I smile sadly as I snuggle closer to him. Perhaps one day I'll show him that there's another way to help Gabriele, to free himself from the guilt he carries. For now, I say nothing and let him soothe himself with thoughts of revenge.
TWENTY
Damiano
In the weekssince we visited my mother, Violetta and I have settled into a comfortable rhythm, our days revolving around each other's. Though there's really no need for her to be up as early as I am every morning, she gets out of bed at the same time as me anyway.
While I take my shower, she uses the phone I bought her to scroll through gossip sites on the internet. She takes great delight in commenting on the frivolous purchases of the rich and famous, apparently unaware she could outspend most of them if she ever used the credit card I gave her.
She also calls both her mother and mine regularly. Thankfully, my brother finally got his head out of his ass and has called her several times since I threatened to burn his sanctuary to the ground. I guess once he broke the ice with Mamma he realized how much he missed talking to her.
When it's Violetta's turn to shower, I head downstairs to make sure Lina is preparing breakfast. She always is. It's only out of habit that I still check.
This morning when my wife comes to join me at the breakfast table, she's wearing a pretty green dress. It's my favorite color on her. It works well with her amber eyes.
Her hair is slicked back and slightly damp. I’ve grown accustomed to her different moods in the morning. If she reaches for the coffee before speaking it’s a bad sign. When she walks in humming quietly to herself it’s good.
This morning she’s giving a rendition of some song by Dua Lipa. She leans forward to examine the contents of the basket of pastries and consider her options. As always, she chooses the custard filled cornetto.
"I spoke to the admissions office at the university," I tell her. "The enrollment period opens in two weeks but I've taken care of your fees. You just need to decide which courses you want to study."
Violetta sets down her pastry, her movement slow and deliberate in a way that puts me on alert.
"You did what?" she demands, her tone sharp. "I was going to do that myself."
