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“I should have reported him. I should have done something. I should have been the one on the floor.”
“Stop this,” Gianni chastises me. “We have been over this. You did nothing wrong. You did not bring the knife. You did not seek him out. Carl came here, and he started this. The past is the past, and you have to move on.”
“Then why can’t you? Why don’t you tell yourself the same thing and drop the bad-guy act?” I shouldn’t do this here, I shouldn’t push his buttons like this, but he’s still reluctant to go into details about why he and his wife were arguing that night. He still feels guilty even though he wasn’t at the wheel. What were they arguing about? Why does he feel so responsible?
“This isn’t about me. This is about you,” Gianni clarifies, his tone iced with a warning edge that I’ve pushed him too far. He sighs before saying, “I’m just trying to help you.”
I place my hand on his chest, and the feel of his skin beneath the material is enough to ground me. “I know, and I’m so thankful you’re here. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.” He pulls me into him, and there’s an immediate release inside me. This is the only place I feel safe and unobserved. Wrapped in Gianni’s arms, away from all the outside distractions and demons that chase me, no one can reach me here.
“I’ll always be here,” he reassures me. “But it will be near impossible when the other staff is here.” He releases me but holds my shoulders. His face is stern, and he’s got his business head-on. “I can’t touch you. I can’t hold you. I can’t comfort you as I would normally. You know that, don’t you?” I nod. I’m not about to start the argument again about why we need to keep this a secret. Gianni will not budge on this, so it is a fruitless exercise.
“And I’ll have to treat you like I did before. Otherwise, they will know.”
“You don’t have to be so fierce. They’ll think you’re taking it easy on me after what I’ve been through.”
“Yes, there’s that to consider. But it’s not in my nature to be sympathetic toward my staff. And if I start now, people will be suspicious, especially Piero, and I can’t have that.”
“Okay.”
“No. Chloe, it isn’t okay.” Gianni’s grip tightens on my shoulders as if he’s trying to squeeze what he’s saying inside me. “I’ll be barking orders at you. I will be ignoring you. I’ll be your boss and nothing more, and you must know this is the way it has to be while we’re in the shop. I can’t have you marching into the office, shouting at me for being rude to you, or worse, us arguing about it when we’re not here. We must leave the shop here. It can’t come between us.”
“And what if I can’t handle it? What if I can’t separate the two?”
“We will cross that bridge if we get there.”
“I’ll leave if that’s what it takes. I’d rather lose my job.”
“And if Carl weren’t out there somewhere looking for you, then that’s what I’d have already suggested. But right now, while he isn’t behind bars, I want you here with me where I know you’re safe. As soon as he’s caught, you can pursue whatever career choice you desire.”
“And we can live happily ever after?” Gianni catches the smirk on my face before placing his hand under my chin and tipping my head back. He kisses me gently, and I wonder if there could be a happily ever after somewhere in all of this.
ChapterThirty-One
Of course, Gianni was right. Why wouldn’t he be? I’ve yet to find a time when the man has been wrong. The other staff arrived. Faith first, and then Casey, and the looks arrived with them. But I dealt with it well after Gianni’s warning, and he’d clearly told them I was keen to return to work and get on with my life. I received a small squeeze of my shoulders from Faith, but that was all. Gianni’s warning must also have extended to mentioning Lewis’s name. It was as if he’d never existed. This upset me. I want to remember him. I owe him that much. He should be remembered in his place of work.
It is lunchtime, and the queue snakes to the far end of the shop. There’s an eclectic mix of people standing in the queue. I have examined them all. Not just their clothes or more obvious features—I know how easy it is to change your appearance—I have looked beneath the hair, the glasses, and the stubble. I’m searching for Carl, and I’m not the only one. Gianni hasn’t left the shop floor. He is perched in the far corner, tapping away on his laptop. Gianni has never seen Carl, although I’ve given him a brief description. But he doesn’t need to know what Carl looks like. Gianni isn’t watching the customers. His eyes are on me and me alone. My reaction will be enough to alert Gianni if Carl sets foot in the shop.
Cora has been questioned. She denies all knowledge of Carl’s history. She claims he’s innocent and has even provided a nice alibi for the night of the stabbing, contradicting the CCTV footage. But Carl is still nowhere to be found. Gianni is convinced Cora is hiding him. It would be of no use for Cora to show up at the coffee place, though. If she’s hiding him, she’ll not want to draw attention to herself. Besides, Cora isn’t the one who wants me. Carl is. If anyone comes to the shop, it will be him. He will not be satisfied with Cora carrying out his revenge attack.
There’s a man in a dark suit, three deep in the queue. His hair is too thin, his face too gaunt. There’s another man behind him dressed in feminine-looking clothes. His hair is on the long side, and I’m sure he’s wearing eyeliner. The last man in the queue has his head down, reading his phone screen. His dark-rimmed glasses and mop of ginger hair are far too real to be a disguise.
The orders come in thick and fast, and I busy myself at the coffee machine. It happens in the middle of the rush hour when my orders are stacked high, and the queue is nearly out of the door. An innocent enough accident that could have happened anytime, any day. Casey drops a tall latte glass. It shatters on the floor, and I immediately bend down to help pick up the cascade of pieces.
“Shit,” Casey swears under her breath, and at first, I think she’s referring to the broken glass.
“Hey, it’s okay. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her.
“Fuck. I’ve cut my hand.” Casey sucks in air as she holds her hand out.
I jump up to grab a towel. I pull the white cloth from the side and bend down to pass it to her. She takes it from me and binds her bleeding hand. The blood soaks into the material, turning the virginal white a crimson red.
It’s like a punching bag has rebounded and hit me in the chest, and a crippling fog envelops my lungs. The air is too thick. I try to breathe, but the tightness in my chest and the pain that now surges through my ribcage are crushing me from within. I’m hot. I’m too hot, but I’m shivering. I have no control over my body. I’m about to pass out. I drop to my knees, not trusting my legs anymore.
Casey kneels before me, the blood dripping down her hand, and all I see is the blood and the towel. I emit a strange noise. A wheezing sound as if I’m having an asthma attack.
“Hey, are you all right?” It’s Casey’s turn to look worried. I can’t answer her. I can’t get enough air in to make my brain work. The shop is spinning around me, and the floor feels like it will give way. I try to stand, but my legs and brain have stopped communicating. I scramble to the side of the counter and try to haul myself up, but my legs are not listening.
“Chloe, can you hear me? Shit.” Casey darts from behind the counter. I grab at my chest, wanting to rip my shirt off. It’s strangling me. I hear muffled voices. Faith is near, trying to keep up with the orders. Casey has gone, but nothing feels real. I don’t feel like I’m here. I am in a dream, on the outside looking in.
