CAPO

11. Annemarie

Arabella was a very curious girl.

She was never afraid to ask questions about anything and her need for knowledge didn't falter even if she didn't get an answer.

But now, Giovanni was sat in front of her. A deep, unsettling purple bruise found its place on his cheekbone and up to his eye, the purple of said bruise making his blue eyes appear that much brighter. Her tongue burned with a million questions but she didn't dare ask them, fear of what she might find out found its way into her chest and shut her up.

The two of them sat in dead silence as they waited for the school day to start. They were an hour early and for the past ten minutes, they sat in with their mouths shut and their brains screaming at them to say something, anything.

"We're still on for dinner tonight, yes?" Giovanni finally spoke, finally looking up at Arabella.

She nodded, "Where are we going?"

Giovanni smirked, standing just as the kids started piling into the room, filling it with loud chatter. "My place," He whispered.

Arabella frowned, but chose not to say anything. She stood, watching as Giovanni shot her a curt nod, making his way out of her classroom, limping slightly.

She inhaled deeply, pushing every thought she had of Giovanni and everything else to the back of her head. She smiled at the children as they obediently took their seats, looking up at her with wide, cheerful eyes.

"Shall we begin?"

Giovanni piled into his black Honda S2000, his abdomen making him lose his usual tanned skin, replacing it with a white, chalky colour.

He looked down, his once navy shirt was now a deep, rich purple. He lifted it up, his abs clenched tightly as he groaned, seeing his stitches had opened up and he was now bleeding. He layed back in his seat in front of the school, shirt drowned in blood and legs numb, head throbbing.

Giovanni wasn't afraid of asking for help, but he hated looking weak in front of people. So, he drove to his mother house and prepared himself for the millions of questions she was going to ask him even before he stepped foot into her house.

"Oh, mio Dio! che ti è successo?"
[Oh, my god! What happened? "

Giovanni groaned breathlessly, leaning on the doorframe to her kitchen. "Good morning, mama," He said, earning himself an annoyed huff from his mother.

"What happened, Giovanni? Look, you're getting blood all over my floor!"

"Is that what's important here or is it me that's bleeding out,"

"Both," She smiled, taking his arm and looping it over her shoulders, walking him to the spare bedroom. He murmured whilst he walked, light-headedness making him put his entire weight on his mother.

She was scolding him in Italian, English and Romanian, but Giovanni heard nothing of it. He was seconds away from passing out but thankfully, he felt the plush mattress underneath him.

His mother left the room and came back with her arm propped full with supplies. She didn't waste any time in ripping his shirt up, exposing his tattooed chest and torso.

"Will you tell me what happened or must I pull it out of you,"

"Mama—" He sighed, closing his eyes as his hands fell limp on either side of him. "We were ambushed," He murmured.

"By who?" She asked, cleaning the skin around his wound, "The New York drug cartel," He whispered, awaiting the blow to his face. He opened one eye, seeing his mother shaking her head slowly.

"Its all right, mama. I'm gonna sort it out, okay?"

She sniffed, and Giovanni's heart shattered into a billion small pieces in his chest. "Mama, look at me," He whispered. She lifted her head, cheeks wet with salty fat tears. He rubbed her tears off with his palm, "Its okay, look, I'm not dead yet!" He laughed. His mother glared at him, the corner of her lip tugging up into a smile.

"We're okay, ma. I'll fix this, you know I fix everything,"

"That's the thing that bothers me, Gio. You do everything and get shot in return,"

"All part of the plan, mama." He said, laying back down on the mattress. Giovanni didn't even flinch when she poured the alcohol on him, his mind was far too occupied with a brunette and her curious eyes, her hands and her lips and her smile.

"Mama, I met someone," He whispered. He felt his mother stop, "Oh?" She smiled, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Mhm. She's nice,"

"Just nice?"

"No, she's perfect. The only definion for perfection that exists, is her. She's so fucking beautiful, mama. E anche intelligente,"
[And smart too.]

"I must meet this perfect girl then. If she can make your eyes shine like that, she must be very special,"

Giovanni smiled, "Everything in due time. Now you have to make sure that I don't die tonight, I'm making her dinner," He said, looking at his mother. Her eyebrows shot up, "You? Cooking? My god, you're gonna burn the house down,"

Giovanni chuckled, "I must borrow one of your cookbooks then, yes?"

She smiled, nodding, "Whatever you need. What's her name?" Giovanni smiled, his eyes fluttering closed, "Arabella Jones, she's a teacher," His mother hummed, "Pretty name." Was all she said, smiling widely at Giovanni.

"Well, the only thing is that she has a boyfriend of three years, but that's not important,"

"Giovanni!"

"What? The heart wants what it wants, mama," He smirked playfully, putting his hands behind his head, the throbbing in his abdomen had subsided now, thankfully.

His mother shook her head, "You can't take someone away from someone else like that,"

"He doesn't treat her right, mama. She's alone in the relationship and it's clear as day, it's in my best interest to take her away from him just to show her that there's better things out there,"

"She will leave when she is ready, Giovanni. Now you must just be a friend, okay? I'm sure she would appreciate that,"

Giovanni sighed. He knew his mother was right as usual, but he couldn't push the thought of Arabella being unhappy out of his head. It made him angry and that he needed to help her, to get her out before it was too late.

So, Annemarie, his mother, helped him. And he fell asleep seconds after she was done restitching his stitches and her heart ached when she looked at him, curled up with the white cover clutched in his hands, just like he did when he was a boy.