Page 94 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

All words and expression slipped away when the click of a gun sounded from across the room, accompanied by the direction: “Get the fuck away from him. The wedding’s off.”

Joe’s mouth dropped open, Percy turned, aghast, and Leo shouted a victorious, “Giordano!”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

WELL, THAT WAS UNEXPECTED

Giordano, handsome as ever, if a little harried-looking, gave a slight nod of hello to Leo and Althea, then advanced towards the kitchen, gun trained on Joe. “He’s not who you think he is, Percy. He’s dangerous.”

Percy would have laughed had his ex-boyfriend not been threatening to shoot his beloved fiancé. As it was, fury rose to the forefront of the broth of emotions. “I promise you, you’re grossly mistaken. Put the gun down.”

Giordano directed his speech only at Joe. “Did you really think that would pass for a Roman accent? I knew I’d seen your face. That you had the balls to come back to Italy after what you did.”

Joe, hands raised, wet his lips with a swift, nervous tongue. “I can explain.”

“You don’t need to explain a thing.” Percy stepped in front of Joe, a solid mass of immovable violence. “Put the fucking gun down.”

“Oh, you’re going to protect him?” Giordano laughed. “Your sweet boyfriend with his pretty hair and his innocent face?” His eyes narrowed to a hate-filled glare centred on Joe. “He’s not the one who needs protection.” He reached a hand around andgrasped a roll of papers from his back pocket, then threw the lot onto the bench where they unfurled to reveal the grainy face of a boy—sad, scared, softly combative—unmistakably a young Joe. Old newspaper headlines bore into Percy’s eyes before he could look away. ‘Murderer.’ ‘Killer.’ ‘Diavolo.’

Percy’s left arm shot out and smacked the gun away. His right hand curled into a fist and punched Giordano square in the jaw. A bullet flew into a cupboard door as the gun clattered to the floor, and Percy had two fists around Giordano’s collar, smashing his back into the wall. “Go.”

Giordano leaned his head back to meet Percy’s fury with a smile. “You don’t scare me. Your bullshit might work on everyone else, but never on me.” He raised both hands to Percy’s chest, settling them there softly, fingers splaying out, eyes searching Percy’s with an intimate confidence. “You’re making a mistake. And I won’t let you do it.”

Percy knocked his hands away and retreated to the kitchen, where Joe remained pressed against the fridge, watching it all play out. Giordano brought his hands to his hips, catching his breath, while he surveyed Percy out of the corner of his eye. Althea snuck Percy’s wine off the bench and skulked back to Leo.

“This is some truly petty jealousy,” Percy laughed bitterly. “Truly pathetic.”

“You arrogant bastard!” Giordano shouted. “I’m not jealous. I was happy for you. I was thrilled you’d found someone. But this…” He extended a statuesque finger at Joe. “He’s a murderer, Percy. Did he ever once tell you that?”

Percy’s face screwed up in utter disdain. “Have we even met? Why the fuck do you think I’d care about that sort of thing? Get out of here with your bullshit?—”

“He killed his dad!”

“We all hate our fathers!” Percy rounded. “That’s what makes us compelling characters.”

“Percy, no, you don’t understand.” Giordano stalked to the bench, snatching up one of the papers, holding it high for Percy to see. “That man standing there is a monster. That man killed his ownmother!”

A sharp silence fell over the room.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Leo whispered.

Percy’s eyes met Joe’s, and in them was a flinty flash of shock he couldn’t manage to hide. He said to Giordano, “I don’t care,” but Joe could see right there that he did. That this was a line, one of the very few Percy had with Joe, that Joe had stepped on.

“You do, though,” said Giordano, seeing exactly the same thing Joe did, advancing to the other side of the kitchen bench to be able to read Percy’s reactions. “I know you. He’s not right. What kind of man does that? You can’t trust him—he hasn’t got your back. I can see he’s never told you anything. If that’s not guilt, I don’t know what is.”

Percy turned away from the lot of them, staring out the window at the busy street below. He didn’t care. Not about whatever Joe might have done. But his insides folded when he thought there was a chink in their armour. That Giordano knew, that god knows how many other people knew, something that he did not. That he was, perhaps, one of the last to know. That Joe had put him in that position.

Percy had never let another living person into his life the way he had with Joe. It wasn’t something he could even have put his finger on until that moment, but all along since the very first night, Joe’s faith in him had wrapped him in a shell, with Joe, where, measure by measure, he’d let Joe see everything. It was safe. It was secure. Until this crack. This suggestion that Joe, all along, hadn’t trusted him the way he had trusted Joe.

He would never have made Joe tell him; he’d put himself on the line so Joe wouldn't ever have to revisit the secrets he was keeping.

But knowing Giordano already knew hurt.

Joe’s voice, when it came from over Percy’s shoulder, wasn’t tentative. It came as bold and kind as ever, and like a soothing gel on his sore spot, until the import of the words dug in. “I did it. He’s right. I killed them both in cold blood. And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

DIAVOLO

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