“Please tell him how sorry I am.”
“He isn’t going to turn around and leave, Pia. You can talk to him yourself.”
“Of course.”
“How do you think Georgio is going to react to Paolo being here?”
She shrugged. “You shouldn’t care what he thinks. He’s a winemaker. What happens with winery operations isn’t up to him.”
I sensed something was as off between her and Georgio as it was between him and me. It seemed we couldn’t talk to each other without it ending in an argument. I didn’t know how to make things better between us. Something told me that Paolo taking over, even temporarily, was going to make it much worse.
“Hey,” said Georgio, coming into the office moments after Lucia walked out.
“Hi,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, but it’s true.”
I stood, walked over to where he leaned against the desk, and sat next to him. I bumped him with my shoulder. “What happened to us, Georgio? It seems like all we do is fight. We used to be friends. Closer than that. You’ve always been like a brother to me.”
I could feel his body tense. “You remember that? I thought you’d forgotten.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We aren’t friends anymore, Pia.”
“We aren’t? Since when?”
“Since we were teenagers.”
“I wasn’t aware I was no longer your friend.”
“Right. You come home; you go back to college. I never know when you’ll be here. You don’t even say goodbye when you leave. You don’t call unless you’re checking on a production issue or can’t reach anyone else to send you sales reports. You’re just like your father.”
“What does that mean?”
“To you, I’m just the help.”
His words hurt. “I don’t feel that way about you, Georgio. I promise I don’t. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way.”
“Too little, too late, Pia.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him before I’d had the chance to tell him about my father hiring Paolo.
7
Grinder
Six Months Later
Najaf, Iraq
Yesterday, I turned twenty-two. Other than Keon—Edge—no one made mention of it. I was surprised he did. How did I celebrate? With my twentieth direct kill. I had been indirectly responsible for countless others.
It had been twenty months since Edge and I were deployed to Iraq on a secret mission to locate and take out certain members of the Iraqi military, supposedly our allies but, in reality, responsible for innumerable coalition deaths.
I hated everything about this fucking place. It wasn’t just the searing heat of the desert that made me and the rest of the men I served with, miserable bastards, we were supposed to be back home by now. After eighteen months spent in a country where I felt like I’d been transported back to the Middle Ages, I was beyond ready to get the hell out of here.