Page 47 of Capo

Sixteen

Chloe

Strong fingers close around my arm as he grabs me and pulls me to him. His touch robs me of my breath. In fear. In a twisted longing for bodily contact that I’ve been denied for so long. The girl inside me screams for a simple hug, not this brutal grip, but a part of me is happy even for this little touch.

“I can walk on my own,” I mutter, as I yank my arm trying to get loose from his hold.

He scoffs as I stumble next to him through the hallway. “I don’t trust you not to make a run for it.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?”

His grip tightens to the point that my heart speeds up in fear of him breaking my arm. Or maybe it’s the sight of the door? Maybe I’m afraid to leave my prison?

“Don’t get cute. I’m trying to be fucking civilized.”

“Trying,” I mouth bitterly.

Salvatore puts the key in the lock. The click is harsh in my over-sensitized mind, and when he swings the door open the flood of light makes me take a small step back. He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “I think you should settle for ‘trying’.” His voice is low, sensuous, slow, setting off a rush of goosebumps running down my spine. Straightening, he looks me over and gives my arm a tug. “I thought you were desperate to leave. Look at you. You’re afraid to even take the next step. Do you even want your precious freedom?”

My mouth turns dry. Freedom? No. It can’t be. I know he’s shitting me, but I still ask. “Are… are you letting me go?”

I gawk as we stride through a large room with a high ceiling and gigantic windows through which the early morning sun splashes white light, reflecting in the white walls, bouncing off the dark hardwood floor. Fresh air wafts in through a glass door that has been left slightly ajar. I inhale deeply, for a moment forgetting the monster by my side. The sharp, sweet scent of newly cut grass is softened by undertones of wet earth, dew, and a slight fog. The floor is warm where the sun caresses it and chilly in the shadows. Everything is quiet.

“Do you want to go?” he asks and stops in front of a large window. “Do you want to leave this? Do you even know what you want?”

“I… yes…” I’m side-tracked again by the beauty before me. Outside is a large patio paved with gray and orange tinted stones, adorned with neatly cut potted plants. A couple of dark brown, old fashioned rattan lounge chairs stand to the side with a little round table between them. “What…?” I follow the movement of a white cat that’s sneaking up on a bird before it lunges forward and disappears out of sight.

Salvatore laughs, pulling me out of the trance. “I’ve never seen someone so mesmerized by a garden. Come on. David’s waiting.”

We pass through two more large, bright rooms, a display of wealth with more space than one man can possibly have use for. Through another hallway we finally come to a stop in a room with a giant dinner table made from some dark wood. By one end of the table stands a young girl in a short black dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back and tied into a bun at the back of her head. She keeps her eyes fixed on empty air somewhere before her, and not once does her gaze flicker in our direction. I wonder if everyone is conditioned to be afraid of this beast.

On the table stand three sets of cups and plates. There is coffee, boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, butter, and marmalade. The scent of bacon from somewhere close makes my mouth water.

When we come around the table, we find David on the floor. He wears bright red track pants and a long-sleeved red and white striped shirt. His hair is a mess.

I fall to my knees. “Hi, David. Do you remember me? I’m Chloe. We met yesterday.”

At first he stares, his face neutral, then he nods and gestures, shoving his arms straight forward. My heart jumps. It’s our own made up sign for train.

“Do you want to come sit with us?”

Salvatore’s gaze burns holes in my back.

“Come, son,” he barks out as he takes a step forward. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

My hand lands on his arm on its own accord. It’s a reflex, and we both stare at it as if it has grown tentacles. I snatch it back, cowering as I look up at him.

“Be patient with him. With his diagnosis you will never, ever be able to reach him like that. You have to understand that it won’t happen. You can’t raise him according to the norm.” I watch him warily, waiting for the backlash. I’m lecturing the mob boss, the monster who is behind all the nasty, gruesome things that happen in this town, who beat me to a pulp once.

He tightens his lips, then he pulls out his chair by the short end of the table, snapping his fingers, gesturing to our cups. “Coffee, Girl. And get him to the table then, Miss Becker. Show me what you’re made of.”

My mouth goes dry as I turn back to David. Show him what I’m made of? What does he want from me? “David, are you hungry?”

He shakes his head and my heart sinks as I look up at Salvatore’s massive back.

I rub my belly. “Well, I’m starving. Do you want to come join me at the table? Do you have a chair that is yours?”

He nods, but doesn’t move. In the corner of my eye I see Salvatore stiffen. “He doesn’t have his own spot,” he says without turning toward us. “He needs to learn to adapt.”

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