Page 3 of Killer Love

Everyone falls silent with shifting eyes, none of us willing to volunteer. There are plenty of fair ways to figure out who It will be, but I’d rather get this day over with.

I raise my hand. “I’ll do it.”

Enzo and Gio snicker, jutting their elbows into each other while Martino picks his nose.

“Cover your eyes and count to twenty,” Gio shouts at me. “No cheating!”

I turn around and place my forehead against the nearest tree. “One… two…”

I listen to their feet trample through the leaves and grass, splitting off in four different directions around me while I count out loud.

“Stay with me, Marty!” Enzo shouts, beckoning to his baby brother. “Don’t get lost…”

“Twelve… thirteen…”

Finally, their voices disappear into the wild.

“Nineteen…. twenty!”

I raise my head and turn around, breathing a quick sigh of relief. Now, I can explore this place on my own without the damn Zappia boys hanging around. I’m sure they’ll think me an idiot for not finding them, but I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what a damn Zappia thinks.

My feet take me deeper into the garden. I follow the stones along the path, my imagination clicking on as deep, deadly lakes of quicksand surround me. I balance with fast feet, hopping along while I listen to the soothing wind tossing the tree branches around above my head.

Quick movement rushes in front of me and I look up to find nothing and no one on the path but a color catches my eye. It waves at me from a bush a few meters away, flapping up and down as if to beckon me closer. I pause, enticed by the deep, red shade, and step off the path to find a ribbon twitching in the wind.

As I grab it, a face appears out of the shrub. I jolt backward, my breath catching in my throat, but I quickly realize that there’s no danger here.

It’s just a little girl.

“Hello…” I say, staring into her small, round face. She’s definitely Italian with her frail features and long, brown hair but her eyes sparkle in ways the others don’t.

She spins around and takes off through the grass, weaving between the trees with experience as if she planted them all herself.

I pause, unsure whether to chase her down or ignore her.

My feet answer for me and I follow the sound of her through the bushes, all the way to the other side of the estate itself.

I lose track of her quickly, but I keep moving deeper into the garden. Finally, I find a shed lodged between two tall trees against the back wall. The door creaks as I shove it open to peek inside. It’s silent and dark. Various pots and equipment line the walls, most of which are heavily used. I squint, trying to make out the shape of her, but no little girl would ever go in a place like this.

I hear the shuffling of feet and I pause, my senses drawn toward the table in the corner. There’s a tablecloth hanging down to the floor, slightly skewed along the edge. I step closer to it, expecting to find one of the idiot Zappia boys hidden beneath it.

I raise it up and the girl flinches. She cowers a little more, pressing her back against the dirty, wooden wall.

“Hello.” I wait for her to reply but she keeps her mouth closed. “I’m Luka. What’s your name?”

The girl lowers her head, just like Beatrix Zappia did when my father spoke to her before.

“You’re not allowed to speak to me, are you?”

She shakes her head.

I extend my hand to her and her little eyes drop to my fingers. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you.”

Her fingers fidget against her knees.

“Sofia!”

A woman shouts the name and it echoes throughout the grounds, traveling on the wind outside. The girl winces and I smile, recognizing that expression as I’ve made it many times before myself. She knows she’s in trouble.

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