They Broke Me, I Hid His Son novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Thirty Years

Vittorio Bellandi took the stairs one at a time, and he was breathing hard when he reached my door.

He had been the biggest man I knew at fifteen. At fifty-eight his shoulders were still wide, but his hair was entirely silver and his hand on the cane was real.

He stood on my threshold and looked at the room.

At Rocco on his knees with a wooden train.

At Quentin by the window.

At Constance Wexley, who had gone the color of her pearls.

"Constance," he said.

"Vittorio."

It was one word each, and the air in the flat changed.

"You know each other," I said.

"We did business," Vittorio said, without taking his eyes from her. "A long time ago."

"A very long time ago," said Constance. She picked up her purse. "I'll go back to the hotel. Quentin, call me when you can."

"Mother."

"Not now, darling."

She went past Vittorio in the doorway and didn't touch him.

He turned his head and watched her go down the stairs.

Then he came in and shut the door.

"Sabina," he said.

I had not heard that voice say my name in three years.

"Hello, Papa Vittorio."

I had called him that when I was fifteen and my mother was alive.

It had come out before I decided to say it, and I saw it land on him.

"May I sit?"

"You may."

He lowered himself into the chair at my kitchen table and put the cane across his knees.

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