Top Dog

“He comes from a family built on blood and violence. He saw it all the time as a child like you did. And that kind of things affects men differently than it does women,” Enrico said.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

Enrico sighed as his hand fell from my back.

“I want you to be okay, but I also want you to not let your past memories blind you. He sits in his father’s seat now. A man who raised him. It’ll be close to impossible for him to not fall back into what he knows.”

“I’m not like my father.”

“You also don’t sit in his seat,” Enrico said.

“Romeo isn’t like that. He can’t be like that,” I said.

“Why? Because you don’t want him to be? Because you want him to be the perfect father?”

“Don’t you bring Matteo into this.”

“But it’s what you’re thinking. You think that because you had a son with him that it’s supposed to make him a better man, but it doesn’t. Romeo doesn’t know Matteo. Only of his existence. You can’t expect a child to change—”

“Get out,” I said.

“Julia, listen.”

“Leave me the hell alone, Enrico.”

I watched him sigh dejectedly before he turned his back. He made his way to the door and opened it before he turned around. I could see the hurt in his eyes from my dismissal of him, but he wasn’t helping. I knew the truth. I knew, deep down, that this might not be possible.

But I also knew a different side of Romeo, a side I knew still existed behind the angry walls he kept up.

Enrico left the room, and I flopped down onto my bed. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t allow myself. I needed to be strong, and I needed to find a way to sort through my emotions before Matteo got up.

But one thing was certain.

I couldn’t trust myself to see Romeo again.

“Knock-knock.”

“What, Uncle?” I asked.

“I come bearing juice.”

I heard my bedroom door open as I sighed and sat up on my bed. My uncle padded across the room with two glasses of freshly-pressed juice in his hands. He sat down beside me and handed me one, and I drank it without taking my lips off the glass once. I was thirsty. Desperate to erase the taste of Romeo from my lips. The apple juice slid down my throat and trickled from the side of my mouth, and I felt Stefano brush it away.

Like my father used to do when I was younger.

“Would you like to tell me why Enrico looks like you slugged him in the stomach?” Stefano asked.

“Because he forgets his place sometimes,” I answered.

“You were always spunky like your father,” he said. “What’s going on? Did you meet with Romeo for coffee?”

“Yes. And it didn’t go well. Again.”

“Let me guess. Enrico tried to reason with you.”

“He did.”

“I need to tell that man that he can’t reason with a woman who’s upset.”