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SAL
Europe sucks.
I feel like that might be an unpopular opinion, but as I’m sitting at the restaurant in Paris looking at my warm glass of water and smelling the cigarette smoke all around me, I can’t help it.
Europe isn’t where I want to be.
I wanted to be at home celebrating my niece’s sixth birthday last week. I want to be with Caterina, and to some degree, Elio, as they filled themselves up with cake and laugh and have a fantastic time.
Honestly, I’d rather be with Dino, moody and dark as he is, than be here.
I grit my teeth and order another espresso. The French waiter gives me a characteristically unhappy Parisian look, and I glare right back at him.
He nods.
Sometimes, mean-mugging is part of the culture, and Parisians have it down to a science.
I exhale and pretend to scroll on my phone. The asshole that I’ve been following, one of the Russians, a thick sausage of a man by the name of Anatoly Morozov, laughs and flirts with the escort he hired to sit with him at this particular coffee shop.
He’s honestly being so loud and such a boor; I’m surprised he hasn’t been arrested by the gendarme just for existing.
Asshole.
I take another deep breath. If I felt like taking the time to sort through all of my issues right now, I’d realize that it’s not Europe that’s bothering me. It’s not the general iciness of the people in Paris, and it’s not even the fact that I’m missing Luna’s birthday.
It’s the fact that I’m missing Gia.
I squish that thought. I crush it beneath my fingers, and I tuck it away in the back of my mind.
Where hopefully, I can never have to deal with it again.
Gia’s out of the picture.
She made it really, really clear that when she was taking on more responsibilities from Elio, she couldn’t be tied down. She needed to be free to flirt and be sassy and sexy and just pureGia,so that she could charm people into backing off of Elio.
She made it clear that she didn’t want me.
The thought tastes bitter, even more so than the espresso the waiter hands me. I gulp it down, setting the cup next to the others, and tap my phone again.
Gia and I were never anything.
We spent a stressful situation together. We relied on each other in an intense situation.
The line from the movie Speed pops into my head.
I have to warn you, I’ve heard relationships based on intense situations never work.
That’s Gia and I in a nutshell.
I’m still thinking, bordering on moping, when my phone rings.
I answer it, despite the jangling of my nerves. “Allo?” I answer in French. I’m committed to the bit, after all. French people sound like dicks when they answer the phone, so I do it with full dickery out and ready.
“Sal,” Elio rumbles.
I switch to Italian. “What’s up?”
“I need you to prep for a new mission.”
