Good Grades & Mystery Games: Chapter 20

I’ve been trying to face my demons. I really have. But it’s the actual facing them part that’s really fucked me up. What if Gio is actually behind this? What then? Will he try to attack me too?

I should have brought back-up. Maybe Henry or someone. God, even Evan sounds like an option here. I shouldn’t be scared to go into the home I’ve been going into for years, but I’m terrified.

There’s a gentle breeze in the mid-November chill, so my legs are absolutely freezing. I can’t keep ignoring Gio and I need to talk to him.

The dark brown wooden doors open when I walk up to it, swinging open with a gentle creek. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. As I move further in, the house is eerily silent other than the old Italian music playing from his record player in the kitchen although it sounds distorted. I can’t tell if my brain is messing up my senses on purpose.

I called out my uncle’s name three times without a response. I shudder as I pass through the dining area, slowing as I pass a cabinet filled with pictures of him and Sara, as well as family photos from our trips to Italy over the years. I glide silently through the room, reaching the back door which leads to a patio and a huge backyard, expanding into the small woodland that surrounds his home.

I inch toward the open garage door and that’s when I see him.

My uncle is hunched over a table that’s covered in blood. A bucket lays beside the wooden table, overflowing with a red lumpy liquid. I think I’m going to be sick.

Gio’s back is to me, his right arm moving mercilessly over something. His shoulder raises and falls as he continues kneading something, blood splattering from each direction, seeping into the brown wood of the walls. It looks like a crime scene, nothing but the sloshing sounds coming from whatever Gio is doing. I’ve never seen him like this before.

I take a step back, stumbling. I didn’t even realise I was screaming until words started flowing out of my mouth. “Oh my god!”

He turns around now, which only makes me gasp. He’s wearing an apron, covered completely in blood, a bloody knife in his hand. I try to settle my heartbeat, but I can hear it roaring in my ears. “Scarlett, tesoro! You scared me. What are you doing?”

“What are you doing? What is that?” I ask, gesturing towards the bloody board, my voice shaking.

Gio inches closer to me and I step back. He studies me for a second and I blink back at him, words failing me. “Why don’t you go inside, and I’ll meet you there once I’ve cleaned up,” he says calmly.

I walk backwards from the murder scene and slowly make my way back into the house. Gio would never hurt anybody. Not on purpose, anyway. As much as my dad has always told me that the business is dangerous, I didn’t realise just how dangerous.

As he finishes cleaning up, my mind whirs of the hundreds of things he could have been doing.

“What are you doing here, Scarlett?” he asks, his voice pulling me out of my daydream. I turn on the couch, watching as my uncle – now in fresh clothes – sits across from me in the plush leather seat.

“What were you doing?” I gawk, not able to move on as quickly as he seems like he wants to. He runs his hand through his hair, fiddling with the ends before clearing his throat.

“I recently took up butchery,” he says plainly. Right. It’s just that simple.

“But- In the backyard? Is that even sanitary?” I ask, genuinely concerned. He nods, planning to dismiss me.

“What are you doing here, Scarlett?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t expect to see that and I’m already on edge so I-”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“But I do. I mean, I came looking for answers and now I just saw all of that, so you can imagine what I’m thinking.”

“No. I can’t. What’s going on?”

I snort, a disbelieving chuckle slipping from my lips. “What’s not going on, Gio? Dad still hasn’t woken up and we’re nowhere near finding out about Tinzin and I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me!” Hot angry blood surges through me, my cheeks instantly reddening.

Gio’s mouth opens and then closes, searching for words. He holds his hands up and then drops them with a sigh. “Keeping secrets?” he asks, stuttering. “What is there that I haven’t told you?”

I roll my eyes, dropping my head back and then facing him again, angry and upset tears brimming in my eyes. “Come on, Gio, don’t bullshit me. Why were you at Yelsy’s?”

“You mean the shop where I’ve been buying falafel for years?”

My brain short-circuits and I try to get it to start up again. I blink at him, hoping that words will come to me, and I’ll have something to say. “Why were you talking to the owner?”

“He’s the only reason I got it so cheap. He knew Lucas, so we had a mutual friend. The food they have there is to die for, Scar. You’ve tried it.”

I blink back the tears that have started forming. I hate this side of me. The side of me that’s not put together. The side that cries when I’m angry. The side that cries at any given moment when things go sideways. “But- But he’s the one I saw outside the jewellery store. I found someone’s ID at Voss that matches his,” I try to explain.

“You said it was dark that night. You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. It might not have been him. You probably got them mistaken.”

I never get people mistaken. That doesn’t happen to me. At first I was confused, but after spending hours looking through security footage and ID’s, it made sense that it was him. I recognised his posture and his face shape; I made sure the security footage linked with the time the sign-in cards had his ID. I never get things wrong…I never…. I never do.

“Then why were you talking to him while staring at us?” I ask. I could understand if they knew each other, but having them in the same room, watching us didn’t sit right with me.

“I was telling him what a great kid you are,” Gio explains, sighing. I know my uncle loves me. I know that. He always talks highly of me and I appreciate him for that. “Though, I’m not sure about that boyfriend of yours. I don’t like the way he was touching you.”

My skin instantly gets hot, thinking of the way he was touching me and the way I let him. The second I saw Gerard and my uncle together, I knew something was off, so when they started to stare, I had to think fast.

I didn’t anticipate the feel of Evan’s heavy hand on my neck, the way his fingers twirled in my hair, the tight tug of it that drove me insane. His huge hand is exactly that…just huge. I don’t understand how it can feel so rough but touch me so gently, silently igniting the heavy want in my lower stomach.

The fact that I felt that kind of want – that chase of a release – from Evan Branson is troubling. But strangely exciting. I’ve been denying the girls’ allegations of there being some sort of sexual tension between us, but after having his hands on me like that, I don’t know how much longer I can go on denying it.

The last thing I want or need right now are complicated feelings towards Evan. Especially not when my uncle was just…

“He’s not my boyfriend,” is the lame excuse that comes out of my mouth.

“Are you sure? You made it very clear that he was-”

I cut him off, not wanting to go into that debate as I remember the whole ‘so young and in love’ conversation. “So, you’re telling me that the guy was outside Julia’s — most likely smuggling the drugs – was not the same guy owning the restaurant?”

Gio nods rapidly. “Sì amore mio.”

“So, my judgement was off?” I ask again, just to make sure. Gio adjusts in his seat, glancing out the window before looking at me. He holds my stare, swallowing. I stare back at him, waiting for him to prove me wrong. To tell me the truth. Whatever that is.

“It happens to the best of us,” he says finally.

But not to me, I think to myself. Not to me.

* * *

I try to keep my cool on the date with Max. It feels like ‘trying’ is the only thing I’ve been doing recently. I try to have a fun time. I try to focus on the ridiculously attractive man in front of me who gave me countless orgasms after our last date. I try to enjoy the food at the Michelin star restaurant that only exclusive members are allowed to go into. I try to focus on the heavy hand that’s holding mine under the table. I really do.

We booked a seat in the back of the restaurant in a secluded corner with dim lighting. He looks extra good today, his hair is neatly combed back, freshly shaven and unlike Evan, his tie is actually tied.

God, I must really be out of it if I’m comparing my date to Evan as if he’s the standard. Not only am I invaded by thoughts of Evan, but Gio too. I can’t stop thinking about the noises coming from whatever the hell he was doing. I just wish I could focus on him. He deserves it.

We’ve been engaging in basic small talk for the last hour over our steak and fries. When the meal is done and we’re chatting over an empty table, I slide my card onto the table as the waiter comes to collect it. I return my attention to Max, smiling as he talks about his little sisters.

“How many siblings do you have again?” he asks me.

“Four older brothers.”

“Brutal,” he says, wincing. “What do they think about us? I’m not in for a major beating, am I?”

“I haven’t told them,” I say simply. Max is the only guy other than Jake that I can even consider as someone I’m ‘dating.’

Telling my brothers would only cause more drama. Plus, my mom would be all over it. It’s not that I want to prove her wrong by not being in a relationship. It’s the way she views relationships that annoys me. Like she can’t fathom the idea of two people coexisting without having to desperately rely on each other and need the other to complete them. I want to be in a relationship with someone that sees me as an equal. Not someone that they see as a threat to their manhood or someone who thinks they can use me and belittles me.

“Why not? I told my sisters about us,” he says flippantly.

“Your sisters are five and seven, it’s not the same thing,” I say, trying to laugh. He just stares at me. “It’s just complicated.”

He nods and continues talking about London. I’ve been five times, but he doesn’t seem to care as he mansplains how the underground system works. When I’ve been zoning in and out, I don’t realise that he’s switched topics.

“You know…” he begins. “Your last name sort of sounds like that clothing brand all the girls at Drayton are obsessed with.”

Oh, shit. My card was on the table for everyone to see. When the waiter returns with it, I swipe it off the table, slipping it back into my purse. I’ve been so out of it today I forgot my one rule. My one stupid and pathetic rule I should have been protecting tonight.

I do what I’ve been taught to do: deny.

“Yeah? Sounds like it doesn’t it,” I say, laughing quietly. He quirks an eyebrow, shaking his head. For a second I think he’s going to drop it, but he doesn’t.

“Do you like their clothes?” he asks, sipping on the sparkling water he ordered, that I stupidly paid for. I was too tired to put up with the fight of splitting it. I nod at him, not wanting to let this go any further. I’m tired as it is, and I want this date to end. Then we can try again when I’m not feeling like a sack of potatoes. “I heard there’s a sale on at the pop up at the mall. Maybe we could go, and I’d get you something you like.”

I shake my head at him, almost laughing. “Babe, I don’t need you to buy me clothes.”

He smiles at me, dimples popping out as if this is a new thing for him. As if he gets off buying things for other people. “They’re really expensive. It’s just a nice gesture. To say thank you, you know…for….”

I tilt my head. “For what? The sex?” He nods eagerly. God, he’s got this puppy-like persona about him. It’s honestly adorable. “I’m good.”

“I’m just trying to be nice, Scarlett,” he concedes, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“I know and I appreciate that, but I don’t need you buying clothes for me. Especially not from somewhere where I can get clothes for free,” I say, putting an end to it. Maybe if I tell him the truth, he’ll still like me. He’s been a great guy to hang out with. Maybe he’s not like everybody else.

“Oh. Do you have a friend that works for the company or something?” he asks curiously.

“I am the company.”

“Really?” I nod, instantly regretting it. He squints his eyes at me, trying to figure me out. I don’t like it. I don’t like this at all. “But you live in an apartment off campus, and you got the cheapest thing on the menu. If you were actually connected to them, you wouldn’t even need school.”

Oh my God. He must really think he’s hit the nail on the head with that one. This is exactly why I don’t tell people anything about me. They either realise that I’m not using the benefits of my family’s money to get my way out of school, or they think that I’m a spoiled nepotistic child who gets everything handed to her. Or worse, they realise that I have all these benefits and that they can use me to get what they want.

“Not everyone wants to throw education out the window just because they can. I live in an apartment off campus because I love my friends. I ordered the cheapest thing because it was the best thing to get. I’ve been here five times and I get it every time, no matter who I’m with. And frankly, I assumed you were paying at first and I didn’t want to embarrass you. I also didn’t know that you could assess wealth so easily,” I get out all at once, finally ripping the Band-Aid off. I want this day to end. I just want to crawl up in my room, pull the covers up to my chin and cry.

“What?” he says, blinking as he shakes his head. He’s smiling now, full on grinning. He might as well puff out his chest and bang on it like a gorilla, seeing as he looks like he just won the lottery. “Are you embarrassed by it?” he asks curiously, humour lacing his tone.

“Embarrassed by it?” I repeat, gawking at him. “No. I love my family and I love our company and everything we’ve done. I’m more embarrassed by the way people act around me when they realise who my family are.”

“And how do you think I’m acting around you?”

“Like you want to scream at the top of your lungs that you fucked me last week.”

“Can I?” he asks. Is he being serious? There’s that slight smirk on his lips, mixed with a head tilt. He must be joking, right.

“No, you dimwit, you cannot,” I say. I might be acting extra defensive, but I can’t deal with this right now. My legs shake as I stand up, grabbing my bag from the seat from beside me. “Goodbye!”