One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(91)

The idiot never even knew where that fist came from. He’d found himself outside the club, over by the drinking fountain with his friends, but now with a broken nose, laid open like a grapefruit. He was sobbing. He no longer felt so much like being a smart-ass now.

Step had driven home and gone to bed. He couldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep with the thought of that guy having so much fun acting the fool with his girlfriend, but now that buffoon had paid the price, so Step fell asleep peacefully. He didn’t like being that other person. And Babi would never know about it. As far as she knew, he’d changed, and he was no longer a violent thug.

But now it was the state of things that had changed. They were no longer together. He had no reason to hide anymore. He no longer needed to be someone else. He could be himself, whenever and however he wished. He was free now. Violent and alone. Again.

The Lancia Thema was exiting the building. It waited for the gate arm to rise and then drove out onto the street.

Step started his motorcycle and put it in first. He drove fast off the sidewalk and followed the car. The guy was alone, and he was driving fast. Step poured on the gas. At the stop sign, he’ll have to stop.

Before Via Jacini there was traffic, cars in line, brake lights. The Lancia Thema stopped. Step smiled and pulled up next to the car. He started to get off the motorcycle but just then he understood. What good would it do to smash his face in, see his blood, hear his moans of pain? What good would it do to kick him across the pavement and shatter his car windows, ramming his head through the glass? Could that possibly bring him new happy days with Babi, bring back her loving eyes, her wild enthusiasm? All it would do is help him to sleep with some satisfaction that night. And maybe not even that…

He already thought he could hear her words. “You see? I was right about you. You’re just a violent thug. You’ll never change!”

And so, without even looking inside, Step revved the engine and passed the car calmly, a free man on his motorcycle, weaving in and out of traffic on this major holiday. Alone, without curiosity, without anger.

He continued accelerating, feeling the cold wind on his face and the night air slip under his jacket.

You see, Babi, it’s not the way you think. I have changed. And anyway, as we know, everyone’s a little kinder at Christmas.





Chapter 35



Step walked into the apartment and crossed the living room. Then suddenly he stopped. From the next room came the cheerful sound of someone singing. He opened the kitchen door, and there was Paolo, standing at the stove, busy with the pots and pans.

When he saw Step, he smiled at him. “Hey, nice to see you. I was afraid you’d never come back! Are you ready for this fabulous Christmas banquet?”

Step was in no mood for joking around, but he was also happy to see that his brother had forgiven their quarrel from the night before.

“What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to have dinner with Manuela?”

“I put that commitment off. I’d prefer to spend the night with my brother. But let’s have an understanding. Even if the meal isn’t any good, you leave my glasses alone.”

Paolo reached into his jacket breast pocket and pulled out a pair of brand-new eyeglasses. “I won’t tell you how much these cost, otherwise you’ll say that I only ever think about money. Anyway, it’s really true, before Christmas the shopkeepers really gouge you on the prices.”

Paolo set down an enormous bowl of salad with arugula, Parmesan cheese, and bits of light-colored mushrooms. “Et voilà! French cuisine!”

Step noticed that Paolo was wearing a normal white apron. The flowered apron that Babi had given him was hanging up next to the sink. He wondered what his brother had thought about that.

“All kidding aside, why aren’t you having dinner with Manuela?”

“What is this tonight, the third degree? It’s Christmas, we ought to be happy. Let’s talk about something else. It’s not a happy subject.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Step picked up a piece of cheese from the salad bowl with his fingers and popped it in his mouth.

“Yes, thanks for that. But try not to finish off the whole bowl of salad, okay? Listen, why don’t you go in the other room and set the table? The tablecloth is down there.”

Step stood up, opened the drawer, and pulled out a random tablecloth.

“No, use the red one. It’s cleaner, and after all, it’s Christmas. By the way, Papà and Mamma called…They wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. Why don’t you call them back?”

“I tried. The line was busy.” Step went into the living room.

“Why don’t you try again now?”

Step decided not to answer that question.

“Do as you think best…I told you to call.” Paolo burned a finger trying to see if the pasta was done. He decided not to insist.

Later, they were sitting across from each other. A small Christmas tree was blinking on a piece of furniture nearby. The television was turned on, but with the sound off, and Christmas presenters were talking over the cheerful music on the stereo.

“Jesus, Paolo, this pasta is incredible. For real.”

“It needs a little more salt.”

“No, if you ask me, it’s perfect like this.” In an instant, Step turned into a prisoner of his thoughts and memories again. Babi always put a little extra salt on everything. He’d make fun of her because she always did it, indiscriminately, with every dish, no matter what, even before tasting it.