The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,63
someone to stay while the room was empty and they refused.
I’ve been tempted, several times, to break that rule, but there’s no rhythm or rhyme as to when they’ll allow someone to reside there, and though these three have all showered in my home, they’re surprisingly uncomfortable with my allowing them to do so.
Lisabetta usually asks me once a month, and I have to assume that’s in alignment with her period. I can’t even imagine having to deal with that on the streets. I make sure to give her more money than usual around that time. Matteo typically showers before he goes to his weekly confession, but Gianni? He’s only showered a handful of times, mostly when he’s been beaten.
Still, there’s something unusual about him.
Something that doesn’t sit well with me. His body isn’t tense, if anything, he’s sprawled out. One of his legs is under the filthy duvet I gave him a few months ago when the weather turned bitter, but the other isn’t.
The others are tense from the cold.
Why isn’t he?
“Savio?”
When her hand brushes my shoulder, I almost jump in surprise.
“Savio?” she repeats, and I hear her concern.
Turning to her, I mutter, “One of my friends, he’s—” I don’t linger long enough to explain. Instinct prompts me to take action. I move away from her, rushing out of the office and down the hall toward the private side entrance.
When I’m outside, I can hear her behind me, her heavy footsteps pounding after me. The thought crosses my mind that she shouldn’t be running, but she is, and I know she’ll carry on until I stop too.
Within seconds, I’m at the storefront, and I crouch down beside Gianni. The stench, as always, hits me first. There’s nothing quite like it, and it always takes me back to Oran—thankfully not enough to trigger a flashback, but for the uncomfortable memory of stinking like this to ghost my mind for a while.
Cleanliness is next to godliness, they say. Well, I’m clean because once you’ve been as dirty as Gianni, there’s nothing quite like being normal again.
When I go to touch his shoulder, he moans, and not in sleepiness.
I pull back his blanket some, surprised and a little disturbed when I feel wetness—
“Blood,” Andrea rasps from behind me. “Are you bleeding again?”
The question has me peering at her. “Probably, but that’s not me.”
Blood has no scent unless there’s a ton of it, which has me staring down at my hand, and seeing the scarlet dripping from my fingers makes my brain freeze.
“Shit!” Andrea mutters, and I hear her fumble with her phone before she’s dialing the ambulance and I can hear her talking.
Gianni’s eyes drift open, and he looks at me, giving me a sheepish grin. “Morning, Father.”
“Gianni, what’s—?”
He blows out a breath then painstakingly slurs, “Better if you don’t know, Father. You’re a good man, but you don’t need to be getting into trouble on my behalf.”
I pat him down, trying to find the source of the blood, and when I find it, he lets out a sharp hiss when I put pressure on the wound that’s made his coat even filthier than it already was. For a second, I watch him waver in and out of consciousness and I rumble, “ETA on the ambulance?”
Andrea whispers, “Eight minutes.”
Too long.
I know it. Perhaps she does too.
Quickly, I slip out of my jacket, ruffle it up and hold it against the wound that’s not bleeding enough. Not because he’s getting better, but because his heartbeat is too sluggish to pump out more of it onto the street below us.
How he’s still awake, I’m not sure.
“Gianni, who did this to you?” I rasp, needing to know. Needing to make amends. If someone had attacked him, and that same person assaulted Riccardo last night, I have to visit the carabinieri.
“Messed up, Father. Should have stayed away,” he slurs.
“From who? Tell me! I’ll report it to the police.”
Out of nowhere, from weak to strong, Gianni’s hand snaps around my wrist. “You mustn’t,” he grinds out, and his eyes are feverish, with pinpricks for pupils as he stares up at me. “Corelli is dangerous. You can’t get involved.”
“He shot you,” I whisper thickly. “You’re one of the men he thinks he killed last night.”
“He has, I just took a while to die,” Gianni whispers.
“What did you get yourself into?” I demand, furious at him. This is probably why he refused my money last night, dammit. I know the homeless take on jobs. He isn’t always here, even