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“No one must know about us.” His face is deadpan with no hint of a joke and no color to his cheeks.
“By no one, I presume you mean the staff in the shop.”
“By no one, I mean no one. Not the staff, not anyone.” He’s eager now to get his point across. I get the staff thing—it would really hamper the working environment.
“What about my friends and family?” I ask. “They are nothing to do with the shop. They would have no impact on our working day.”
“I know that, but I also know how quickly things can get out. All it takes is for one of your friends to come into the shop and let it slip.”
“Okay, but why the big secrecy?” My mind is beginning to run. Is he ashamed of me? Is he frightened after what has happened to Lewis? Does he think he will be the next person with a knife in his chest if Carl finds out we’re an item?
“It doesn’t look good when the boss is fucking the staff.” I don’t like the cold with which he announces this. I pull my arm from underneath his hand.
“Chloe.” Gianni senses my distaste. “I’m not saying you are just some plaything I’ve acquired. That isn’t what I’m saying at all. But it is what other people will see. I don’t want them thinking that, and besides, the staff is not my concern.” I see the worry etched across his face when he pauses. He grabs my hands and holds them out in front of us as if we’re making some sort of declaration. He looks me in the eye and lowers his head. The intensity pulls on me like he’s using some force to draw me in. “Piero must never find out about us.” His breathing is deep, his hands are cold, and I want to snap my fingers in front of his face.
“Why not?”
“There are many reasons. Mainly the business.”
“Have you done this before?” The question trips off my tongue, but I don’t care. I need to know. Better now than further down the line when my heart is well and truly shackled to him.
“No.” His reply is aggressive. “Is that what you think? You think I make a habit of fucking my staff?” He drops my hands. He’s hurt. Shit.
“No, no, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t even speak to half of them, but I don’t understand why Piero can’t know about us. He’s your brother. Surely, he’d want to see you happy?”
Gianni stares at me, and I think he’s still upset about my last comment, but something tells me it isn’t this. It’s Piero. Piero is the problem, and it’s bigger than the shop, than them being business partners, and whatever it is, it’s why Gianni hates him so much.
Gianni glares at me, narrowing his eyes as he holds me with them. “Trust me when I tell you my happiness is the last thing Piero would want.” He presses his lips together, inhaling before continuing. “And that’s why he must never find out about this.”
He inches forward and pushes his lips against mine. This is a tactic to stop me from asking him further questions, but I give in and yield under his mouth. There will be plenty of time to find out what the problem is between Gianni and his brother.
ChapterThirty
My hands rest on the steering wheel as I try to control my breathing. This feels like déjà vu from the first day I met Gianni. If I’d known what would happen, would I have even gotten out of my car that day? My gut answer is no—Lewis would still be alive. But I would never have met Gianni. He’s the only good thing to come out of all of this. I count in my head, wondering what number I’ll need to reach before I have the nerve to get out.
It’s been two weeks since Lewis’s death. Piero gave me some paid time off to recover from my ordeal. I spent the time at Gianni’s, hiding away from the world and trying to immerse myself in my artwork, but I’ve been lost. I can’t focus. I can’t see beyond what’s replaying in my brain. How can I be here when Lewis is not? How can I create something beautiful and innocent when the world is a bad place? I’ve even tried to take my anger and resentment out on the canvas, not caring what the result is, but I’m frightened of what might come out and what others might see. Gianni has fed my habit, much like a dealer, supplying me with canvases, oils, and sketchbooks. But I still can’t bring myself to put a pencil on paper.
My dreams have been vivid and invasive. Always Lewis. Always the blood. Always the knife. I’ve woken every night, sometimes twice, with my screams filling my ears, sweat drowning my senses, and fear rising inside me. And every time, Gianni has been right next to me, his hand on my face, his kisses extinguishing my cries. He told me this part is the worst. You fear you will never feel human again, but he reassures me it will get easier.
But what if I’m bringing it all back for him? He speaks from experience. This is the part that feels like hell—the waking moments when it hits you that you watched a person die and you are to blame. I wonder how he did this part alone because if it weren’t for Gianni, I don’t know how I’d be coping at all.
The knock on my window makes me jump. I reach for the door, but Gianni pulls it open and bends down next to me.
“Are you ready?” I flash him a look he reads immediately. “You don’t have to do this today. There’s no rush.”
“It needs to be now. Otherwise, I’ll never do it. I can’t sit in your house any longer. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do something.” I try to raise a smile. Gianni must know how hard this is.
“Slow steps. That’s all it takes. And I’m here, right with you.” He extends his hand, and I reach for it. Gianni pulls me from the car. He closes my door, and we turn and stare at the coffee shop.
We arrived in separate cars an hour before anyone else is due to start work. This was Gianni’s idea. He feels I may need time to adjust without an audience. I stare at the glass frontage I’ve seen every night in my dreams. I return to the scene with my bloodied hands and the ruthless knife. It’s as if I’ve never been away.
“Are you okay?” Gianni’s voice purrs next to me. He wants to touch me, grab my hand or smooth my hair from my face, but we’re in public, and this is a definite breach of our agreement. No one must find out about us and that means no touching where people might see us. This will be harder than I thought. Gianni is within my reach, yet untouchable. It will be a test of my willpower if nothing else.
“Yes.” I swallow and take one step forward. I urge myself to keep going, the shop getting nearer. Gianni is behind me. He lets me take the lead. I reach the door, and for a moment, I am overwhelmed by what I think I will see—Lewis on the floor, the blood-soaked towels. I shiver at the thought, but I don’t feel the way I thought I would. I feel despondent and empty. I see Lewis every night. I see the blood every time I look at my hands. I see the knife every time I close my eyes. These things are with me every waking moment, and I’m so used to them that I think I’d be more disturbed if they vanished.
Gianni opens the door, the keys jangling as I take a deep breath. He pushes it open and gestures for me to go in first. I wonder if he is doing this for a reason. Is this supposed to help me? Do I need to walk over the threshold by myself to be cured? There’s only one way to find out.
I push my way into the coffee shop, ascertaining my right to be here. This is my job. My place of work, and I will not let what happened rob me of my livelihood. My eyes are pulled instantly to the spot on the floor where Lewis had lain. There are no blood-stained floorboards. There’s no chalked-out body shape, no crime scene tape. It all seems normal. Like nothing ever happened.
