Page 58 of Brutal Obsession
My mother’s giggle is true and genuine.
She already likes Giovanni. I can tell she does.
A pink hue creeps up her neck as she returns her eyes to me. “Are you going to offer an introduction,tesoro? Or shall I keep referring to this young man as your Dark Knight?”
“Dark Knight is fine with me.”
I whack Giovanni in the stomach before plopping my backside onto a portion of my mother’s bed. It’s not a squeeze since she takes up barely any space.
“Mamma, this is…” My throat constricts. I knew this moment would inevitably come, but with my brain on the fritz for countless orgasms, it isn’t firing on all cylinders. I can’t call Giovanni my boyfriend. Surely not. We met weeks ago, but the “we” part of our relationship is as fresh as a newborn baby. “He’s?—”
Giovanni doesn’t let me drown in hesitation. He steps forward with his hand extended as if he owns the space.
I snort.He probably does.
“Giovanni Caruso.” His voice is steady and full of pride. “The man obsessed with your daughter.”
His confession jolts through me like electricity, and my breath catches. He said it just like that. No hesitation. No shame. It sounded so truthful it could be mistaken for gospel.
My stomach flips. Don’t ask me if it is a good flip or a bad flip, as I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Mom’s brow lifts, but there’s no judgment in her eyes. Recognition is the only spark I see.
“Caruso?” She swirls his surname around her mouth as if tasting its familiarity. “As in Vittoria Caruso?”
Giovanni’s demeanor shifts. Only slightly, but it’s enough for me to feel the burden of it.
“Yes,” he answers, nodding. “Vittoria is my mother.”
Endearment softens Mom’s expression as her eyes flicker with a memory. “How is she? It’s been years since I saw her.” Her eyes glaze over with fresh tears as she corrects herself. “Decades.”
A moment of silence stretches between us before Giovanni says, “My mother passed a little over a year ago.”
Mom twists her hand in her blanket. “Oh… Giovanni, I’m so sorry.” Her brows furrow with genuine affection. “She was a good woman.”
“She was,” Giovanni agrees.
Mom smiles as her eyes glisten with curiosity. “And your father? How is he?”
Giovanni runs his hand along his jaw, tracing the tremor there, before he answers. “He’s been unwell lately.” His eyes shift to me, and their hoodedness makes it impossible not to squirm. “But he’s improved in leaps and bounds over the past thirty-six hours. He’s like a new man.” Then, in a gentler tone, almost like a vow, he adds, “If you knew my mother, I’m confident he’d love to meet you.”
If Mom’s lips didn’t part, I would have missed what she replied. That’s how softly she speaks. “We’ve already met.” Her gaze darts away as if tugged by a memory she isn’t ready to share before her tiny frame shivers. “The air-conditioning is a little cold. Could I get a blanket?”
“I’ll grab one.”
I leap up from the bed and charge for the door, but Giovanni beats me to it.
“I’ll get it,” he says, already in the corridor that reeks of medical equipment.
His shoulders are bunched, and he looks like he needs a minute to get his head straight, so instead of protesting that I generally use these requests for a quick breather, I nod.
The instant the door clicks shut with Giovanni on the other side, my mother pats the empty space beside her with her frail hand. “Hop back in,” she whispers, her eyes bright with urgency. “And tell meeverything.”
Everything?I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Many hours later, I stand and stretch. My legs are now stiff from sitting so long instead of being curled around Giovanni’s shoulders when he took me to the brink in my aunt’s cramped shower. Although I usually stay until Mom is asleep, I switch tactics today. Giovanni hasn’t left Mom’s room since he returned with a blanket, and as much as my mother is putting on a brave face, I can tell she is exhausted. Her eyelids are heavy and her complexion is pale, but I’ll admit, there’s a softness in her smile that makes my chest ache with joy instead of fear.
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. Her skin is cool and smells freshly cleaned. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, already mapping out the route in my head. This hospital is further east than Ospedale San Giorgio’s, so it will take longer to get here, but I need to switch buses only twice instead of the usual three.
