“Not near death.Dead.Matthew died that night. Cold and alone. He’d been dumped there by his so-called friends to be collected like garbage. Master saved me. He rechristened me Giovanni Ricci, and that is who I am now, Master’sschiavoand Sir’s boy.”
The pathways in Giovanni’s mind are winding indeed.
“And who was it who died on that bench, princess?”
His eyes are downcast, staring at his slender hand enveloped by my own. “Matthew Aponte III.”
Aponte, as in the Aponte family business? The crime syndicate my brother devoted his life to running and eventually dismantled because there was no living heir? Matthew II was murdered, so this must be the grandson. That explains Giovanni’s pedigree and his wealth, as well as the reason why Valentin had to hide his identity. Their bond began when Giovanni was just a child. No wonder Giovanni’s devotion to my brother is so absolute.
“Valentin never told me,” I say, an important bit of information he should have shared.
“Why would he?” Giovanni asks as if I don’t have the right to know.
“You lied to me, Giovanni. You both did.”
“You cannot hold the slave responsible for the actions of his Master,” Giovanni says huffily, and though my first instinct is to argue back, tomakehim understand, that is not the way with Giovanni. He is difficult and proud. Like a distrustful horse, he must be led to water with gentle words and praise.
“I don’t want there to be secrets between us, princess. How can I care for you and protect you if I don’t know who you are?”
“I am Giovanni. That’s all you need to know. Matthew was stolen, held captive by his mother, raped, then raped again by the people he thought he could trust. Matthew is dead!”
He starts to sway, the start of an episode I fear, and we are nowhere near his box, not that I would put him in it unless I absolutely had to. I pull him into my arms and move with him, gently back and forth, as if it were the ocean rocking us to sleep. I smooth the hair from his face and kiss his temple. “Breathe, my sweet baby boy.” I take a deep inhale and release it in an exaggerated way. Eventually, his breathing returns to normal, and his eyes become focused again. “How’s that?” I ask.
“Better, Sir, thank you.”
I give him a few more minutes to recover, then press on with the conversation. “I don’t want to hurt you or force you to confront painful memories from your past, but I need to know some things. You are here in my homeland, surrounded by my people, my culture. You know my language better than me. My mother loves you as her own son, you’ve sailed on my boat and seen the pictures of my family all around us.” I point to the various ones framed on my shelves and mounted on the walls. “What is the biggest fish I ever caught?”
“A bluefin tuna.”
“And how big was it?”
“One hundred, fifty centimeters.”
“It was 155 centimeters,” I correct. “My appeal to you, princess, is that I do not hide myself from you, and I don’t want you to hide yourself from me. You have to let me in, and you must be honest with me. That is the only way this will work.”
“And what if I’m not?” he asks, pulling away to stare up at me with a quiet resolve.
“What do you mean?”
“If I lie to you, what will you do? Will you force me to leave?”
“Never,” I assure him.
“Will you beat me?”
“I wouldn’t do that either.”
“Then what will you do, Sir? How will you enforce your rules? And what happens when I disobey?”
This is not just his curiosity; this is Giovanni testing my dominance and the boundaries I’ve set.
“You are asking to be disciplined?”
He nods, his expression grave. “More than just disciplined, Sir, I need to be punished.”
A few days later,I ask Giovanni to take me for a ride in the pretty red convertible my brother bought him for his last birthday. Since Valentin’s death, it’s been sitting in the garage, gathering dust. After showing him how to jump-start the dead battery, check the oil, and put more air in the tires, I settle in beside him in the passenger seat with the top down. I now know that these gifts were my brother’s way of expressing his love to his beloved boy and not an attempt to buy his affection. But I am a jealous, possessive man, never having had to share my belongings or my lovers, and at the time, when I could not have afforded such extravagant gifts, it felt like a slap in the face.
But here we are, enjoying a breezy afternoon in the most beautiful place in the world, my boy and me. Giovanni’s hair is down, golden waves undulating in the breeze, and he is smiling.
