Page 20 of A Game So Reckless

“That’s life,” my cousin replies. Together we walk the rest of the way to the place we’ll put Dario in the ground.

Chapter12

Valentina

Directly beside the church’s property is a chic restaurant, lounge, and bar. The placement seems a little odd – the floor to ceiling windows along the entire side of the dining room/lounge look out onto the graves of the cemetery next door. Even the large and elegant balcony – currently milling with the funeral’s attendees – has a view of the markers of the dead.

Somebody probably thought it would be kind of cool and edgy, I guess. To eat fancy, bite-sized food and drink expensive cocktails while glancing out over the graves.

I do have to admit, though, that the location is perfect for the refreshments after the afternoon’s events. With the humidity undulating like a living thing around us, no one has the energy to head to another part of town to eat. We’ve booked the entire venue for the night. All paid for by papà. Curse’s words slosh inside me like alcohol that isn’t sitting all that well. His words about being there to pick up the pieces of a broken man.

And then keeping them.

Or maybe it really is just the alcohol that isn’t sitting well. I put my glass of ice-cold rosé down on one of the tastefully decorated tables as my stomach roils.

I have to get out of here.

I eye the balcony from my position inside the crowded lounge. Call it superstition, or maybe call it good old-fashioned PTSD, but I can’t bring myself to even think about going out there without my heart threatening to hurl itself up and out of my throat. It’s nowhere near as high as that roof twenty-eight storeys up from two weeks ago, but the glass barriers look just the same, and all I can think about is toppling over the edge.

That, andgelo de melone.

My stomach contracts. My mouth floods with saliva. The murmuring chatter of the guests is suddenly so loud I think that it might split my skull.

I spot an exit sign glowing like a beacon of salvation above a door by the beautiful bar.

I don’t think twice. I don’t tell anyone I’m going.

I just do it.

The door leads me outside to a small landing and a set of metal stairs that take me down to the ground. I clutch the railing tightly. So tightly it’s like I’m afraid the stairs will buck me right off if I don’t.

Despite the fact that I’ve just traded air conditioning for humidity I could practically swim through, I feel immediate relief when my feet hit the ground. I close my eyes, still clutching the smooth metal of the railing, and just breathe. In and out. Slowly, the nausea and anxiety I experienced inside begin to ebb away.

When I finally open my eyes, I feel better than I have in two weeks.

Possibly because it’s one of the few moments I’ve had alone. Even at home, there are soldiers and cameras and allies of our family coming and going at all hours. Papà has put a moratorium on Mamma and I going to any events. Until this one, of course. Ironically, busy events with lots of people are so much easier to slip away from unnoticed. The capos and soldiers are looking out for Papà. Papà is busy with Rocco. Mamma is off somewhere making sure Signora Fabbri is alright. Curse is keeping his eye on everything, but not specifically me. Or maybe my observant cousiniskeeping his eye on me, but he decided I needed the breather and let me go.

Either way, I’m free. For a few minutes, at least.

The sun has begun to set, making the green of grass and trees glint with edges of copper. Indigo shadows stretch like long fingers between the graves of the cemetery. I don’t go towards them. Too many people will be able to see me from inside and from the balcony above.

Instead, I start walking the opposite direction, following a gravel path through lush gardens on the restaurant’s property. I pass beyond scattered stone furniture, then follow the turn of the path through a corridor of shrubbery. I’m completely out of view of the restaurant now. Crickets make music alongside my feet as my heels crunch small stones. Dusk rapidly gathers darkness, thickening like velvet. It’s so peaceful I almost imagine that I can hear the burble of a creek or stream.

Another slight twist in the path and I come face to face with a huge stone fountain.

So I didn’t imagine the sound of water after all.

The fountain’s base is a huge basin with water so deep it would likely come up past my knees. In the centre, on a raised platform, stands a stone angel, pouring water from her cupped hands into the basin below. Her eyes are closed, her head is bent. Her wings are tucked humbly behind her body. I think she looks sad.

The water pouring from her angelic hands, though? It looks heavenly. My throat tightens, not quite with thirst, but with intense bodily desire. I kick off my shoes and wriggle out of my black tights, leaving it all in a pile before walking to the fountain.

The gravel presses painfully into the soles of my feet, but I don’t pay the sensation much attention. All I care about right now is getting some of that cool, cleansing water on my bare skin.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” I murmur to the angel, tipping my head back to get one last look at her face. It’s gotten even darker just in the time it took to remove my shoes and tights. Shadows lance down the hollows of her cheeks like tears.

Papà wouldn’t ask for permission to get into the fountain like I just did. Neither would Curse or Elio.Pazza, they’d probably call me. Crazy.

I am a Titone. But I’m also me. And I just don’t feel right about rudely intruding on this sad, pretty angel’s fountain without saying something first.

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