Page 85 of Safe Word

Reaching for my phone again, I scrolled to Vinnie’s number. He always had a knack for picking up things others couldn’t, and if anyone could give me insight without prying too much, it was him. I tapped his name, but before it could connect, the screen lit up with an incoming call.

I groaned when I saw the name. A familiar, feminine voice grated in my head before I even answered.

‘Cain,’ Bianca’s voice exploded with impatience the moment the line connected. Her Italian lilt added to the fierceness. ‘You need to tell Vinnie to call me. He’s not answering his phone again, and I need the numbers finalised for last week’s expenses. Unless you want your precious sales report to look like a toddler balanced the books?’

I sighed. ‘Buongiorno to you too, Bianca. Nice to hear your voice. How’s life?’

‘Don’t start with me,’ she snapped. ‘Vinnie’s avoiding me – again. Tell him to grow the fuck up, Cain. I need the damn receipts.’

‘I’ll pass the message along,’ I said dryly. ‘Though I think the last time I told Vinnie anything about accounts, he suggested throwing his phone into the Adriatic.’

She huffed loudly. ‘He would. He spends his time running his mouth about me but can’t even pick up a phone for ten seconds.’

‘You know you’re asking a lot,’ I said with a faint smirk. ‘Unless it’s marketing, coordination isn’t Vinnie’s strong suit, Bianca. You’ve seen him try to parallel park.’

That earned an involuntary laugh. ‘God, don’t remind me.’

‘Well, you were the one who married him,’ I pointed out, unable to resist.

She groaned. ‘And paid for his failed therapy, and divorced him. Key word: divorced.’

I forced a chuckle. Darkness sat too close between my temples for it to come out naturally. ‘You’re lucky he doesn’t have a direct line to this conversation. You’d be hearing about this for weeks.’

‘He would actually have to answer his fucking phone first,’ she retorted – but her voice softened, perhaps sensing I wasn’t really laughing. ‘So, tell him to stop hiding, and to send me the damn receipts for the last month.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, swivelling on the road. With a click, the call ended.

Shaking my head, I stared at the road. Vinnie and Bianca were like oil and fire – volatile as hell, always on the edge of combustion.

And yet they still circled each other.

Something about that hit that tender spot inside, like a pang of something odd I didn’t understand. Because five minutes ago, I had been staring down the man who’d taught me pain – and I’d learnt to bury feelings – good and bad. Now they were too many. Too raw. Too close.

Vinnie and his ex-wife had had a normal history, something to fight about. I wasn’t sure I had that kind of connection with anyone.

I’d been with women to get the edge off, and never with the same one twice. The moment the past, the future, or feelings threatened to erupt, I knew it would all take the dive. I couldn’t fucking deal with it.

I called my best friend, this time determined to drag him out for coffee. A quick text to Paula saying Vinnie and I had something scheduled, and that was the morning done.

The rest of the drive was spent in a fog of self-reflection.

The cracked asphalt stretched endlessly ahead, heat shimmering in waves like an open wound beneath the sun’s glare.

What the hell was I going to do about Ezio? I trusted him about as far as I could throw him.

He awakened something in me decades ago – a beast I thought I’d long since caged. I’d told myself I was heartless. Hollow. But if I’d been truly empty, I’d have fucking finished him. Back then, and every single time I’d gone to see him since.

Or, maybe, that beast thrived on something deeper and darker, watching his body writhe between life and death, plugged into all those machines.

I averted my gaze to the horizon. Summer was slowly creeping in with the whole of its oppressive atmosphere. Sunlight poured through the windscreen, warping the road ahead into a mirage.

It was only May, but it felt like August. Sweat clung to my neck, my shirt plastered to my back despite the AC fighting a losing battle.

At least the coffee here was strong enough to wake the dead.

The café I chose was tucked down a narrow side street – shade-drenched, whisper-quiet even if it was in the middle of Rome. The kind of place where secrets liked to settle.

Wrought-iron tables scattered across cobblestones beneath scalloped black awnings. The aroma of espresso bled into the scent of lavender drifting from the florist next door.