Page 323 of Valentino

Valentino hasn’t spoken a word since his father was taken away in an ambulance. I’ve never seen someone so heartbroken.

His hand is in mine, his gaze is fixed out the window as he stares into space.

What’s he thinking?

I’m searching for something to make this better, I really am. But there’s no positive twist to this situation, nothing that I can say, no possible way of things turning out with a happy ending.

So I just stay silent.

The worst part is that we learned this could have all been avoided.

Carlo escaped from prison last night, although listening to the guards talk between themselves, they don’t think he escaped. They believe he was released and Ferrara was purposely not informed.

This was a calculated hit.

The car pulls into the parking space, and like zombies, we walk to the elevator in silence, get in and turn to face the doors.

There’s dried blood on my clothes, a part of his father’s DNA is leached into my skin. I washed my hands but….

The elevator rises slowly.

Even if we knew that Carlo had escaped from prison…nobody could have predicted that Franco was a target.

What kind of psychopath kills their friend’s elderly father?

A man who knew you as a child and watched you grow up…a man who loves you.

Valentino stares at the doors, my fear is growing.

Festering like an infection beneath the surface.

There’s a darkness simmering inside of Valentino. I can feel it as it takes him over.

He’s cold and detached, and I know a calamity reign of terror is coming.

How is this going to end?

The lump in my throat hurts and I close my eyes, only for the vision of Franco in a pool of blood to flash before me.

My God.

My nostrils flare as tears threaten. This can’t be happening.

Please somebody tell me this is not real.

The elevator doors open and Valentino steps out, my hand is still in his and he leads me through the apartment and up the stairs.

Be strong….

Hold it together…. For him.

He needs me to be his rock, an anchor in the storm.

And damn it, I need to try my hardest to remain sane and present when he needs me the most.

He walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on, he’s void of emotion as he holds his hand under the water to get the temperature right.

On autopilot he takes my clothes off and stands me under the water, he takes a washcloth and begins to scrub the dried blood from my arms and legs.