Oblivion ✓

26| Wonder

THIRD PERSON

It took exactly four minutes and thirty seconds until Domenico visited Riccardo in private. 'That must be a new record for him,' Riccardo thought ironically. "You're getting old, brother."

"Young enough for you," Domenico replied calmly, going to Riccardo's desk. He looked boredly over various pieces of paper before turning to him. "So, are you telling me voluntarily, or do you want me to find out myself?"

Annoyed, Riccardo rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. He almost wished it would collapse on top of them both. Or at least on top of Domenico; that would be enough for him. Even though he had suspected this conversation since he saw the look on his brother's face that morning, he felt like his brother was invading his privacy in a way he certainly didn't want. "Can't we just pretend nothing happened and leave it for good? We both know how this is going to go, and I really don't want to deal with this bullshit." Domenico leaned against the table, folded his arms, and just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 'It would have been too easy.' "Really, it was an accident."

"You know, brother, blood of my blood, that's exactly the problem. Once, maybe, such a thing can happen. Twice, unusual, but not impossible. Three times, on the other hand, it's no longer a coincidence. If it's your brother, then there's no use hiding it from us. It won't help either of you." Domenico stared into Riccardo's eyes, who returned the look almost defiantly. Sometimes it annoyed Domenico how stubborn his little brother was. A trait that, as Vito was very fond of pointing out, they both shared equally. But he needed to know if Matteo was spiraling to a point where they had to intervene.

Riccardo knew what he was alluding to, and yet he was surprised that Domenico seemed to know about it. "I don't know what you mean," he said simply. The lie sounded so bad, even in his own ears.

"Oh please, we both know what I mean. For example, your little escapade in the church. Or the destroyed cabins. Or the teacher's broken wing mirror. Such things happen and can be repaired. We were all young once. But violence against people, especially against your own brother? Hard line, if you ask me." Domenico relaxed his posture and sat down in a chair. "Unless, of course, it was something completely different. Then it's even more important for you to tell me so I can take care of it."

Irritated, Riccardo tried to figure out what his brother meant by that. He had several questions: first of all, why he or Vito had never said anything when Riccardo had covered for his brother. But he was too cautious to give in to his curiosity and confirm what they apparently already knew. How did they find out? He'd always made sure to cover every piece of evidence they had left! No one could say what they would do if they knew for sure. Afterwards, they would send Matteo away or have him committed! Instead, he tried to distract from Matteo and ask the second best thing he had in mind. "It was an accident. And even if it had been something else, what would you do? What happened, happened. It's not like I'm going to die from a black eye."

Something flashed briefly in Domenico's eyes. It was only a moment, but it was enough to send a cold shiver down Riccardo's spine. He began to wonder what his brother was willing to do for him. "What would you do if it were Matteo?" Domenico asked.

"He's my little brother!" Riccardo replied harshly, as if there were no room for any doubt. He would do anything to protect him.

"And you're my little brother," Domenico replied calmly. "That's why I'm asking you again very nicely: What happened to you last night?"

Anger flushed through Riccardo's veins. What was his older brother thinking? He never showed any sign of caring for him, and now he wanted to act like he had any right to know? "I already said it was an accident, and it certainly won't happen again. If you don't have anything else to say, please excuse me. There's snow outside just waiting to land on Matteo's face." Riccardo wanted to leave the room, desperate to vent his anger elsewhere, but a hand on his arm held him back.