He fought with everything in himself not to take her in his arms, and ravish her with the passion and love he held for her in his heart. Tonight was her night to share with him. He would be the listener while she talked about her past. Either way, he knew she would give him a deeper insight into Mia Danielle Baker.
Mia poured them both a glass of wine. The classical music played softly in the background. She did not want her life to be a dumping session all at one time, so she decided to trickle it in throughout the night. Some of the harsher things about her past, she would strategically place within the evening, but for now, she wanted him to know about her and her family. She started from the beginning.
While he stood in the kitchen with her, sipping his wine, she opened up to share her life. For the first time, she would share her entire life with another human being. There were even things that she had never told Miesha, things she felt ashamed of even though those things were not her fault. Now, Carlo would learn all.
“My parents met at a peace rally in the seventies. They met a man there who preached about love and unity. In a country divided by the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War, they were mesmerized by his idealism and plan for the future. Whether drug induced or not, they started to believe him to be the Messiah.”
Carlo watched her every move. She was the epitome of beauty. The grace with which she carried herself, the confidence in the way she stood and spoke, never ceased to amaze him. He listened to her every word, but he knew in the end, regardless of what her life were about, he wanted to marry her. She was the woman he pictured his life with—the mother of his children. He had finally found the one.
“My parents left their families and started following this man.” Mia took a sip of her wine and checked the pasta. “Shortly after they got married, they had me. They loved and spoiled me. Then when they had my brother, it turned my world upside down.”
Carlo laughed, “Yeah, that’s normal, but by the third brother, I learned to embrace the sibling thing.”
“I can imagine. I only had one chance at it, and it took me a while to warm up to the kid. He had a lot of medical problems, so not only was Kyle the baby, he needed constant care from my parents.”
“What was wrong with him?” he asked.
“He was born a healthy baby, but at the age of five, he was diagnosed with diabetes. We had one physician in our town and resources were scarce, so he had to be very careful with his food intake. I remember being so angry with him for taking my parents’ attention that I would taunt him with candy. I would eat it in front of him, or put it under his pillow, enticing him to eat sugar.” Her eyes were distant. “But he never got angry with me,” she sighed.
After she tasted the sauce, she filled up Carlo’s glass of wine and continued, “Anyway, Kyle didn’t get angry. He would walk into my room in the morning and say ‘Mia, I must have walked into your room last night while I was sleeping and took your candy. I’m sorry, sissy.’” Her eyes began to tear up, but she immediately stopped them.
“Wow, you were mean,” he said, laughing. Carlo was leaning up against the kitchen sink while she glanced over at the recipe every now and then to make sure that she prepared his meal perfectly.
“I know—I didn’t realize the seriousness of the disease until one night his blood sugar had dropped so low that he wasn’t coherent. My parents panicked. They called the doctor; he gave him medication, and Kyle slowly came out of the coma.
“I sat in my room crying, praying for his life, ready to give my own for him. At that moment, I realized what it meant to love someone unconditionally. From that point, Kyle and I were inseparable, and I gave up eating sugar with him.” She missed her family, more so, now.
“You’re amazing,” he said.
“No, I’m an average girl who loves to see other people happy.”
“That’s not average, Mia. Most people are selfish. In the last couple weeks, I’ve seen a woman who helped a stranger who stole money from her, forgive a man that didn’t treat her with the kindness she deserved,” he winked and smiled, “and steal the hearts of my family.” Carlo started walking toward her. “I witnessed her put her own life on the line to save a fifteen-year-old girl’s life.”
Mia smiled up at Carlo. He stood over her, unable to control himself. He took her in his arms, leaned down, and passionately kissed her soft lips. She melted against him.
When Carlo pulled away, Mia remained, her head tilted and eyes closed. A smile on her face made Carlo laugh. “I had to kiss you. I held off as long as I could tonight.”
“I’m not complaining,” she whispered.
“So, tell me more. Where did you live during this time?”
Mia removed the pot of water off the stove. She left the electric burner on, so she could put the pot back once she strained the pasta. “We lived in Connecticut.”
Connecticut. That was her brief answer to every hard question. Carlo was silent longer than she expected. She did not look at him when he spoke. “Mia, stop working for a minute.” He took the pot from her hands and turned her toward him. “Were you raised in the same cult where Denise came from?”
Mia’s eyes filled quickly with tears. Her voice trembled when she spoke. He would either accept her or leave her, but it was time for honesty. “Yes, the Church of Biblical Truth is where I was born and raised. Do you know who killed Denise?”
“No, the case is pretty short on leads. You are the only one, at this point.”
“Oh, poor Denise. She only wanted to escape James. The same as me.”
“Tell me what happened to you, why you left, how you left.”
Bold tears ran down her face, causing streaks in her makeup. She did not care. She was choked-up with emotion from the fact that he did not leave; he wanted to know more.
“When I was sixteen, my parents told me that our leader had summoned me for marriage. I was to be his tenth wife.” She saw a breeze of anger cross his eyes.
Carlo mentally shook his head, “Continue, please.”
“I couldn’t do it, Carlo. I had to make the biggest decision of my life. I packed a backpack and left my parents and brother behind. I ran away and never looked back.”
“That’s why you decided to help others escape similar situations.”
“Yes. The lifestyle is unbearable.” She waited for him to make his move to walk out the door. Instead, he stood in front of her with his arms crossed, and an understanding depth in his caressing eyes. The next twenty seconds of silence felt like twenty minutes of uncertainty.
“Did you think that this would drive me away?” he finally asked.
“I had hoped not, but there is more to tell you.”
“Well, you can tell me during dessert. Right now, I can’t think of anything more I want to do then hug you. I’m so glad you got out.”
“I was desperate. Desperate people do desperate things.”
As Carlo walked toward her, she stepped back until her back hit into the stove. His eyes were warm and endearing. His hand slid through her hair and he cupped the back of her head. He leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead while he wrapped his strong arms around her and held her tight.
Mia had never felt such compassion in a single hug. She felt warm and safe, even protected by Carlo. She closed her eyes against his chest and listened to the rhythm of his beating heart. Her arms wrapped around his waist while she felt his lips kiss the top of her head. She was safe—really safe with him.
Mia reluctantly lifted her head from his chest and gazed up at him. His eyes searched her eyes while his heart, beat a little faster when he saw the compassion and love on her face. She reached her hand back to steady herself. The palm of her hand landed on the red-hot electric stove. She screamed, pulling her hand from the burner. Mia ran to the sink and shoved her hand under cold water, watching it blister before her eyes.
“Where is your first aid kit?” he anxiously inquired.
“It’s in the linen closet by the bathroom; on the bottom shelf,” s
he moaned through the pain.
After a few moments, Carlo still had not returned. “Carlo, did you get it?” she yelled from the kitchen. “It’s at the bottom, in a plastic case.”
He still did not respond. Mia wrapped her hand in a wet towel, cringing with pain. Irritated at the amount of time it was taking Carlo to find the first-aid kit, she headed toward her bedroom.
She stopped at the bedroom door when she saw Carlo sitting on her bed. His head was down. Wrapped in his arms was the urn that she had stolen from a car, ten years prior. Mia swallowed hard against a storm of emotions when she saw Carlo rocking back and forth with it, saying Papa, repeatedly.
Her mind twisted in tight knots, leaving her speechless. Shock and terror stifled the screams lodged in her throat. She backed up into the doorframe, trying to catch her breath. An onslaught of tears caused an endless flow of grief down her face.
Catches in her throat were spasmodic while she watched the man she loved wrap his arms tightly around the urn. The ashes were his father. How could they be Carlo’s father? Her thoughts scratched at her throat, but she could hardly breathe, let alone speak.
Carlo had not realized that Mia stood in the doorway. He had his papa back in his arms and that was all that mattered. Tears streaked his face while he rocked back and forth, grateful that he found him. Disoriented at where he was, Carlo looked up from the urn, anxious to tell his family.
He saw Mia standing in the doorway with a twisted look on her tear-soaked face. He scanned the room, trying to make sense of everything. When he realized he was in Mia’s bedroom, sitting on Mia’s bed, his eyes flew to the urn and then back at her. The cloud of confusion parted, leaving the entire scene completely clear. Carlo’s relieved face instantly turned an angry red.
Mia saw the instant change while she fought to find her voice. The throbbing pain in her hand was gone, her adrenaline had drowned the pain beneath the fear she felt when she saw Carlo’s eyes. She ran to the bed and kneeled beside him, grabbing his hand.
“Ple-please let me explain,” she managed to say through her heaving sobs.
Carlo stood, pulling his hand from hers. He backed away from her, trying to subdue his anger. His labored breathing was muffling the sound of his thudding heart. His body was violently shaking, he inhaled deep before he set the urn on the dresser for fear he would drop it.
“Why do you have my father’s URN IN YOUR HOUSE?!” he yelled. He threw his open hands up to his face and took deep breaths to try to slow his heart rate. He waited for her to respond, but all he heard were her deafening sobs.
Mia forced herself to talk, gasping for air in-between words. “I was alone, I ran away, remember? And . . .”
“Did you steal this from my car? That’s all I want to know!”
“I was hungry. . . ”
“DID YOU STEAL THIS FROM MY CAR?” he demanded.
“Yes! She cried. “But—”
“There are no buts, Mia! I’ve spent ten years of my life searching for the bastard that left me a piece of paper in place of my father’s ashes.” He pulled out his wallet, grabbed her IOU note, and threw it on the bed. “YOU LEFT US THIS!”
Mia continued to cry into her hands. She remembered leaving the note; she did not need him to show it to her again. It brought back painful memories.
Carlo grabbed the note off the bed and crumbled it into a ball. He threw it at her, “Is this the person you are? Is it? SAY SOMETHING!”
“That was me because I didn’t have a choice.”
He stormed toward her backing her up against the wall. He threw both his hands on the wall next to her face. Mia flinched, not sure what he planned to do. She had never seen him this angry. Distraught with grief and sorrow, she closed her eyes while she trembled.
“You always have a choice,” he seethed.
She could not look into his eyes; they were the center of disappointment and anguish. “I-I’m not that person. I was alone.”
“I don’t care. How dare you steal something so precious!” Carlo’s distorted face horrified her. His breathing was short and rapid. He watched her grief-stricken emotions and slowly leaned his forehead against hers. In a breathless whisper, she heard him say, “Not you, please, not you. Why did it have to be you?” For a moment, his voice had softened, almost begging for things to be different. He was stunned that the years of hate toward a thief ended up being the one person he fell in love with. His head hung low, his face distorted from anguish—he was torn.
“Carlo, I didn’t know what it was when—”
“You didn’t know what it was, so that makes it okay? You have put on a good act, Mia. Acts of kindness, those were nothing more than a façade. I guess the joke is on me, right. Right?!” he yelled, inches from her face.
The insistent pain she felt in every part of her body was crushing the essence of her heart. His harsh tone was the hot knife that would scar her soul. It was her all those years ago, trying to get enough money to stay alive, to eat, and when she found out it was an urn, she protected and honored it, rather than selling it or tossing it in a Dumpster.
She was speechless and cornered with a desire to find the words that would numb his pain. But, anything she said was wrong. At this very moment in time, to Carlo, the world was black and white, leaving no room for the gray area of her past. Her tears were dropping to the floor in a puddle of dejection, and all she could think about were the three words she managed to whisper, “I love you.”
“You love me? You love me?” he said pulling his hands from the wall.
She did not move. She never meant to cause him pain, but she had devastated him and his family. Knowing this was tearing her apart.
He grabbed the urn from the dresser, gripping it tightly in his arms and stormed into the living room. She followed him, reaching up to touch his arm. He yanked away from her touch as he paced angrily back and forth. He did not know what to do; he wanted to arrest her because that was his primary goal: find the bastard, arrest him, and make him pay.
A million thoughts flooded his mind, clouding any form of reasoning he might have had. His conflicting feelings were ripping at him, pulling him in every direction. Tug of war with his heart and mind was crippling his senses. Desperate to make the right decision, he let his head fall back as he inhaled deeply.
Carlo’s clenched jaw strained against the anger. He brought his eyes to meet hers directly. Her wet face and trembling body was a blow to his gut, leaving him disturbed. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But, he wouldn’t lie to her. He had faced the loss of his father’s urn for ten years, ten incredibly long years in which he had turned the city upside down looking for it.
Finally, in a moment where they stood at a crossroads, Carlo realized he could not let it go. He could not forgive her the way he wanted to, not now that he knew her journey included her being a criminal. Was that really the reason he chose to shut down his feelings toward Mia? It did not matter, it was the reason he was telling himself. Past the anger, pain and shock were layers of guilt and shame that he had let his family down.
In a rough, emotionless voice, Carlo managed to say, “I can’t forgive you. I-I don’t ever want to see you again.” He opened the door, paused, but did not look back and then slammed the door shut to Mia’s apartment, and to his heart.
Mia wanted nothing more than to beg, but she couldn’t. Her body ached from the tensed muscles she used while sobbing. Her voice had all but gone and the reality of the events that led up to that very moment had been the invisible gag that prevented her from begging him to stay.
Alone in her apartment, staring at the closed door, she cried hopelessly. She stood alone in the world, cut off from the greatest feelings she had ever known. In a cruel twist of fate, she dispelled all that was good and was immediately frozen in a world devoid of anything. She was surrounded by the vacuum of space: she heard nothing, she felt nothing. She was alone. Alone. Alone.
Slowly . . . she returned to this plane of exis
tence. She felt heavy. She felt woozy. She felt pain. Her world now expanded to include her heartbeat, the classical music playing in the background, the candles flickering in the living room, and their half-filled glasses of wine that sat next to one another on the counter.
Mia slowly walked into the kitchen, and in one sweep, she slid her arms across the surface of the counter sending plates, pots and food to the ground.
She dropped to her knees, fell forward, and lay on her stomach amongst the broken dishes and food and cried. For hours, she cried, not moving from the cold floor. Her sobs turned to small involuntary shudders. By morning, she had fallen asleep on the linoleum floor in the kitchen, alone and brokenhearted.
Chapter Twelve
Carlo woke with the side of his face pressed firmly in the sand. His eyes strained against the blinding sun while the sound of crashing waves echoed in his ears. He had never made it home after he stormed out of Mia’s apartment last night. Instead, he drove down the coast until he could not drive anymore.
The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U. Page 13