One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(79)

A fist hit Step right in the face. Step staggered backward. This was definitely not what he’d expected. He shook his head, trying to see clearly. The Sicilian came right at him but Step stopped him with a straight-on kick.

Then while he was catching his breath, Step thought about the dinner he’d prepared, the flowered apron, and how he had wanted everything to be different tonight. He wanted a relaxed evening at home with his girlfriend in his arms. But that’s not how it had turned out.

The Sicilian was there, in front of him, in position. He was gesturing with both hands, urging him to come forward. “Come on, then, let’s do this.”

Step shook his head and took a deep breath. Fuck, he thought, I don’t know why it is, but my dreams never seem to come true.

At that very moment, the Sicilian lunged forward. This time, Step was ready for him. He darted to one side and smashed his fist into the Sicilian’s face with a powerful, precise punch. He felt the Sicilian’s nose crumple as his fist dug in, the already soft, battered cartilage crunching again. The Sicilian’s eyebrows furrowed in pain. Then Step saw his face, that grimace, the lower lip as he tasted his own blood. He saw him smile, and, at that moment, realized how difficult this was all going to be.

*



Babi was sitting on the sofa. She was listlessly watching TV while sipping a rosehip herbal tea when someone rang the doorbell. She got up to answer the door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Step was there in front of her. His hair was tousled, his shirt was torn, and his right eyebrow was still bleeding.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing. But I found the necklace.” He raised his right hand. Signora Mariani’s gold choker was there, glittering in the dim light of the landing. “Now can you come out to dinner?”

Babi, after giving Signora Mariani her necklace back and inevitably losing her position as a babysitter, let Step take her to his house. But when they opened the door, they were faced with a terrible surprise. At the little table in the middle of the living room, illuminated by a romantic candle, sat Manuela. A moment later, Paolo came in from the kitchen. He was carrying the fruit salad that Step had prepared and, as if that weren’t bad enough, he was also wearing the flowered apron that Babi had given him.

Paolo looked at Step, who was standing, frozen in disbelief, at the door. “Ciao, Step. Sorry, eh…but I called, and there wasn’t any answer. So we came home, and we waited awhile but by then it was ten o’clock. So we said to ourselves, ‘They’re not coming, after all.’ So we started to eat. Isn’t that true?”

He sought out Manuela’s confirmation, and she nodded and gave him a feeble smile.

Step looked at his plate. There were still bits of his fruit salad. “And you polished it off, too, I see. Well, how was the dinner, at least? Was it good?”

“Delicious.” Manuela seemed to mean what she said. Then she fell silent again. She’d realized that it was a question that wasn’t really asking for an answer.

“Okay, Paolo, just lend me your car then, and we’ll go out for something to eat.”

Paolo set the fruit salad down on the table. “Well, actually…”

“Actually what? Don’t you dare, okay? You ate everything I made for our dinner, and now you’re arguing?” Step stepped closer. “Come on. Out with the keys.”

Paolo decided that, all things considered, Step had a point. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and entrusted them to his brother’s hands with a timid “Take it easy, though, okay?”

Step headed for the door. “By the way, I bought you your butter biscuits. If you want dessert, they’re in the kitchen cabinet.”

Paolo gave him a faint smile, but by now his thoughts were focused entirely on his silver VW Golf and what was likely to become of it.

Step and Babi went to a small crêperie over near the Pyramid of Cestius. Then, even though they were giddy with the bubbles of the beer they’d drunk, they dismissed the idea of going back to his house. Babi didn’t want to because his brother was there.

At that point, Step, cursing Paolo and his girlfriend, turned left and headed up Gianicolo Hill. Spread out before them, the city lay sleeping. They parked at the fork in the road where the gardens were, surrounded by other cars whose windshields were already fogged up with lovemaking.

Step changed the radio to 92.7, the romantic station. He reached out to Babi and started kissing her. Despite the pain in his dislocated shoulder, his aching sternum, and his ribs still sore from the pounding the Sicilian had given them, desire erased all his bruises. Impassioned kisses overcame any physical difficulties.

But then the hand brake got in the way and the knob to lower the seat back stuck. Step smelled her soft, sweet-smelling skin and made another attempt to lower the seat back. Nothing doing, it was still stuck. And so, while he used his right hand to turn the knob, he braced his foot against the dashboard and pushed with all his strength. There was a crack, and the seat back went straight down and Babi went with it. Step went with Babi, and they both laughed.

Each of them grabbed the other’s jeans, madly unbuttoning as if it were a race. Then Babi slowed down, inexpert and embarrassed, shutting her eyes, and in the end, holding him tight.

When she realized that Step wanted to go further, she stopped him. “No, what are you doing?”