A Shadow of Guilt. Эбби Грин

her upper arm, tugging her back. That touch sent tremors of sensation and wanting into her blood. She had to leave now.

      She pulled her arm free and looked up at Gio, who was too close. ‘I made a mistake coming here.’

      All lightness was gone from Gio now; his eyes were flashing green, his mouth was tight. ‘You hardly came all the way here from Palermo for nothing, Valentina.’

      She shook her head, feeling sick. Memories were coming up too thick and fast, jumbling everything up, when she had to remember why she hated this man. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I thought you could help me with something but I forgot—I don’t want … need your help.’

      And then she yanked the door open and ran all the way out of his building and didn’t stop till she got to her rusty old car.

      Gio slammed the door shut after Valentina left and put his two hands against it and dropped his head. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’

      That evening when Valentina got home from checking on her parents she paced the floor of her tiny spartan apartment. Things were not good. Her father hadn’t looked well at all, pasty and slightly sweaty, but he’d brushed aside her concerns. Worry knotted Valentina’s insides. She hadn’t told them yet of the debacle of her career which had effectively been ruined by Carmela Corretti. Between her parents—with her father’s ominous chest pains and her mother’s arthritis and only access to the most basic health care—it was a serious worry.

      She stopped pacing and put a weary hand to her head. She had to work. But thanks to Carmela she’d be lucky to get a job as a chambermaid in a three-star hotel in Messina. And that wasn’t all—her two staff were also unemployed thanks to her impetuous actions.

      Valentina sat down on a rickety chair and cursed herself soundly. Why did she have to get so emotional and react to Carmela like that?

      Gio. Because seeing him had pushed her over the edge. Had made her reckless and had brought up all the simmering anger at the Correttis in general for their lavish and effortlessly powerful ways. The way they didn’t have to think of anyone but themselves.

      But Valentina’s conscience smote her—Gio hadn’t always been like the others. He’d been shy and quiet. Withdrawn. Her father had worked doing odd jobs and maintenance for the Corretti palazzo near Palermo all his life and her mother had done their laundry. They’d lived in a tiny humble house nearby.

      At first Gio and Mario hadn’t been friends—they’d circled each other for a long time like two suspicious animals. Valentina had witnessed how their friendship had bonded after a particularly nasty fight. She’d been just five and had been trailing her beloved father and brother as she usually did, in awe of the palazzo and its extensive grounds. Mario had been goading Gio with fists raised. ‘Come on, say something, why don’t you? Don’t you have a tongue?’

      From her hiding place, Valentina had seen how Gio had launched himself at Mario with a feral grunt. Her father had found them and taken both boys by the scruffs of their necks and ordered them to apologise to each other.

      She’d watched as Gio had struggled to get the words out, his face smeared with dirt and dust. It had been excruciating to watch. ‘I … I … I’m … s-s-s-s …’ He’d stopped and then tried again, eventually saying ‘sorry’ in a rush.

      She could remember the look on his face, as if he’d been waiting for Mario to laugh or make fun of him. He had a stutter. That’s why he never spoke. Even though she’d only been five, Valentina had been aware of her ten-year-old brother’s sheer maturity and grace when he’d ignored Gio’s debilitating stutter and had held out his hand and said, ‘I’m sorry too.’

      Since that day they’d been inseparable. Valentina fought against this memory, much as she’d fought against the ones earlier—she didn’t want to remember Gio like that.

      Her hands clenched to fists. If Mario hadn’t been so in thrall to Gio, he would never have put aside his studies that night and gone to Gio’s castello to race horses with him. She could remember the conversation when Gio had turned up on his motorbike to entice Mario away. Mario had protested. ‘I really should be studying for my exams.’

      Gio had made a face. ‘That’s the lamest excuse I ever heard, Ferranti.’

      Mario had chuckled and then said teasingly, ‘Well, at least some of us want to get an education!’

      Gio had growled at that and had launched himself at Mario and the two had mock fought for a few minutes. Valentina had been watching all of this surreptitiously from behind the door, her eyes glued in fascination to Gio’s lean muscular form. Then they’d stopped and Mario had stood back breathing heavily, a dangerous glint in his eye that Valentina recognised all too well. ‘I’ll come if you let me ride Black Star.’

      Immediately Valentina had tensed and looked at Gio, who was scowling. ‘No way, Mario … you know I won’t let you near him—he’s too dangerous.’

      Mario had taunted, ‘You’re saying you’re the only one who can handle him?’

      Gio had flushed and Valentina had leapt out of her hiding place to stand between the young men, looking at Gio. ‘Don’t let him near that horse, Gio. I swear to God—’

      Her brother had taken her shoulders and gently moved her out of the way, saying, ‘This is none of your concern, Val.’

      But Valentina had implored Gio with her eyes. She’d seen Black Star in action on his gallops. He was a mythically huge thoroughbred that Gio had bought recently in France. He was very controversial because while he had the potential to be a great champion, he’d already run a few races and in each one had unseated his jockey. In one tragic instance, the jockey had been killed.

      The authorities in Europe had wanted to put the horse down but Gio had stepped in to buy him, claiming that he could tame him into acquiescence, putting forward the argument that the horse shouldn’t be punished for the failure of the trainers. But when Gio had shown the horse off to Mario and her when he’d returned home, she’d seen a madness in his eyes that had terrified her. So far, the only one who’d been able to get near him was Gio. And now her brother wanted a go?

      There’d been a stand-off between the two men. Mario had cajoled, ‘Gio … come on.’

      Gio had just looked at Mario for a long moment and then shrugged lightly and said, ‘We’ll see.’

      Mario had grinned in triumph and clapped his friend on the shoulder, saying, ‘Wait here, I’ll just change.’

      He’d left and Gio had looked at Valentina, causing that inevitable self-conscious flush to rise up through her whole body. She ignored it. ‘Gio … you can’t let him near that horse … something will happen to him. You know he’s not as good as you.’

      Gio had come close and touched his finger to Valentina’s chin, tipping it up slightly, making her heart beat fast and her body ache with a peculiar restlessness.

      ‘Don’t worry, piccolina, I won’t let anything happen to him.’

      Indignant fire had raced up Valentina’s spine and she’d jerked her chin free. ‘Don’t call me that, I’m not little.’

      Gio had said nothing for a long moment, just looked at her so intensely that she’d felt breathless, and then in a slightly rougher tone of voice, ‘I know you’re not … and don’t worry. I’ll have him back to his boring books before midnight, just like Cinderella.’

      Mario had reappeared and gave Valentina a hug and walked out the door, Gio had followed with a quick glance backwards. ‘Ciao, bellissima.’

      And that had been the last time she’d seen Mario. When she’d seen Gio in the hospital later that night she’d run to him, distraught, hysterical. ‘You let him go on that horse, didn’t you, didn’t you?’

      Gio had just stood there, white-faced, and said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

      Her