Page 75 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
Cazzo.
Sal is suspicious of me.
I clench my jaw and spend the next ten minutes losing my tail before finally getting on the road to Naples.
* * *
As soon as I step onto the pavement of Secondigliano, the smells of the neighborhood slam into me like a shockwave.
The pizzeria on the first floor of the apartment building my father lives in has been producing pies since the seventies, when the complex was first built. The smells of grease, cheese, and tomato sauce work overtime to hide the smell of piss that soaks the sidewalks. There are two long benches right ahead of the main entrance of the building, and after eight p.m., they’re crowded with junkies shooting up fentanyl they manage to score a few streets over. Civilians don’t walk here afterhours unless they have a death wish or a sick kind of curiosity driving them to see how far human beings can fall.
The chef sees me through the window and gives me a curt nod. I respond with the same before I pass through the front door. The tempered glass has been cracked for the past few years, and no one seems too eager to get it fixed. What’s the point? It’ll only last a few days before someone breaks it again.
The apartment where I spent the first sixteen years of my life is located on the top floor.
Unit 404.
I knock.
There’s the jingle of a chain. Then the click of a lock.
The door swings open to reveal Nino Girardi, and one look at his yellowish white dress shirt and sagging dress pants is enough to make me want to turn around and leave.
I might call the man my father, but I’ve never felt any familial affection for him.
He disgusts me.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always told myself I’ll never be like him.
“Gio,” he says, his voice hoarse from cigarettes and age. “I was glad when you called. Come in.”
I follow him inside the apartment, and it’s like stepping back into a time machine. Nothing’s changed since I left at sixteen, everything just grew older. I wonder what Martina would think of me if she saw the shithole I grew up in.
Maybe I should have brought her with me. That would be a sure way to kill whatever attraction she feels toward me.
Dim overhead light, peeling linoleum floor, textured wallpaper that’s a few decades out of style, and bulky, worn furniture. Everything here seems to be in a state of decay, including my father.
There’s a photo of me and Mama when I was around eight hanging above the TV with some plastic flowers pinned above it. It’s the only photo in the entire apartment, and it feels like a shrine.
Nino talks about her now as if she was the love of his life, but when she was alive, he certainly didn’t treat her like that. The ways he wronged her…
I swallow and clench my jaw.
He’s had women since Mama passed. The man doesn’t know how to take care of himself. The last one left without a note or explanation, and he complained to me about it until I told him I didn’t give a fuck. Since then, he’s hired a maid to come in and clean up his mess.
He offers me some water, which I refuse since I’m not planning on staying long, and we sit down in the living room. He groans as he settles on the couch.
“How are you, son?”
I ignore his question. “When was the last time you spoke to Sal?”
“It’s been a while since you came by. I told you I’d like to see you more often, haven’t I? The neighbors at the end of the hallway moved out, and now there’s a family with three kids. Those brats never shut up. I’ve been meaning to go over and have a word with them. Maybe they don’t know who I am, being new and all. The previous neighbors knew I liked my quiet, and they respected that, but this couple is young, and I don’t like the way that husband looks at me, as if he’s better than me or something.”
He probably is, Father. It’s not fucking hard.
“I don’t have much time,” I tell him. “Has the don contacted you in the last two weeks?”
He plants his hands on his knees. “Yeah. About a week ago.”
