A Moment on the Lips - By Kate Hardy Page 0,55

in his eyes as he said it. She knew that he was lying—what she didn’t understand was why. ‘That’s not true,’ she said softly. ‘I knew in Paris. It was different between us, that night. And I heard what you said.’

He looked panicky. ‘I got carried away.’

‘More like you thought I was too sleepy to remember.’

He dragged in a breath. ‘OK. I said it. But this can’t work—I can’t take the risk.’

‘What risk?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I guess I owe you the rest of what I started telling you.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘This is hard for me. I don’t spill my guts. Ever.’

She took his hand. ‘It’s not weak to talk.’

‘Isn’t it?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Dante. I just want to understand what’s going on in your head, and I can’t read your mind. Talk to me. Please.’

‘Just promise me—no pity. Ever.’

Why would she pity him? ‘I promise. Just talk.’

His words were hesitant at first; then it was as if something had cracked and everything came pouring out.

‘I don’t remember it being bad when I was tiny, but when I was six or seven my father lost his job and started drinking. When he came home, he’d hit anyone who got in his way or answered him back. He broke my sister’s arm, he broke my mother’s ribs, he gave my mother black eyes.’

‘And he hurt you?’ she asked softly.

Dante nodded and swallowed hard. ‘The more he drank, the worse he got; and the less reliable he was when he did get a job. And then he’d lose his job and start drinking and it was a vicious circle.’

Now she understood why he never drank. And no wonder there was no picture of his father on his mantelpiece. She reached over the desk and took his hand.

He pulled away. ‘No pity.’

‘It isn’t pity. It’s sympathy. Which is completely different.’

A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘What I hated most was that all the neighbours knew. They knew. They talked about it, but they did nothing. They didn’t call the police; they didn’t tell any kind of authority; they didn’t take him to one side and tell him to stop.’

‘Maybe they thought he’d take it out on your mum even more if they interfered,’ she suggested quietly.

‘But they did nothing. They didn’t offer her a safe place or try to help her. They just talked about her.’

He’d told her a little, that night they’d gone dancing, but she’d had no idea just how bad it had been. And the one thing that shocked her was how he really believed the worst of himself—that he was like his father. But she’d seen no evidence. ‘You’re not your father, Dante.’

‘No, but I have his blood. I have a violent streak.’

‘No way.’ Dante was incredibly controlled. ‘The only time I’ve ever seen you lose control …’ She felt her face heat. He’d been babbling her name. Completely vulnerable. ‘No. You’re not violent.’

‘I keep myself in check. Most of the time,’ he added wryly. ‘When I was thirteen, I saw my father hitting Rachele. By then, I was almost as big as him. Big enough to do something to stop him. I broke his arm.’

And he thought that made him a thug? ‘Dante, you didn’t do it because you were enjoying hurting him. You were trying to protect someone who was vulnerable and stop him hurting her. You did the only thing possible. Words wouldn’t have stopped him, would they?’

‘That’s not the point. I reacted on gut instinct—I did things the same way he did things. Violence. I can’t forgive myself for that.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘And there’s worse. He fell under a tram, the following year, one night when he was drunk. And when I heard the news, I wasn’t upset that he’d died. I was glad. Really glad.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Worse still, I wished I’d been there to push him under the tram.’

‘I think anyone would, in your shoes.’

He shook his head. ‘Only someone with my father’s bad blood. And that wasn’t the only time I hurt someone. Rachele … she made the same mistake as my mother. She thought Niccolo—Fiorella’s father—loved her. That her love would change him, make him into someone decent.’

Carenza gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Are you saying that he hit her?’

He nodded. ‘When she was pregnant.’

‘Oh, Dante.’

‘And when I found out, I went round to see him. I pinned him against the