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I pull out the handset, registering Piero’s name on the screen. He’s called me several times, and I will have to answer sooner or later.
“Hi,” I say while opening the car door.
“Chloe, hey.” He sounds breathless, relief in his voice as he responds. “I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” I clamber into the driver’s seat, pulling the sun visor down to check out my hair. “I had to go down to the station this morning to make a statement, and it took longer than I thought.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay, thank you. Tired and shaken still.” It all feels so long ago, even though it has been less than twenty-four hours since I saw Lewis stabbed.
“The shop has been shut today. The police were still there this morning. I’m not sure we will be ready to reopen for a while.” He pauses like he’s arranging his thoughts rather than speaking to me.
“If you’re asking me if I’ll be ready to return to work tomorrow, then I’m not sure.”
“God, no.” Piero gasps. “I was thinking out loud. You must take as much time as you need. Don’t even think about coming back until you’re ready to do so, and if you feel it’s too much, then I understand.”
“Thank you.” I’m glad Piero has already thought along these lines because right now, I never want to step foot in that coffee shop again.
“I’ve spoken to the police, and they informed me of what happened.” A silence trickles down the phone, Piero waiting for me to embellish the details, but I’ve relived the ordeal enough this morning. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”
“Don’t be. None of this is your fault. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” It is no one’s fault but my own. The silence again, this time Piero assessing what to say.
“I’ve spoken to Gianni as well.” The silence comes free-falling, hard and fast, as this comment hangs between us. What have they spoken about? How much has Gianni told him, if anything at all?
“Okay.”
He draws in a breath as if he’s mustering up the courage to tell me what he knows.
“Is there anything I can do for you, anything at all?” He seems to deflate.
“No, I’m fine, thank you, and thank you for calling.”
“I’ll be in touch.” The call ends, and I let the handset drop into my lap.
There’s something between Gianni and his brother. I’m not sure whether the police told Piero that Gianni had taken me home or whether Piero asked Gianni outright what had happened. Either way, Piero knows something and is desperate to ask me about it. Does he think Gianni and I slept together?
Piero has had so much going on in his own life with the baby and businesses to run that I’d like to think he hasn’t had time to watch Gianni and me. He knows, of course, that I bear an uncanny resemblance to Gianni’s late wife. That was why Gianni confronted him about offering me the job in the first place. Gianni must have figured my presence would be too painful for him. A constant, walking reminder of his wife would have made the coffee shop almost unbearable. Piero also must have known how difficult it would have been for Gianni, but he’d hired me anyway. That’s why they’d argued. That’s why Gianni said he’d been avoiding me.
I throw my phone into my bag and start up the engine. All I know for certain is my head is becoming littered with thoughts on top of the trauma I’ve been through. I need to go home and rest. My body is exhausted, and my mind is running dangerously on overdrive.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Idrive down my road, the trees swaying slightly in the breeze, and I wonder how I will sleep tonight. Right now, I can’t face being alone. I’d felt safe last night in Gianni’s house with him so close. He’d been there for me like he said he would, but now?
Going back to my apartment is not an option as Carl will know where to find me. Cora knows where my parents’ house is, so surely this means Carl will also. I don’t know where I’ll be safer. My priority is to pack a bag and think about where to go. I can’t risk dragging my friends into this, so calling them for a sleepover will not happen. I already have blood on my hands.
As I near my parents’ house, I note Gianni’s car parked on the other side of the road, and my heart gives an involuntary tremor. When I get closer, I see him sitting in the driver’s seat. I want to be mad he’s here. I want to be seething at him for his secrecy, but I can’t squash the relief washing over me because I’m not alone.
I swing the car into the driveway, taking my eyes off him as I cut the engine and brace myself. I open the door and step out. Gianni’s door slams shut. I turn to face him, my hand still resting on the door. He stands on the other side of the road, staring at me. He’s stuck to the pavement as if his shoes have been buried. His hands are by his sides, and his mouth is ajar.
He moves toward me. He can’t hide the disbelief clinging to his face like a mud-based face mask. I half expect him to rub his eyes as he enters the driveway, each step confirming it is me he is seeing.
I take a deep breath. This is the test. His reaction will confirm my suspicions. Has Gianni only ever been attracted to me because I resemble his dead wife?
He stops inches from me, his eyebrows knitting together. His eyes roam my face and my hair, probably searching for the Chloe who walked out of his house this morning.
“Chloe?” He exhales. I don’t answer. “What have you done?”
