Page 90 of Capo
Twenty-Eight
Chloe
It’s been two days, and I’m still reeling from the two calls I got. One after the other.
First from Luci. Or Salvatore. I’m so confused! I don’t know how to address him anymore. Salvatore is the one who hurt me, Luciano is the man who lay with me and let me hold him when he was mourning. Luciano is the man who burns in my heart. Salvatore is the man that makes me squeeze my thighs together at night, remembering all too vividly how he spanked me, teased me, took everything with or without my will. Everything except one thing. For some reason this beast of a man has never forced his cock between my legs. For that I am eternally grateful and thoroughly bewildered. His twisted view of honor, or whatever it’s about, doesn’t make sense to anyone but himself.
Then Chad called, furious that he and Charlie weren’t gonna become badass mobsters after all.
I let him know, in no uncertain words, that I’m still their fucking big sister and to not call me again until he’d pulled his head out of his unwiped ass.
It’s been raining. Not just a pretty little drizzle, but the crazy brutal kind when the sky opens and drops its content on your head, all at once. It set off a couple of smaller landslides and muddied parts of the fields. The older kids are out of school, helping with the shoveling, while Alessandra and I only have four kids left in our care.
We’re being lazy, distracted by nature’s show of force yesterday and the sunshine today. I stand by the window, staring at the long, winding road when I spot a cloud of dust. Frowning, I lean forward to try to figure out what this new phenomenon is. I don’t think we can take more disasters. I nudge Alessandra’s hip with my elbow and cock my head toward the vision.
“Are we expecting someone today? Are the men coming back?”
It’s the event of the week, the Fridays, when the sons and husbands come back for the weekend, their cars filled with gifts from the city. Today is Tuesday.
She squints and shakes her head. “We’re not expecting anyone.”
My heart somersaults. Maybe it’s Salvatore? Is he here to pick me up? I can’t hide the smile and Alessandra looks curiously at me. I don’t know what the future will bring, except for one thing: something has changed between us, something vital that has turned everything on its head. I’m not being rational, I shouldn’t want him, but God, I long to feel his arms around me again.
“Guess we’ll see who it is.” I try to sound cool, but I can’t hide the tremor in my voice, Instead I turn to the kids and try to focus. They’re teaching me more Italian than I’m teaching them English, but I’m not their real teacher anyway and no one minds. They’re having a blast with my pronunciation.
The sound of the women’s voices increases from the square. They’re gathering to start preparing lunch. The men and the teen boys are still far out on the fields. Suddenly there’s a smattering of dull pops from afar. I gasp. Alessandra freezes and the children gape.
“That’s—” says Alessandra.
That’s no engine misfiring. I know that sound painfully well. “Bambini! Vieni!” I shout and wave frantically for them to come with me.
Alessandra takes one kid in each of her hands, as do I, then we run toward the square where the rest of the women are gathering, upset voices permeating the air. Alessandra ushers the children to run to their moms.
“Go, go, go,” I say and push at Alessandra. “Take the kids and hide!”
She stares at me, wild-eyed. There’s a new smattering of shots. One of the women screams, several whimper, one girl starts crying soundlessly. Looking around her, Alessandra then grabs the closest woman, I think her name is Juliana, waves for the others to come closer and speaks rapidly, gesturing toward the hills, at me, the children and back to where the gunshots have been heard. The women nod and talk amongst themselves. Someone pats my shoulder. My heart is in my throat and I can’t stand still any longer. We’ve got to move now, or it will be too late.
A few of the older women take the children and the two younger teens and start running toward an alley, disappearing out of sight. Staying with us are five other women of various ages between their thirties and sixties.
“They’ve got to run too,” I say, panic climbing inside me.
“They’re staying. We’re not that easy to break, Chloe. Who do you think is coming?”
“Whoever it is, it’s got something to do with Lu—The reason why I’m here. I just know it.”
Alessandra nods. “Okay. Let’s do this. We’ll arm up and—”
“You got guns?”
She gives out a short, half hysterical laugh as we start running toward the east, away from the square, toward a few sheds that stand abandoned where the road ends. “No. We’ll have to be inventive.” She smatters out a string of Italian and shoos everyone forward. “Hatchets,” she says, “pruners, shovels, and axes. That’s what we’ve got. Marcia is calling back the men, but honestly, I think it’s better if they don’t make it in time because they’re either too young or too old.”
“You need to hide! Arm up, sure, but this isn’t your fight.”
Alessandra pulls me into the semi-darkness of the dusty old building. “And what do you think you’re made of? You’re soft flesh and blood like the rest of us. If they have come here to do harm, you can’t stop them alone.”
“But I don’t want you to get hurt!” I hiss.
She scoffs. “They hurt you, then what’s going to stop them from coming for the rest of us? We’re all from the same famiglia, Chloe. Whatever Signore Salvatore has dragged to our doorstep, it’s our—” She pauses and listens. Everyone goes quiet. There’s a distinct sound of engines echoing between the buildings. My breath hitches in my throat. “It’s our fight too,” she concludes.