The Gentleman's Club

Chapter Seven: Bad

She don't catch feelings

She's too busy catching G5s

--Bad, Wale ft. Rihanna

h

I was packed and ready to go as I headed to the, now so familiar, mansion. I was excited about this trip and what it would bring. For once, my world was filled with promise. A promise of happiness that didn't involve someone else. For once in my life, I would be free. Even if just for a little while.

It seemed like almost no time at all, that Nancy opened the door and let me in. The driver I'd met yesterday, taking my suitcases and packing them into the Rolls Royce.

Stefan and Giovanni came down the stairs, then. Stefan keeping a worried eye on his grandson who looked annoyed.

"I'll be fine, grandfather," he said, irritation heavy in his deep voice. "Isn't that why you hired Miss. Jenkins?"

Stefan rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean I can worry about you, Giovanni."

"Well, it should."

Nancy cleared her throat and they both turned in her direction. Stefan smiled lightly at her before turning his smile to me.

"Sapphire, you're a little early, aren't you?"

I blinked and looked over at the clock, it read that it was nine-fifty. The exact time that Giovanni had told me to be here before I'd gotten in my car and drove home.

"That's my doing," Giovanni spoke up, his head angled in my direction. "I have to work on those papers I didn't finish before we go."

"Alright," I replied. Not really feeling too much disappointment because Giovanni had warned me that he spent most of his time in his offices.

After we'd said bye to Nancy and Stefan and Stefan promised to pick us up at two and we'd board the private jet that they owned. Stefan warned me that it would be a long flight--eleven hours, maybe a little less if we were lucky--but I didn't care. In my mind's eye, all I could see was a place to recreate myself, a place to be better.

I think part of my overwhelming optimism had something to do with Lola and May who, as we'd hugged before I left, made me promise to constantly call, FaceTime and text them.

I would miss them.

But Manhattan had brought me nothing but misery. Even as a child. I was always known as the parentless child. My mother was around and yet at the same time, she wasn't there. She hadn't been there since my father had been killed overseas while protecting and serving his country.

"You're more quiet than normal," Giovanni observed.

"I was...thinking about something from a long time ago," I admitted.

"Ah. Is the thing you're thinking about the reason you're running?"

"Part of the reason."

I had no idea why telling him this was making me feel better. Already, my heart felt lighter, as if telling him this had taken away the weights that crushed my soul.

"Can I give you a little bit of advice, Miss. Jenkins?"

I nodded before adding, "I won't turn you down on that front."

"Don't think about the past. You have the luxury of moving forward, of being better. Take that luxury and use it."

I was quiet for a moment, pondering his words.

"You said I have that luxury, don't you have the luxury of moving forward, too?"

Giovanni gave a sour smile and said, "Unfortunately, Miss. Jenkins, my past is doomed to haunt me for the rest of my life. The same car accident that killed my mother, left me blind. Every time I open my eyes and only see the dark, I am reminded of my past."

My heart ached for him. In so many ways, I understood his situation. Sure, my mother was still alive and for that, I was grateful, but she hadn't been a mother in a long time. I had grown up without her, become a woman without her. She had been to preoccupied with finding her next fix to worry about her own daughter.

It's not like my mother didn't love me, she did and I knew that. She just loved her drugs more.

"I think everyone has the opportunity to move forward, Mr. DeLuca," I finally spoke, taking in his handsome profile as the car moved steadily in Manhattan's traffic. "Even you. All you need is motivation."

"And where the Hell would I find that?" he asked, a grimace pulling down the corners of his mouth.

"You seem to forget, Mr. DeLuca, that's what I'm here for."

***

After a few hours of watching Giovanni work and occasionally reading things for him, it was time to head to the airport where our private jet would be waiting for us.

I was in high spirits as we got into the car with Stefan who seemed jittery. I didn't miss the trace of lipstick on the collar of his shirt.

I gawked at it, my eyebrows up to my hairline. Our eyes met and I swear I saw a flush stretch across his cheeks.

The ride was silent after that. I was honestly just desperate to make it to Italy and my new start as quick as possible. The closer it got, the more the nerves in my body seemed to come to life, humming inside of me until that new start I so desperately wanted didn't seem as far away.

***

After a long flight, I began to see the outline of Florence. The beautiful Italian city stretched gracefully against the morning light. My watch--a gift from my mother when our life was simple--read that it was two in the morning.

"It's eight here," Giovanni's quiet voice informed me.

I looked over, he sat in the seat beside me. The seats were close enough that his arm touched mine. He was sitting rigidly, facing forward.

"You look..." I struggled with the word. "...uncomfortable."

"I suppose I do," he answered, shaking his head. "I hate these plane rides."

"Why? Do you get airsick?" I studied him. He didn't look pale or he hadn't been throwing up which were some of the common symptoms for being airsick.

"No, not airsick."

He was quiet for a moment. I waited for him to elaborate. Finally he sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," he muttered to himself before he sighed. "Whenever I used to come to Florence as a boy with my father, I used to love the view. I used to love to see Florence. To see the city stretch beneath me and I used to be proud of my family. Proud of a great-grandfather I'd never known. Proud of my father for stepping up and running this company. I wanted to be like my father, I wanted to run this company. Florence was like a dream to me.

"And now," he laughed once without humor. "All I can see whenever I travel to Florence is the dark that follows me around everywhere. It's like some kind of cruel reminder that everything in my life has gone to complete and utter shit."

I tried to imagine how it must have been for him. How hard it must have been to just not be able to see. Everyday, people took their sight for granted, never once appreciating being able to see the trees and the grass and the sun. Things that people like Giovanni went without every single day of their lives.

"The sunlight," I began, turning toward the window, "is light. Streaming across the horizon in purples and oranges. I think I can see the Brunelleschi dome from here. It's so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen. I can see why you loved it so much."

Giovanni remained silent. His silence may have seemed stoic and stony to someone else, but I could sense his thankfulness. It was surrounding him now.

Just then, in that moment, I felt a piece of Giovanni's armor crack and fade away.