Page 189 of The Italian Obsession

I begin to pale as another piece of my reality becomes lost.

The car pulls to a stop and Lorenzo turns to me. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

I stare straight ahead. “No. I have to do this alone.”

I get out of the car and walk up to the front door to ring the bell. I can hear the blood thumping throughout my body as the rest of the world seems to stop.

The door opens and Angelina stands before me. She’s blonde and beautiful. “Hello, Enrico.” She smiles sadly.

I nod, unable to push a word past my lips.

She steps back and gestures to inside. “Please, come in.”

I walk in the door and look up. My step falters as I’m taken aback, and my eyes instantly fill with tears. A huge painting hangs on the wall in the entryway. It’s at least six feet tall, and it’s a hand-painted picture of my father with her and their son.

He’s squatting down in a field of white flowers. The small boy, who looks only around three years old at the time, is sitting on his knee, looking up at him. My father’s arm is wrapped lovingly around the woman who is sitting on the grass beside them.

Her.

They look happy. So in love.

I drop my head, unable to move from the spot. Unable to speak through the lump in my throat. This is too much. I need to leave.

I can feel him. His spirit is here… with her.

Angelina gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just this way,” she says softly. We walk into the living area, and I frown as I look around. There are photos of my father everywhere. It’s like a shrine.

My thoughts go to my mother’s house, and how she has not one photo of him anywhere.

So different.

“Please, take a seat.” She offers me a chair, and I sit down awkwardly. “Can I get you a coffee, tea?”

Scotch, I think to myself. “No, thank you.”

She sits down opposite me, and I inhale as I try to calm myself down. I just want to hurl abuse her way.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” she starts.

I clench my jaw. My eyes roam over her coffee table, and I count the candles to try and distract myself.

“I’m scared for my son,” she says quietly.

My eyes rise to meet hers. “You should be.”

Her face falls. “I know you hate me.”

“Yes… I do.”

“Please don’t take this out on him.” Her eyes fill with tears. “He needs you. He needs your support.”

“What makes you think that I would want anything to do with him?”

“He’s your brother, and you’re a loyal man. I’ve watched you grow up.”

“From my father’s bed.”

She screws up her face and I close my eyes in regret.