Page 17 of Brutal Legacy

Elio regarded me and then chuckled. His wide, full lips drew back in a heart-stopping grin. It was the first smile of his I’d ever seen.

“Vero. Still, the nickname suits you.”

He pulled back, the bottle in his hand. He’d been reaching for the bottle, not getting close enough to kiss me.

Heat washed into my cheeks.

He drank steadily, looking me in the eye the entire time. His strong throat bobbed, glistening with sweat from his outdoor work. I tore my eyes away with great effort.

“So, what’s your plan for getting out of here, then? Share with the class,” I challenged him.

He just shook his head. “It’s not time yet.” He set the empty bottle on the counter and stepped around me. “Ask me again later.” When he was level with my side, he touched my ear, making me jump. “I saw this in the garden.” It was all he said.

“How will I know when it’s time?” I called to him, gingerly touching my hair. He’d tucked a little flower behind my ear.

He paused in the doorway. “You’ll know, because I’ll be gone. See you around,topolina,” he said, winking at me and sauntering away. I went into the hall after him, and caught sight of myself in the mirror on the wall. A dark purple flower with neat little petals sat behind my ear. A heliotrope. I turned to thank him for the pretty little present, but he’d already gone.

Elio

I’d never been religious,but since moving to Castel Amaro, I never missed church.

The reason for that was far from good and pure. I didn’t give a shit about the sermon, or the blessings. I wasn’t going there to save my stained soul… I was there for one reason, and one reason alone.

Her.

As soon as I’d moved into the stables of the terra-cotta villa at the edge of the town square, I’d realized that Alfredo Bellisario had been more cunning than I’d imagined in keeping his daughter out of my way. Unless Georgia sought me out, I was powerless to see her.

She was either at school, being tutored, or with her boyfriend. Tommaso Conti. I’d never hated another man as much as I did that fucker. He spent endless hours with Georgia up in her bedroom, with the door closed, I was furious to note. Once, I’d snuck up there to check, only to hear the soft murmur of their voices through the wood.

The fact that Alfredo Bellisario let Conti, the rich, stuck-up cunt, be in Georgia’s bedroom, alone, with his precious daughter, while he went out of his way to make sure her path never crossed mine, pissed me off.

Sure, I knew I was nothing more than a homeless gutter rat to the Bellisarios, but I wasn’t dangerous. I’d never hurt Georgia. I just wanted to see her.

And so, I’d started coming to church.

She always stood at the front with her father. The place was always packed on Sundays.

There wasn’t much going on in a town like Castel Amaro. Good, honest farmers did their work out in the fields, mothers stayed at home with their children, the local priest held his Sunday services, and Georgia’s father, the upstanding citizen, waged a one-man war against the local Mafia. Except he didn’t; he bent over for Salvatore De Sanctis and took all the bribes he liked. Of course, what went on behind closed doors wasn’t anybody’sbusiness but their own. Castel Amaro liked to pretend to be squeaky-clean and godly on the outside, but it had its secrets, just like anywhere else.

Castel Amaro was the kind of place where people liked to think that they knew where their children were, even if that wasn’t quite true. Boys should be strong and silent; girls should be quiet and obedient. The younger generations should respect the old, never raise their voices, wash their hands before dinner, and keep their thoughts and opinions to themselves.

But not Georgia Bellisario. She was an exotic bird, fluttering around that old villa. She laughed loudly, and no one shushed her. She spoke her mind, and the staff just nodded along. Her father indulgently listened to her opinions on topics and kissed her on the head afterward. Georgia wasn’t like any other girl in the village.

She was magic.

They say there are turning points in life you can only see when you look back.

For me, there was the day my sister was born, mine to protect and look after for all time. There was the day my father was arrested, the last day I’d ever seen him. There was the day I’d stolen the wallet from Renato De Sanctis.

Then, there was the day I’d caught Georgia staring at me across the aisle in church, dust motes floating in the strands of sunlight between us. Another turning point.

A life-changing event.

An awakening.

She met my bored gaze, her big brown eyes full of amusement and teasing, unlike any I’d seen before, especially in church. Of course, I’d peeked before. A man could hardly avoid staring at such beauty. She wandered around her house in all types of skimpy clothing and half-sewn designs. I stole glances and guarded those illicit memories carefully. But a woman like that didn’t need anything from a thug like me. We both knew what I was. We both knew our value in this world was wildly different. I was a hustler, a wannabe gangster’s son. Someone going nowhere fast. She was a different breed altogether. She was going somewhere. The world was at her feet. And she deserved all of it.

But that afternoon in church, something had changed. A turning point I’d never forget.

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