The End

Chapter 14: What the Nanny Saw

Romano's return to Sicily had been uneventful. He'd told no one he was coming. Not Carlo. Definitely not Catterina.

He spent the early evening sitting on the veranda, listening to the waves lap softly at the shore, slowly sipping an acqua minerale, and thinking about how to proceed. He had decisions to make, a future to plan.

He and Ingrid finished the meal in silence. He'd asked Enzo to go all out, and he had. The red mullet in lemon had been particularly fine. Ingrid looked beautiful in her summer dress. Her hair falling over her face, a blushed halo in the fading sun, reminding him, again, of the soft insides of last week's sea urchins. Was the damn whale haunting his waking hours now too?

Romano pushed back from the table, and took Ingrid by the hand, leading her to the jetty and then over the rocks, so they were mostly hidden from view.

He kissed her then. Deeply, on the mouth. He held her back by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Ingrid, this is the end for us. I'm finally ready to make a real commitment," he started. "But I want you to know how much I appreciate you. How much you've meant to me. You've been my friend. You've been my comfort. You've been my lover."

"You know I never had expectations, Giacco," stuttered Ingrid.

"I know," Romano continued. "But I tell you this because I want you to know. I want you to understand. I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

"Sorry for what?" answered Ingrid. "You have nothing to be... "

Romano held up a hand and she fell silent.

"I know, Ingrid." was all he said.

There was a still depth to her look. The air seemed to stop around them and neither breathed. And then her eyes fell to the ground. Tears started to form in her eyes. She let out a deep breath.

"It's been terrible, Giacco. I honestly couldn't take it. I thought I'd go crazy. And the longer it went, the worse it got. I'm not sorry I killed Augustu. He was a bastard and deserved ten times worse. But the rest. The girl... " and then the tears started to silently fall.

Ingrid took a deep, shaky breath. "He had pictures, you see. I wasn't forced, not like Mirriam, not like some of the others. I was happy to give it a try, see what it was like. I didn't know enough to know who not to trust. And I didn't know it would be filmed. And then, when he got into trouble. He... he wanted money. More than I had to give. So I tried to steal the evidence and he caught me. He wanted me to go film some more with him. He threatened to hand me to the mafia. So I... I did what I had to do. I got undressed, said I would do what he wanted, and then, when he turned to grab his camera, I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could, and then I grabbed my things, grabbed the pieces of the vase, and ran. I didn't plan it. I didn't think it through. I don't even remember how I got rid of the ceramics. I spent that night waiting for the police to come and get me. But they never did."

"And when I finally started to relax, to think it was over and I was safe... the girl found me. She'd seen me come in that night and she figured it must have been me. Now she wanted money... and I could see it would never end."

Ingrid reached into her purse and pulled out a pearl handled.22, carefully handing it backwards to Romano.

"I didn't want to kill her, I just... I was out of choices, Giacco."

"I know," Romano answered. "I know."

"I'll be going to jail, I suppose. For a long time?"

"That's not in my control," answered Romano truthfully.

"Well, assuming I am... can we... just one last time... could we possibly...I just need to disconnect from my thoughts."

Romano was willing to do quite a lot for Ingrid. And, after all, they were hidden from view. His heart was heavy with disappointment, regret, sorrow. Enough that fucking her was likely to be a challenge. But. he could give all and take little. It was the least he could do for Ingrid, who had given him so much over the years.

As she lay back on the grassy knoll, at the back of the dune behind the jetty, the long grass shifting in the breeze, he delved under her sundress and pushed it up to her hips. He placed his large hands on her inner thighs and pushed up and out, opening her to his mouth. She sighed and laid on hand on his head as he kissed his way up the soft insides of her legs. Trailing a wet tongue upward, he dug a finger under her panties and pulled them to the side so that, when he arrived at his destination, she was exposed to his mouth.

Kneeling in the sandy grass, he took broad, flat swipes with his tongue. Ingrid's hand in his hair tightened. She grabbed at her breast with the other hand and let out a sigh that escalated into a moan as he sharpened his tongue to a point and teased at her clit. As he moved over the hard, hot little knot, spelling out his sorrows, she began to jerk and flex her legs. Soon he would have to hold her down.

He placed a hand at the top of her pelvis and, without withdrawing his tongue, he slowly pushed one, then two fingers in her soaking pussy, pushing in and up to find his hand on the outside. And now he had to use his biceps, his elbows out at wing-like angles, to hold her legs down, for fear she'd break his nose with her thrusting and thrashing. He slowly picked up the pace of his fingers, pushing in and up. Building her up, just so he could break her down.

The only words she spoke, for the 40 minutes he spent there, between her legs, were, "please Giacco, please." 'Please' became her mantra, her whole world, as he made her cum. Once, twice, a third time. Till she couldn't take any more. Until he'd drained her sorrow, her fear, her regret. Until she was empty of feeling and thought. Until she was ready for what came next.

Romano sat waiting for the plane to take off. He'd handed off the case to Carlo to walk the prosecutor through. Ingrid was cooperative, remorseful even. If it had just been Bonsignore she might have gotten off lightly, with the circumstances. But a double homicide. He didn't think much of her chances.

He'd noticed as he left that Catterina was eyeing Carlo speculatively. The kind of dangerous look, he had come to fear. Maybe having them play act a married couple had changed the station dynamics for the better.

He imagined the sun through the plane window bleaching away his thoughts of Ingrid. But if he was wholly focused on his end destination, waiting for him by the tarmac in Liguria, why did he feel the urge to sob? Maybe, tonight, the whale would let him know.

THE END