He Let Me Wait for Nothing, Then Cried When I Left

"When I watched you go down today, I kept thinking. All these years I wasn't here. Is this how you got through being sick, every single time, alone?"

"I'm a real piece of garbage. I should've thought about you more back then. I never should've gone to work those docks."

I caught his hand and shook my head, saying nothing.

"No. I supported every decision you made."

That included leaving.

Back in my cramped little walk-up, I sank into a heavy, fevered sleep.

Somewhere at the edge of it I caught Salvatore and another man talking low, the way men in that world always talked, half their meaning buried under the rest.

"You've got patience, Lombardi. A one-room flat this cramped, and you can actually stand to be here?"

"Heard you're about to wrap it up? Then how about I take her off your hands. She's hurting right now, easiest time to slip in and lock it down."

"Works out for me. Never had a sweet, clean type before, the kind who knows nothing about the life. Good for a change of taste."

Cigarette smoke spread through the air, thick and slow. Salvatore stroked my hair.

"Lock her down if you can."

Then his fingers found the wet on my face.

He pulled me in fast and kissed the tears away.

"What's wrong, Gianna?"

I wound my arms around his neck and pressed myself a little deeper into him.

"A dream. I dreamed you didn't want me anymore."

His body went rigid all at once, his throat working. His thumb turned slow against something on his other hand, a small motion in the dark, twisting like he could twist the truth away.

"You're hungry, aren't you? Let's eat, okay?"

I heard the dodge in it, and the storm inside me settled into something flat and still.

My fingers tightened on the hem of his shirt.

"Can I have a meal with your family?"

He had no answer. He only gave way when he saw the red creeping into my eyes.

At a corner market I loaded up on fruit and small gifts.

Salvatore sighed that it was far too much, but I stubbornly set all of it in the car anyway.

The car stopped outside a plain little house, nothing about it whispering of money or blood, and there I met his family.

A simple, ordinary couple. They saw the gifts in my hands and welcomed me in, delighted.

Salvatore busied himself in the kitchen while I sat on the couch and listened to the woman share funny stories from his childhood.

The boy in those stories had grown up in a quiet neighborhood, far from any name worth fearing.

That was not the life lived by a Salvatore polished from head to toe, the one who moved through a room like he owned the air in it.

We ate and talked and watched television, like any ordinary family.

His phone rang sharp and urgent, and when he stepped outside to take it, I followed under the excuse of washing the fruit.

He was frowning.

"Carlotta, can you stop pushing? When the time comes I'll just say my parents don't approve, and we break it off. That's all!"

Carlotta's voice came back, cold and mocking, the voice of a woman bred to a name that made men lower their eyes.

"Since when do you have this kind of patience? You're going to stage a whole disgrace too?"

The fruit slipped from my hands and hit the ground. He hung up, rushed to my side, and pushed my cut, bleeding finger into his mouth to suck it clean.

It was the trick I'd taught him years ago. Some habits carve themselves into the bone.

In the moment of parting, that sound was deafening.

He guided me to the couch to rest and went to wash the fruit himself.

A message dropped onto my phone.

【Didn't you take the cash already?! Without him, how am I supposed to live, me and the child?! Would all of you be satisfied if I just died?】

The phone weighed a thousand pounds, dragging at me until I couldn't breathe.

Why was my love driving someone else to die?

Salvatore slipped a strawberry between my lips and asked, puzzled, what was wrong. I shook my head and said nothing.

He wiped my tears away, gently.

"Is it your time of the month? You've turned into such a crybaby lately."

"From now on I won't let you cry."

After saying goodbye to the couple, I stood there, dazed, and watched that door swing shut in front of me.

If only the story could have ended right there.

Salvatore dropped me home and went to deal with something he called an interview.

And then a text came, and I went to the lounge it named, one of those dim places the Families used and the rest of the city pretended not to see.

Through the gap in the private-room door, I could see the hard lines of Salvatore's body.

And on him sat Carlotta, half-undressed, her face flushed.

When he used to be on me, he was all force, leaving me unable to get out of bed. When I said I was tired, he'd only kiss my back and tell me he loved me, over and over.

Now his movements were tender, like the most devout believer at an altar.

Carlotta let out a soft sound, her fingers sliding into his hair.

His mouth pressed to her collarbone.

The low, broken breaths drifted out of the room. I tore the necklace from my throat and clenched it tight, its sharp edge slicing open my palm, blood dripping to the floor.

He tipped his head back to look at her.

"What is there for you to worry about? A trash bag you use once and throw away. How could that ever compare to you?"

Carlotta saw me at the door first.

She took Salvatore's hand.

"Salvatore, do you still remember this moon tattoo?"

He answered without a flicker.

"That's your nickname, isn't it. Moon."

Carlotta lifted her left hand, the sun inked on her wrist sharp and impossible to miss.

"That's right. We were born to circle each other."

Years ago, Salvatore had shown off his own tattoo, his voice warm with laughter, and it still echoed in my ears.

"Gianna, you're my moon. Always bright, always shining."

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered against the floor, sharp and clear.

Salvatore knew something was wrong. He shoved Carlotta aside and came out.

The matched necklace on the floor stirred something half-familiar in him, until he pulled the other half from his own pocket, the piece that locked into it.

His pupils shrank to points as he stared at the bright red on the floor, and he scrambled for his phone.

The number that used to answer with a cheerful ring gave back only a cold electronic tone.

Then the conversation he'd just had with Carlotta came back to him.

He swayed where he stood.

Down the corridor a server came running, shouting.

【There's been a car accident downstairs! A girl got thrown into the air!】