“I don’t even like to say the name of the town.”
I swallowed.
“But uh. . .I remember the sun was so bright that day, and the sea. . .it looked endless. Genny and I loved it there. We wouldspend hours running along the beach, racing each other through the sand. We were close. Mom used to say that. . .”
I watched him.
“Mom used to say that when we were babies, and I would cry that. . .Genny would nuzzle me and just like that I would stop crying. When we got older and started walking, if she fell, I would run to her at two years old and soothe her. Hug her with my tiny arms. Smile.”
“You both sound adorable and loving toward each other.”
“Oh man. She would have loved you.” He grinned. “She wanted to be a ballerina. Had tons of classes. Wore this tutu over her jeans on the weekend until it would be so dirty that Mom would yell at her to take it off.”
My heart warmed.
"Anyway. . .that summer. . .that day. . .we were playing near the water, and I remember I got distracted with this snail. I had a stick poking at it and. . .Genny. . .she ran ahead, into the waves. She always loved the ocean. She was fucking fearless. I yelled at her to wait for Dad to come out. He had fallen behind because he was holding Corrado.”
I squeezed his hand again, feeling the tension radiating off him.
"There was a current that day. A strong one. I didn’t realize it at first. . .but when I looked up, she was too far out. Too far for me to reach. And she was struggling to get back, moving those arms and. . .” He widened those eyes and stared at the wall like he could see that moment right in front of him. “I remember screaming for my parents, but by the time we all ran into the water. . .by the time we got to her. . .it was too late."
His words hung in the air like a cold mist.
I couldn’t imagine the horror, the helplessness.
My heart ached just thinking about it, and I could see the pain etched on his face. "I’m so sorry, Gianni.”
He didn’t respond at first, just stared at the wall.
However, his hand gripped mine like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "My parents. . .they never forgave themselves. My father, he was always this strong, untouchable man, but after Genny. . .something in him broke. And my mother. . ." He exhaled slowly. "It took many years after that for her to even smile again. For the first two to three years none of us really laughed or. . .I don’t know. My brothers and I. . .we were angry. . .It was like all the joy had been buried with Genny that day. And I carried. . .so much guilt. . ."
Tears welled in my eyes as I listened. "You were just a child. . .It wasn’t your fault."
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know, but I should’ve been there. I should’ve been watching her, protecting her. I was her brother, her twin. I failed her."
I felt a lump form in my throat. “Gianni, you were ten. There was nothing you could have done. You couldn’t have known—”
"I should have known. And you know. . .I know that logically it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t get that guilt out of me or that feeling of. . .helplessness. I keep it pushed to the back of my heart, but it sits there still. . ."
I hadn’t been prepared for him to open up to me this much to show me exactly who he was so soon. But here he was and now I found my heart warming to him even more.
I let go of his hand and hugged him hard, not knowing what to say but wanting to be there for him.
When I pulled back, he looked at me and whispered, "She’s always stayed with me. But in my mind, she’s still ten years old. Frozen in time. She never grows older. She’s always that same little girl. . .laughing, playing, just out of reach."
A chill ran down my spine as I watched him struggle with the weight of those memories. It was clear now—this loss hadshaped him, molded him into the man he was today. The way he protected, the way he controlled. It all made sense.
He had lost the one person he was supposed to protect, and he was determined never to feel that helpless again.
"That’s why. . ." His voice dropped lower, darker. "That’s why I have no mercy when it comes to anyone who harms young girls. If I find out one of my men—or anyone else—has hurt a little girl. . .they don’t live to tell the tale. And when they die. . .well. . .let’s just say that it is a long process."
I swallowed hard, sensing the coldness in his tone. "You torture them?"
A humorless smile curved his lips. "I make sure they suffer. I make sure they understand the pain they’ve caused to the girl, to her family."
The weight of his words hung between us, and I realized just how deep his trauma ran.
"That’s. . .terrifying, but you have a good heart," I said softly. "I can see that."
