She poured olive oil into her pan and fried eggs with oregano and chilli flakes. Then she dunked the sliced bread in the pan and fried that too, like she had when he was little.
The world seemed to stick its feet in treacle. Time stopped, then retreated, and Benito was six years old again. Gianna didn’t exist, and it was just him, Rosetta, and his dad eating breakfast on a Sunday morning—the only day of the week Victor Martell hadn’t got up at the crack of dawn and left for work before Benito was awake.
Numb, Benito sat at the same battered kitchen table and stared at the same plate of food.
Rosetta nudged him. “Eat. I can’t do much for you anymore, but I can do this.”
Benito ate, clearing his plate slower than his growling stomach wanted to, while he watched Rosetta flit around her kitchen. She seemed different, somehow, though he couldn’t say how. Christ, she wasn’t even dressed, let alone close to functioning like anyone’s mother, but for the first time in years, it felt like she was. “You’ll be offering to do my washing next.” In his head, he uttered the words flatly. Out loud, his tone was warm, surprising Rosetta as much as himself.
She brought him a mug of coffee. “I... I could do that for you, if you needed me to.”
“I was joking, Mum. I don’t need you to wash my clothes.”
“Oh well. Okay. I’m just saying that I could. Maybe if you left them outside?”
Benito pushed his plate away, a familiar frown replacing any semblance of good humour. “I don’t understand. If you don’t want me to come in anymore, just say so. I only have a key to keep Gianna safe.”
“It’s not that. Ilikethat you have a key now. It’s—”
“What? You’re not making any fucking sense.”
He regretted snapping as soon as the words left his mouth, but Rosetta didn’t flinch. She pulled out a chair, sat beside Benito, and folded her hands on the table. “It’s easier for me if I don’t know you’re coming. Like today. I didn’t have time to be afraid. It’s the waiting, you see, that makes me that way.”
Benito processed, turning the explanation over in his mind until it made some kind of sense. He thought of the big raid his contact in Asa’s crew had turned him onto just a few hours ago. How the anticipation was killing him and he’d hit itright nowif he could.
He thought of Mickey too, and the wild butterflies in his belly each time he drove to meet him. Sometimes he thoughtthatmight kill him, but it was the sweetest pain.
Focus.He looked at Rosetta again. “Thank you for telling me,” he said slowly. “I’ve never thought about it like that. I can try and come by at less obvious times, if that helps.”
Rosetta’s hesitant smile turned wry. “My boy, you never do anything obvious. It’s what makes you so formidable.”
A bitter laugh escaped Benito before he could catch it. “That’s a big word I don’t deserve, but thanks.”
He drained his coffee and stood, taking his plate to the sink and washing it on autopilot. Roberto had been the scuzziest human to live with, but he’d always been quick to punish Benito for not completing his chores fast enough. If Benito thought too hard, he could still feel the heel of Roberto’s hand hitting his temple.
So don’t think about it.
Mickey was the quickest remedy. Benito thought of the last time they’d been together, leaning against his car as Benito had walked to his own. It had been raining and windy, but Mickey didn’t seem to feel the cold. He was solid warmth, in every fucking sense, and with damp hair? Man. Benito couldn’t cope.
He turned from the sink to find Rosetta watching him. “What?”
“I was speaking,” she said. “You didn’t hear me. Is something on your mind?”
“What were you saying?”
“I was saying that I told the housing officer what I told you. He said he’ll surprise me next time he comes. I like him, Beni. He’s a nice boy.
“He’s a grown man, Mum.”
“Is he? I thought he was younger than you.”
“He could be eight years younger than me and still be a man.”
“Oh. Yes. I suppose he could be.” Rosetta reached around Benito and took his plate from the rack.
She dried it and put it away.
Benito took it as his cue to leave. He snagged his keys from the table and drifted to the door, but his feet seemed to drag with every step.
Rosetta followed him into the hallway. For a moment, Benito thought—perhaps even feared—she might hug him.
She didn’t.