roses made of lead | Vito Scaletta

Chapter 8 - Night chatting

The evening sky was already lined with moonlight when the bell rang. It was Vito. I had no problem with him spending the night. After all, his presence was reassuring after the events of the week.

I wished he would look in my eyes as someone who had his heart in the right place. But I can't erase from those same eyes the look in the rearview mirror where he held a gun to my head.

I closed the window and quickly lit a candle. I ran to the door, still in my skirt.

"It was open downstairs, so I went straight upstairs, hello," he smiled and walked in. The smell of men's perfume followed him as he passed me. I don't think he'd ever used that cologne before. He took off his leather jacket and took off his shoes.

"You can do whatever you want, I'd just like to sleep somewhere quiet," he sighed and sat down on the couch.

"I figured since you gave me a nice treat last time, I'd return the favor," I walked over to the oven and pulled out an apple pie. "Tada!" I laughed and put it on the table.

"Wow, well, thanks a lot, but you didn't have to-"

"And I bought you a beer," I interrupted him and pulled one out of the fridge. I guess I just haven't had a chance to please anyone in a long time. To do someone a favor and see genuine joy in someone.

"I don't know what to say," he laughed, looking at me. I smiled and turned off the oven that was keeping the pie warm.

"That's enough, thanks. You eat apples, I hope."

"Sure, I like that kind of pie. One of the few American delicacies worth mentioning."

I cut a piece and put it on his plate.

"If you want, I'll leave you alone, I have some books if you want to read," I wiped my hands and folded them on my chest.

"Hey, you know, I'd like to get to know you a little better."

"I should be the one to say that, right? I don't even know your name," I sat down across from him and ate one crumb from the pie pan.

"Vittorio Antonio Scaletta," he said coldly.

"I guess you pick up girls with that name a lot, don't you? You know that phrase by heart," I laughed. I locked the cat in the hallway again and opened the window.

"I don't give my name away that often. How old are you?"

"Twenty-six. Do you like the pie?"

"I like it. And I'm twenty-six too," he said, looking me in the eye.

"Really? I'd say you're older... although, actually, I guess so. That perpetually stressed-out expression makes you look older," I lit a cigarette. So young and so fucked up. Why?

"I'd say you're younger. You don't look like you've left your youth behind."

"I haven't had the chance to grow old yet. But it looks like I'm going to spend a few more days with you and the wrinkles will start to show," I laughed and sat down next to him.

I feel so good.

"So, will you tell me about you?"

"Isn't that enough?" He raised his eyebrows. I didn't get any more out of you than if I'd read your legal documents.

"How did you get here? In Empire Bay? And why are you doing these jobs?" I rested my head on my hand and looked at him.

"I moved here with my family when I was a kid, and I met Joe here. I guess I was a good kid by then, but Joe never was. Ever since I met him, I've dreamed of having money and others being afraid to look at me."

I focused on the scar on his cheek and ran my finger over it. I guess I was invading his personal space though.

"I'll get to that, and... please don't touch my face," he grabbed my hand and pushed it away.

"To continue, Joe and I started doing a little robbery things, and one time when we were robbing some guys, one of them pulled a knife on me and cut my face. Well, when I was eighteen, we got caught stealing from the cops. I mean, I got caught. Joe got away. I had a choice of going to jail or going to war. Well, I had my fun in the war," he sighed.

"That must have been terrible. I practically only read about the war in the newspapers," I shook my head. I cut him another cake.

"Well, it wasn't fun. But it was better than doing nothing. At least I got to feel the guns and learn how to use them better. And when I got back, it was on."

I nodded and looked at him sympathetically. Oh, terrible. But I guess you deserved it after all. You're not supposed to steal. Although sometimes I do charge extra...

He leaned back in his seat and stared into space. And I was looking at him. I looked at the scar that told part of the story about him. The lines that made his face look serious. Lips that curled downward at the corners. As if he despised the world. His eyelids were drooping over his eyes with fatigue, and his hair was no longer sleek as it had been in the morning. The strands were slipping this way and that, the gel no longer held at all.

"Could I go wash up?" he turned to me after a moment of my contemplation.

"Sure, a shower is... I told you, actually. Take a white towel, it's just been washed. I'm going to lie down, if anything happens, knock," I smiled, cutting the cake off for myself and taking it to my room. We said a quiet 'goodnight' and I locked myself in my bedroom.

I don't know how to approach him. Does he want me to care or am I just a sleepover facilitator?

At least I wanted him to stay here in the morning.