Then, Now, Forever (Heartbeat #2)

by Teodora Kostova

  “Oh, please!” Gia made a disgusted face and headed for the door. This was ridiculous.

  “He hit me, Gianna. Repeatedly. He put me in the hospital. When I filed charges, he laughed in my face. Then those charges disappeared without a trace.” Carla’s voice quavered at the last words. Gia stopped and turned to look at this girl, who couldn't be more than twenty years old. Fear and pain shimmered in her dark eyes. “Please don’t tell him I spoke with you. I only told you because I couldn't watch another pretty, intelligent woman be manipulated by Francesco. You can choose to believe me, or not, it’s your choice, but please don't tell him I said anything.”

  Carla brushed past a stunned Gia and walked out the ladies’ room. Gia was immobile with shock. The door opened again a few moments later and a couple of giggling girls entered the bathroom, almost knocking Gia over. They apologised and erupted into giggles again. They shook Gia out of her stupor. She left the ladies’ room and leaned against the wall, trying to gain enough composure to go back to Beppe.

  One look is all it would take for Beppe to know something was wrong. There was no way she could tell him about what had just happened, even though she knew Carla had to have lied. Gia knew he'd never listen to reason. If Beppe ever found out about what this girl had just told her, Gia’s relationship with Francesco would be over.

  Beppe’s protective instincts would kick in and he would do whatever it took to get Gia as far away from Francesco as possible. Gia had witnessed firsthand an angry and determined Beppe, and knew what he was capable of.

  Gia knew what a closet bully looked like and Francesco didn’t fit the bill. He’d never in their entire time together given her any indication that he might be violent, on the contrary. Sometimes Gia thought he suppressed too much emotion. He tried to fight through everything on his own. He wasn’t mean, or jealous or cruel. True, he wasn’t a fun, easy-going person either, but neither was Gia. Carla must have had her reasons for cornering Gia and saying those lies, just like the couple that had conned Francesco. Whatever the reasons were, Gia refused to fall victim to another scam. She straightened and with a determined smile made her way back to Beppe and their friends to enjoy the rest of her evening.

  A few days later, Gia was having dinner with Francesco at his place, talking about his latest trip. He’d finally shared a few details about his future business venture – he was trying to open a small, boutique hotel which would also house his fourth restaurant. Gia’s heart leaped with joy that he was finally comfortable enough to open up to her. Carla’s lies were not forgotten, but Gia was certain that they were exactly that – lies. She’d spent days trying to remember anything that might point towards a violent streak in Francesco, but hadn't been able to find a single thing. She’d also been hyper alert the first days he’d returned from his trip, analysing and dissecting his every word and gesture, but still she couldn’t put her finger on anything.

  Carla had been full of shit.

  “Gianna? Are you OK?” Francesco's smooth voice broke into Gia’s wayward thoughts.

  “Hmmm? What? Oh, yeah. Of course.” She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

  “You seem to have something on your mind. D’you wanna talk about it?”

  Hell no.

  “No, it’s nothing. I’m...”

  Gia’s phone rang, interrupting her. She retrieved it from the coffee table where she always kept it.

  Saved by the bell.

  It was Beppe and Gia deliberated whether she should pick up or let it go to voice mail. She knew Francesco didn't like Beppe or their relationship. Talking to him during their dinner would bring unnecessary stress to the evening. But there was this nagging feeling in her gut, telling her that Beppe knew she was with Francesco and he wouldn't be bothering her unless it was something important.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asked, picking up before it went to voice mail.

  “Gia. It’s Paolo. He’s dead.” Beppe’s voice was hoarse as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Gia’s heart clenched in sympathy.

  “I’m so sorry, baby! Where are you? Are you home?” Beppe mumbled a yeah. “I’ll be right there.”

  She hung up and headed for the bedroom to get her bag, forgetting that Francesco was still in the room with her. His heavy footsteps following her to the bedroom reminded her of his presence, but at that moment she didn’t care. She needed to get to Beppe, fast.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “That was Beppe...”

  “I gathered that. You don’t call anybody else ‘baby’, even me. And I'm your boyfriend.” Francesco's voice was controlled and even, but Gia could sense the simmering anger underneath.

  “I don’t have time for this, Francesco. I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

  Gia tried to brush past him and exit the bedroom but he seized her upper arm in a firm grip and held her in place.

  “I fucking hate that guy,” Francesco said through clenched teeth. His hot breath stung her ear and for the first time she was afraid that maybe Francesco wouldn't be able to control his emotions. “All he needs to do is crook a finger and you go running. It’s fucking pathetic.”

  Gia wrenched her arm from his bruising hold and stepped back, her own rage building.

  “His grandfather just died. The only parent figure he’s ever had. The person who saved his life. So don’t tell me I’m going there on a whim. I’m going there to support my closest friend when the only family he’s got left is gone.”

  “That’s weird. Beppe told me you were his family,” Francesco snarled, his beautiful face morphing into something ugly and vicious. Gia had no idea what he was talking about but it didn’t matter.

  It was true. She was his family.

  “Maybe I am. And his saying that means even more than if we were actually related, because he chose me to be his family.”

  Gia stepped past Francesco and walked out the room. He didn’t try to stop her again, but his words made her slow her pace.

  “If you walk out that door, we’re over.” Gia stopped and turned to face Francesco, who was glaring at her with such cold finality that it froze the blood in her veins.

  “Are you serious? You’re going to hold my helping a friend in his time of need against me?”

  “No. But I’m going to hold your feelings for him against you. You’ll never stop running to him, no matter the circumstances.” Francesco didn’t sound angry anymore, but rather resolved and stoically calm. “It’s him or me, Gianna. Choose.”

  Gia didn't even think his ultimatum deserved a verbal answer. She turned on her heel and walked out Francesco's front door, slamming it behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Gia let herself in Beppe’s apartment and found him sitting on the edge of the sofa. He had his elbows on his knees and his hands fisting the hair on his head. Deep shadows washed over him as the only illumination in the room came from a small side table lamp.

  Gia’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of him.

  Beppe looked so lost. Not even when his father was beating the shit out of him had he emanated such helplessness. Gia’s heart was wrapped in so much pain the she wasn’t sure it was still beating. But she needed to be strong for him, because as of today, she was indeed the only family he had left.

  “Beppe?” Gia knelt between his legs and tried to get his attention. He'd shown no reaction when she unlocked the door and walked in. This was not a good sign. “Look at me, honey.” She cupped his face in her palm and tilted his head up so she could see eyes.

  Oh, his eyes! They were so full of raw anguish and defeat. Gia recoiled back until she sat on the floor.

  There were no tears in Beppe’s eyes, yet the sheer torment was overwhelming.

  Gia quickly recovered from her initial shock and once again moved to comfort Beppe. She wrapped her arms around his neck. What could she say? She couldn’t promise that everything would be all right because it wouldn’t. She didn’t ask him ques
tions because she knew he was obviously not in a state of mind to answer them. So she said nothing. All she could do was be here, next to him, supporting him through everything that was to come.

  But that would be tomorrow. Tonight there was only one thing on the agenda – get Beppe to bed and pray that when he woke up he would be ready to cope.

  “Come on, Beppe, let’s go to bed,” she said and kissed his temple. Beppe didn’t respond but Gia watched him nod. Holding his hand, she pulled him from the couch, led him upstairs and tucked him into his bed. Lying down beside him, Gia fused her body with his until he stopped shaking uncontrollably.

  Sunlight coming through the windows woke Gia with a start. She automatically looked to Beppe’s side of the bed, but he was gone. She must have crashed pretty hard if she hadn’t felt him leave the bed – the loss of his warmth usually woke her straight away. Gia jumped from the bed, still in her rumpled clothing from the previous night, and hurried to the bathroom – he wasn’t there. She raced downstairs and found him in the kitchen, making toast and eggs. The coffee was quietly brewing in the coffee machine.

  “What are you doing? Are you OK?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Mornin’,” Beppe said and threw her a smile over his shoulder. “Sit. Breakfast will be ready in a sec.”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  “I’m not going to fucking sit!” Gia rounded the table and leaned on the counter next to the stove where Beppe was frying the eggs. “Last night you looked like a fucking zombie, and this morning you’re making breakfast and coffee as if nothing’s going on! Is this some kind of second stage of shock that I should be aware of?”

  Beppe gave her a blinding grin and kissed Gia’s nose.

  “Sit. Have coffee. You’re much more agreeable when you’ve had coffee.”

  “Beppe!” She threw her arms up in exasperation. Beppe's face grew serious and he brushed his knuckles along the side of her face, eliciting an involuntary shiver out of Gia.

  “Please. Sit down and let’s have breakfast. I promise we’ll talk while we eat.”

  Gia huffed and grabbed a cup from the overhead cupboard. She filled it with coffee, and stalked to the table, sitting down with an unhappy grunt.

  Beppe served the plates with buttered toast and eggs and sat down next to Gia.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have called, but I did it without thinking it through...”

  “Stop that right now!” Gia interrupted, smacking him on his upper arm. “Of course you should have called me. If you hadn’t I’d have been very, very angry.”

  “And what’s the difference? You seem pretty angry right now.”

  Gia sighed and slumped into her chair. She took a bite of toast, before she spoke again.

  “You scared me last night, Beppe. I have never seen you look so lost. So... miserable and depressed. I mean, I have seen you at your worst, but never like this. And then, when I woke up this morning and you weren't in bed, I panicked. Dozens of horrific scenarios played in my head before I located you.”

  Beppe squeezed Gia’s hand on the table and drew her eyes to his.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that! I should be the one saying it and comforting you, not the other way around.”

  Beppe chuckled and let go of Gia’s hand before tucking back into his eggs.They ate in silence until their plates were empty. Beppe tidied up and then, taking his coffee mug, gestured for Gia to do the same. They went to sit on the balcony. It was a beautiful, but chilly early October morning, so they wrapped themselves in the fleece blanket hanging over the wooden bench.

  “How did he die?” Gia asked.

  “Heart attack in his sleep. The best way to go, I guess. Just fall asleep and never wake up.”

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “Day after tomorrow. I’m leaving for Sicily tonight.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Gia stated matter-of-factly and Beppe whipped his head his head around to gape at her.

  “What?” he asked, surprised.

  “You didn't think I’d leave you to deal with your grandfather’s funeral alone, did you?” Gia met his eyes and didn’t waver until he looked away first. “You did,” she stated and sipped her coffee.

  “What about your job?”

  “Fuck my job, Beppe! How can you even say that? If you think my job or anything else for that matter is more important to me than you, then, you’re a fucking moron!”

  Gia threw the blanket off herself and moved to straddle the bench facing Beppe. He met her eyes a bit uncertainly. He looked down, tracing a pattern on the blanket as he spoke,

  “What about Francesco? He'll be pissed that you’re packing a bag and following me to Sicily.”

  The truth was on the tip of Gia’s tongue but she couldn’t say it. She didn't want Beppe to think he was the cause of the rift in her relationship, when in fact, everything happening in her life right now was her own choice. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she had a job anymore.

  “I don’t care what Francesco thinks about this. I’m coming with you, and I’ll hold your hand the whole time, support you when you feel like you might faint, talk to annoying relatives on your behalf and wipe your tears when you say goodbye to Paolo. Deal with it.”

  She got up and drank the last of her coffee as Beppe lifted his eyes to hers. It might have been the sunlight, but Gia was sure she saw moisture in them.

  “Thanks,” he said looking away again.

  “Don’t ever doubt me again, Beppe. It hurts.”

  Gia strode upstairs to her bedroom and started packing her duffel bag.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Gia was terrified. If she hadn't been clutching the hand of an equally scared Beppe she probably would have fled.

  Paolo Salvatore's funeral was held in ‘Duomo di Acireale’ – an impressive cathedral, in the Baroque style that dated back to the late 16th century. As Gia and Beppe entered the main doors they could see the open casket. It lay atop a lavishly decorated altar at the end of the aisle. Surrounding the alter were monstrous floral arrangements dripping with lilies, roses, and carnations of every color.

  The smell of flowers attacked Gia’s senses, attempting to drown her in painful memories and she was suddenly thrown back to her father’s funeral more than six years ago.

  Next to her Beppe took a sharp breath and wipes his sweaty palms in his jeans.

  The very thought of seeing his grandfather’s body had Beppe shaking and Gia had to forget about her own fear because Beppe needed her. Gently, Gia led him to the pews and they sat at the last row. The church was still relatively empty and Gia sensed Beppe was going to need at least a few minutes to collect himself before he spoke with anyone.

  Per Sicilian tradition, the open casket had spent the entire day and night at Sergio Salvatore's house, where friends and neighbors could drop by to see the body, bring food for the grieving family and remember Paolo. Sergio, Paolo's brother, was Paolo’s closest relative so he was the one who received the honor of hosting his funeral. Beppe was aware of this tradition, which had left Gia open-mouthed and horrified, so he had refused to notify his cousin Silvio – Sergio’s grandson, who had found Beppe’s number in Paolo’s phone and had notified him about his death – about their early arrival. Beppe knew that if he had, they would have been expected at the house as well.

  Gia felt an involuntary shudder go down her spine just thinking about spending time with a dead body.

  They’d spent the day before in their hotel room, catching up on sleep and relaxing after their exhausting flight. The plane had been delayed two hours and the air conditioning in the waiting lounge had been nonexistent, which had left Beppe, Gia and the rest of the passengers waiting in a hot, stuffy lounge. It was October, but it was still hot in the afternoons, especially when you were trapped in a large windowed room that felt like a hot house instead of an airport lounge.

  It was even h
otter in Sicily. The moment the plane doors were opened, Gia and Beppe were struck by the intensity of the heat and humidity. They had hired a car at the airport as they felt it would be cheaper than taxis and considerably faster than going by trains and buses. The small town of Cefalu was about an hour drive from Palermo airport. By the time they arrived at their hotel, they were completely drained and did not have the stamina to cope with a noisy, guilt stricken Sicilian family.

  So, here they were now, scared shitless in the church, a few feet away from Paolo’s dead body.

  Last night Beppe had retold stories his grandfather had told him about their family. His brother Sergio was a mafia boss, a title he had inherited from their uncle who was childless. Their father had died when they were still kids, suspected assassination but never proved, so their uncle had helped their mother raise the two boys. Sergio, being the older brother, took over from his uncle when he died. He then sent his baby brother to study in Rome, and told him not to come back. Sergio had not wanted Paolo to get involved in the family ‘business’. Paolo respected his wishes. Sergio would visit his younger brother whenever he got the chance, but before Paolo had returned to Sicily three years ago, he hadn’t seen Sergio in years.

  Voices drifted from the entrance of the church and Beppe and Gia turned in and watched as at least twenty people paraded in. The women were dressed in elegant, black dresses, most with black hats over their carefully styled hair. The men wore classic black suits, white shirts and black ties, despite the heat. But the children were not dressed in black, on the contrary, they were dressed in a veritable rainbow of colors as they dashed about giggling and screaming. Nobody scolded or shushed them. Beppe had mentioned last night when they talked about the Sicilian funeral traditions that Sicilians were not ashamed or afraid of death. They accepted it proudly, talked about it openly and even though they grieved about their loved ones, they tried to make the funeral more about celebrating the passed ones’ life than mourning. This would explain why all the people who had just walked in, while dressed respectfully in black, were smiling, gesticulating and chatting loudly.