by Tamara Lush
“Had sex without a condom.”
“Oh. Neither have I.”
He kissed her. She wondered briefly how many women he had been with but pushed the thought out of her mind. Not only did she not want to know, but there were bigger questions to ask.
“Why are you really leaving, Luca?”
He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. “I told you, things are getting too complicated here. I don’t want to deal with my uncle, and I have to focus on my—” He stopped abruptly.
She searched his eyes, unblinking. “I don’t think you should leave.”
“Sky. Don’t. Please don’t make this harder. It’s what I worried about when we started making love—”
She interrupted. “No. You’re the one making it harder, Luca. I’m not going to play games here. I know who you are,” she said in a quiet voice, wrapping herself in the sheet.
“Who am I, Skylar?”
Luca’s voice was composed, but his eyes looked wide, the same as when they’d first kissed, like he was surprised and a little relieved.
“Let’s see.” She ticked off each point with her fingers. “You’re a journalist. You wrote a book about the Camorra. You had a blog. You worked at a newspaper in Naples. Your parents were killed in a suspicious fire. You went on the run because you thought the Mafia was going to kill you,” she added, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice steady.
Luca went pale.
“When you fell asleep last night, I looked at a book on your nightstand. Uomo di Sangue, is that how you pronounce it? I found a review of it in The Guardian. It pretty much described everything about you except for your name. Also, the article about your parents in Il Mattino. Oh, and the fact that your tattoo matches the quote in the first chapter of your book.”
Luca sat up against the headboard and sighed deep, closing his eyes.
She glanced at him, her heart pounding despite herself. “You can’t be mad at me. We’re both reporters. We’re both curious. What did you expect? You chose exactly the wrong woman. Neither one of us will let go until we’ve found out the truth.”
He chewed on his cheek, and the silence was excruciating. “I’m not mad. Maybe I’m relieved? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
She sat up and knelt, staring at him with intensity, not caring that she was naked. “You need to explain everything. You might be leaving soon—hell, today even—but you owe me an explanation. I’m not going to tell anyone. But I think we’ve become friends, right? You can trust me.”
“We are friends,” he said softly. “You might be the best friend I’ve had in years, actually.”
He looked so sad in that moment that Skylar’s heart broke for him.
“Just stop staring at me like that. Come here.” He pulled her close, so that she was sitting next to him and her legs were in his lap, and asked, “Do you want to hear the long version or the short version? This won’t be easy for me. I’ve been wrestling for weeks with whether to tell you any of this.”
“It’s okay. I want to hear it all. We’ve got all day.”
He nodded wearily. “I grew up watching my father prosecute organized crime figures. You know that he was a lawyer. You read that in the article you found. Everyone was always surprised that he took that route because our family is pretty well off, going back generations. My father could have just worked doing wills or real estate and lived an easy life. But my father had a sense of justice.”
Skylar hesitated to bring it up but said, “I thought you said that your Uncle Federico is really your father.”
Luca grimaced. “Yeah. There’s that. But let’s not talk about that right now. I didn’t even know Federico until I came here. I don’t even know what to call him now.”
“Why did you come here?” she asked.
“Let me get to that part. When I was at boarding school in Massachusetts, my family assumed I would be a lawyer. But I wasn’t a great student and couldn’t get into a law program in Italy, much less a prestigious program in America or the U.K. But I did admire my father’s bravery, so I decided to be a journalist. I wanted to be like him. Wanted to make life in Italy better. You have no idea how screwed up it is there. When I got out of university, I worked at my hometown newspaper, Il Mattino. My first year in Naples was a lot like what you are doing now.”
Skylar rolled her eyes. “You probably didn’t have to cover golf cart parades and pet-of-the-week from the local animal shelter.”
Luca chuckled. “Oh, Sky, I did. I did. I wrote about all sorts of stupid things. And most of the time, I didn’t even get bylines. Young reporters at papers in Italy generally don’t.”
She inhaled, excited. “Oh! That’s why—”
He interrupted. “Why what?”
“Why I didn’t find any of your articles online. Well, that and your old paper has a subscription firewall. I wasn’t so obsessed with you that I was going to pay four Euros a month to get access to the newspaper archive.”
He kissed her cheek. “You did your homework. Anyway, I eventually wrote about Mafia murders, lots of them. Even those were so routine that I didn’t get credit for writing the stories. But recognition or fame wasn’t what I was after—I wanted to concentrate on the evil side of my city, so I decided to start my own blog. It was easier and safer to do it anonymously. I started out writing about murders and politics there. And political gossip. That led into writing about the Camorra and the Mafia in a similar way—they’re all intertwined there, anyway—and readers loved it.”
Now Skylar was even more curious. “I’ll bet. How did you conceal your identity? Did you do it while working at the paper?”
“I eventually quit the paper. I had a lot of police sources. A lot of my stories were from public records and tips people sent me. I allowed whistleblowers to email documents, to send information and photos and videos into an online drop-box. My father also helped leak some information out of the courthouse.”
“And so that information led to the book? You were so young.” Really, he was so smart.
“Yes. I was twenty-four when I started working on it, twenty-six when it was published. A lot of tips came in about Bruno Castiglione. He was one of the most powerful Camorra bosses in Naples. A publisher actually contacted me—well, contacted the blog—about writing an exposé.”
“But weren’t you worried about your safety when you wrote it? Or the safety of your family?”
Luca groaned. “I didn’t think it through. I was reckless. I was a lot younger then. My father encouraged me because he thought I had a great platform for telling the truth. I tried to be just like him, fearless.”
“So, no one knew that you were writing the book other than your parents? What about that girl you dated, Annalisa? Did she know?”
Luca was quiet for a moment, and Skylar worried that he still had feelings for her. The thought made her nauseated—and then guilty. Here he was telling her his darkest secret, and she was being jealous and petty.
“No. I never told her. She was a features writer at the paper, and she wasn’t really my girlfriend, we just sort of hung out. I ended it with her before my book came out. But, after the book was released, she disappeared.”
“What?” Skylar wasn’t sure why this shocked her after the news about his parents’ deaths. “What do you mean?”
“She abruptly left the paper and never returned. No one I knew ever saw her again. And I received a scary, anonymous email about her that said she ended up in the same place as my parents. It was right around that time that I left Italy.”
She sighed. “Wow. That’s horrible. I can’t even imagine.”
Luca said nothing.
There was a long pause while Skylar gathered her thoughts, but finally she asked, “Do you regret writing the book?”
“Of course. In many ways I do. My parents…” His voice trailed off, and from his tone she thought he was about to cry. He drew a long, shuddering breath before continuing, “My parents, they were aware of the risks. My f
ather, or the man who I thought was my father, lived with risk most of his career, and my mom supported him in whatever he did career-wise. But I have enormous guilt over everything. I was away the night of the fire, doing an interview with the widow of a man who was killed by the Castiglione family. I got a call during the interview from a colleague of my father’s. I lost everything in that moment, Sky. I miss them every minute of every day. My father was my best friend, and now he’s gone.”
“Oh, Luca, baby, I am so sorry,” Sky whispered. Everything she could possibly say seemed inadequate. She knew what he was going through. Her mom had been her best friend. She stroked his face and hair and just wanted to somehow take away his pain.
They held each other for a long while. Then he spoke.
“My parents are my biggest regret. I also feel guilty about Annalisa.”
She interrupted him and pulled back from his embrace. “Annalisa. Were you in love with her?” She hated herself for asking, but she needed to know and trusted him to be honest.
“No, Sky. Not even a little. I’ve never…well, I would have ended it with her even if I’d never written the book. I’m ashamed to admit this, but it was really only sex. And it wasn’t even great sex. It was fun at first, but she was, um, kind of obsessed with me. It was like she idealized everything I did. It got kind of creepy. When I broke up with her, she climbed in my window to try to convince me to take her back.”
Skylar grimaced. “Wow. Weird. How long were you together, again?”
“Only a month. And, well, I’ve come to realize that I’ve kind of used a lot of women that way. For sex. It’s not a good feeling.”
She stared at him. “Do you think you’re using me? You can be honest. I can handle it.”
“No. Not at all. Not even a little. I don’t even know if I was using Annalisa, exactly, because I liked her and enjoyed her company at first. And she seemed like she wanted the same thing, something casual. But it was never easy, or comfortable, not even in the beginning. She was really combative. It wasn’t normal. Or fun. Or mature, like…like this. Like us.”
This made Skylar grin like crazy, which made him laugh a little before turning serious. She did, too.
“You need to know this. I’ve spent the last ten years avoiding relationships, even before the book. My parents had a really screwed up marriage—though now I think I know why. Because of Federico…” He trailed off.
“Your real father.”
Luca nodded weakly. “It explains why my parents were hostile and cold to each other. They stayed together for me. Regardless, I didn’t want that in my life. So I settled for sex. I’m not an angel, Skylar, you need to know that.”
She shrugged. “I can’t change your past. Or mine.”
“After the book…I didn’t sleep around quite as much. I hated lying to people, but I sometimes did. Before, I hadn’t. I didn’t like it.”
“You lied to me, about working on your graduate degree.”
He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry. I told you more of the truth than any other woman. I didn’t want to get involved. I didn’t want to put anyone at risk. I didn’t want to get close. Didn’t want to befriend anyone and open myself up.”
“You weren’t friends with the other women? You didn’t get to know them?”
“Friends? I have no friends. Everyone who was my friend before, they’re gone. They heard rumors about me and the book, and my parents, and now I represent danger. Although, Sky, it’s weird. In many ways I feel proud of everything. Every time I read that my book has sold more copies, or I find another good review, I remember I’m blessed. I feel lucky. I’ve made a difference. Especially now that Bruno Castiglione is awaiting trial, people in Italy know I stand for the truth. They know I’ve tried to make things better. What did George Orwell say? ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’”
Upon hearing that, Skylar pressed her face into his neck. She wanted to cry. She was so stupid for asking him about his sex life when he was talking about telling the truth, about writing books, about being brave. More brave than she’d ever be. Her heart broke for him, and she wanted to make his hurt and pain go away. The frustrating thing was, she didn’t know how. Or if he even wanted that from her. All of the warm fantasies she’d had while making love now seemed girlish and naïve.
She lifted her head and asked, “Where did you go when you left Italy?”
“I backpacked through Southeast Asia. That’s when I stayed at the Buddhist yoga ashram in India. Then I went to Argentina.”
“Ah. It makes sense now. How did you avoid the Mafia while traveling?”
“Luck, I guess. Disguises. I grew a beard. I went to remote, sometimes dangerous places. There were a couple of close calls, I think. People seemed to follow me in Prague and in Warsaw. It was really stressful, and that’s why I went to Asia. It was more remote.”
“You grew a beard.” Sky tried to imagine that. “How long?”
Luca laughed. “Long. You wouldn’t have recognized me.”
“But how did you pay for everything?” She was suddenly ravenously curious about all the details.
“My agent’s in London. He doesn’t know me personally, but he makes sure my checks get deposited to a Swiss bank account that’s not traceable. He also arranged to have the inheritance from my parents’ estate transferred to that account.”
Skylar nodded slowly. “So, why did you come to Palmira? Just because you were sick of traveling?”
“Yeah. And because of my, er, uncle. He promised I’d be safe. I thought I’d come here and write my next book, but I haven’t been able to focus. I have it all reported, but I don’t even know if I want to write anymore.”
Skylar frowned. “Why?”
“I’m afraid, honestly. Afraid that if I write about another Mafia boss more people will die. I hate violence, Skylar. I hate what violence has done to my country. I hate what it did to my family. I hate what it could do to anyone I ever care about again.”
“So, what’s next?” Skylar wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
“I don’t know, Sky. Because of the reporting in my book Bruno Castiglione was arrested and—”
A smile spread across Skylar’s face. “Luca! That’s amazing. It also means you’re safer, right?”
He shrugged. “That’s what my uncle says. I have no idea. I’ve lost all perspective. Castiglione’s on house arrest, and his trial is scheduled for next month. I’ll feel better if he’s convicted.”
Skylar shifted so that she was sitting in his lap, her legs wrapped around him. “So, let me ask you again. If Castiglione’s in jail, why are you leaving?”
He rubbed his hands over her arms. “Because I’m still afraid, Sky. I’m still afraid the Mafia might find me here, and it’s just become too much with my uncle, uh, Federico. And with you.”
She said nothing, just regarded him stonily.
“What?” he asked.
“So you’ll spend your whole life on the run?” She put her hand over his heart. “Look here. You have an entire second book reported, no reason to think anyone’s found you, and all the luxury in the world on this island. It’s a perfect place to write. You obviously were—are—a great journalist. Why would you want to fade away and not help people, your country, with your writing?”
Luca shrugged, clearly miserable.
Skylar sighed. “Even if you don’t want to write the book you thought, you could write something else. A memoir. About your parents. About how you went on the run and feared for your life. That would be a huge bestseller,” she said. “Especially in America. People would love that. You’ve got it all. Intrigue. Corruption. Sex.”
He shrugged again, and Skylar eyed him skeptically. “You have this amazing platform. You have things to say. You have an entire country—hell, all of Europe, it sounds like from that Guardian review—reading your work, and yet you’re choosing to stay silent, and you’re also choosing to run. You once believed in helping people. If y
ou’re going to keep running, you need to find the courage inside of you again to write.”
Luca glanced sideways at her. “What’s the phrase in English? ‘Man up’? Are you telling me to man up?”
She nodded, aiming to look sympathetic but realizing that she’d come off as cold and a bit harsh. “Maybe a little. Sorry. It’s just that you have your uncle, or father, or whatever he is, wanting to get to know you. He’s still alive. That’s a blessing.”
Luca huffed out a sigh.
“And you have me. I care about you. I…I could love you.”
His expression was full of disbelief. “Really? You could? After everything I just said?”
She nodded and pressed her hand to his chest. “Yeah. I could. You’re afraid, Luca, but that’s natural. What you shouldn’t be is afraid of opening your heart, because living without doing that is like being dead. That’s what I think.”
He squeezed her upper arms with both hands and raised his voice. “Of course I’m afraid of opening my heart. Why wouldn’t I be? My parents were murdered and my mom lied to me. Don’t forget, I just found that out.”
“Understandable,” Skylar said. “But she probably did it to spare you and your father. And regardless, at some point you have to live.”
With her finger she tapped the skin over his heart, and he snorted bitterly. “When will I ever be able to really live? How? With all this guilt and fear? How can I trust anyone when I’ll probably lose them? Especially if I write another book.”
Skylar slid off him, annoyed. “I get that you’ve been in danger, and I don’t know what that feels like. But I do know what it means to grieve and lose someone you love. We all eventually lose people we love, whether it’s from cancer or murder or old age. We all suffer. It’s just up to us how we live in between the suffering. How we love in those moments between the pain.”
They stared at each other, unblinking, not speaking. Luca climbed out of bed and walked to the door.
“I’m going downstairs,” he said.
Skylar bowed her head and exhaled as he closed the door. She’d thought they had a deep emotional connection, a mental attachment to each other. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It was as if he hadn’t heard her at all.