Was it even her? Is she alive? Or is she sitting somewhere right now, waiting for a daughter who flew across an ocean and never made it to the door? Is Frank there with her? Is he hurting her right now for not getting me back?
Mom… I swore I’d come back to save you. I swear I’ll find my way back to you. I’m just a little delayed. That’s all.
I make it to the bed before my legs give out, and I pull my knees to my chest and let the tears I've been holding come pouring out. They’re hard and ugly and I don’t care who hears anymore. I press my face into the pillow and scream as I let seven years of a broken promise come out in long, ragged cries that sound like they’re being pulled from deep inside of me.
I cry until there's nothing left.
And when I’ve run out of tears to cry, I feel something unexpected brushing against my cheek.
Blinking through a haze of tears, I look up and realize that the window is open to let in a gentle breeze.
7
NICO
I'm still standingunder the pergola when Giorgia comes outside.
She doesn't say anything at first. Just crosses over to the small table near the door and straightens a vase that doesn't need straightening. I watch her do it in silence as I wait for her to finish and come to me.
"She's crying,principino," Giorgia says.
She hasn’t called me that nickname–little prince–since that night when I was nine. I reach up involuntarily to feel the scar on my face.
"She'll be alright," I say.
Giorgia looks at me. In all these years, she has perfected an expression that wins her an entire argument against me without ever uttering a single word.
"That girl’s been holding herself together since before she walked out of her room,” she says. "That dress didn't fit, Nicolas.She put it on anyway and she stood there and she said what she was told to say."
I say nothing.
"She's scared," Giorgia continues. "And she is furious. And she has no idea where she is or who to trust or whether anyone in this house will ever be on her side." She pauses to let me take in the weight of her words. "Why are you so intent on making her hate you?"
"Mother hated father, didn't she?"
Giorgia puts the vase down harder than either of us expects. “And are you your father, Nicolas?"
Question of my fucking life.
I have been asking one version or the other of that question every damn day, and it’s only ever become more frequent after I put a bullet in his head.
And I still haven’t been able to find a satisfying answer.
"His blood flows in my veins.” I decide. “His defects, too."
"You didn't belong only to your father,principino."
"There's no room for love in this family, Giorgia.” I sigh. “You know that. Every D'Ambrosio who dared to think otherwise had it beaten out of them. Or worse."
She sighs. “Your father is gone now. Don’t let his ghost haunt you for the rest of your life.”
I drag a hand across the back of my neck.
Lydia is up there crying because of me. How am I anything other than my father’s son?
"She doesn't need me up there," I say.
"No, not right now, she doesn’t," Giorgia agrees. "But that doesn't mean you get to stand down here and pretend like you’re not breaking her heart."