by Gina Azzi
“Benito, he’s the beneficiary of Papa’s will,” I say quietly. “And he’s taking us for everything we’re worth.” I finally confide the deep dark secret, barring Anthony, to someone outside my family.
Sandro’s mouth drops open in shock. “Fuck.”
I nod in agreement.
“How much?”
“Everything.” I look up at him. “Except Angelina’s. And our family home.”
He shakes his head. “Might as well be everything.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit, Enzo. I’m sorry, I had no idea. Fuckin’ Benito. Whenever he’s back, he stirs up shit.”
I nod.
Sandro lets out a low whistle and pops open another beer, pushing his empty one aside. He takes a long gulp. “This is going to be fucked up … whatever it is.”
“I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone about Benito being back in town until I can tell Mama and Claudia. They should hear it from me.” The beer bottle feels small in my grasp, and I grip it hard, remembering Mama’s tears when she finally told me the truth about Papa’s will.
“Yeah. Okay.” He agrees. “How’s Claudia doing anyway?”
I shrug. “Okay … I guess.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Help you out any way I can.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“You good though? You need anything?” Sandro asks quietly, his eyes studying me closely. And I know he’s offering me money but doesn’t want to come out and say it since if I accept, despite all the years of friendship between us, it will change the dynamics of our friendship.
“No. I’m good. Thanks though.”
He nods. “Have another beer then.” He slides another Peroni across to me.
I pop the top gratefully.
* * *
Winter arrives early this year, cold seeping into the autumn days of October. Last night I stacked all the patio tables and chairs and stored them away for the winter months. It may even snow in the next couple of weeks. I shiver as I enter Angelina’s, cursing myself for leaving my jacket in the car. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans and duck into the kitchen. Mama is standing at the counter, her rapid chopping a sharp staccato in the silence.
“Mama?”
She turns to look over her shoulder, her mouth curling into a rare smile when she sees me. She used to smile all the time, her laughter bubbly. It hits me hard in the chest, and I realize how much I miss the way she was, the person Papa helped her be. I wonder if that version of Mama will reappear as time passes or if she’s lost forever.
“Ciao, caro. Come stai oggi?” She turns back to the tomatoes on the cutting board.
“Bene. Is Claudia here?”
“No, it’s too early for Claudia.”
I nod.
“Do you need some help?” I ask. It’s still early morning; the restaurant isn’t even open yet. In a way, this is my favorite time. The quiet solitude, the monotonous work that needs to be accomplished before the day begins. It’s a good time for thinking, letting my thoughts roam rampant before I have to check them and focus on our patrons. I never thought I’d wish for solitude just to think, or that I’d find it at Angelina’s, but here I am.
“I’d love some,” Mama says, surprising me. She hands me an apron and gestures toward a bowl of vegetables. She places a sharp knife on the cutting board next to her. “Cut them the long way. Not too thick.”
I nod, tying the apron around my waist and picking up the knife.
“You’ve been quiet lately. All okay?” Mama asks.
“Sure.” I smile. “Same old.”
She chuckles. “I don’t believe you.”
“What do you mean?”
She places down her knife and turns to look at me. Her quick eyes don’t miss a trick as they study my face carefully. She exhales. “I know I haven’t been myself lately, Enzo. I know you’ve had to take a lot on, shoulder a lot of responsibilities that you haven’t had to deal with before. I understand that this situation with Benito is difficult. And delicate.” Her hand reaches out and covers mine, halting my chopping. “But I know you, Enzo. There’s a girl.” Mama smiles. “Tell me about her.”
I look at her sharply. How the hell did she pick up on that? There’s always girls. There always have been. Mama’s always known it. But never, not even when she was her old self, clapping her hands together and choosing the ribbons for the lavish presents I gifted to girls to soften the blow of ending things with them, has she ever called me out and directly asked me about one.
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“I may be old, Enzo, but I’m not senile yet,” she scolds me, removing her hand.
I continue chopping.
“You’ve been different. This one, she’s different. Who is she?” Mama continues, leaning lightly into my side, bumping her shoulder against my upper arm.
I laugh. “You’re something else you know that?”
“Tell me about her.” For a moment, a girlish delight from her past is back in her voice, lacing through her words like laughter.
“She’s an American.”
Mama frowns slightly. “A blonde?”
I laugh. “No, she’s a brunette. Italian roots.”
Mama smiles. “Oh, so she’s Italian?”
“I guess so.”
“And …”
“I think she’s interested in another guy.” Stupid Pete Buchanan.
Mama’s laughter erupts, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.
I place the knife down and face her. “Seriously? You think that’s funny? Your own son getting played?”
She nods, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. She places a palm on my cheek. “Oh, Enzo. After all the girls and all the parties, you’re finally getting a tiny taste of your own medicine. Is she a good girl?” Mama asks. And I know what she means. Is she true and kind and sweet? Will she be loyal and faithful if we were serious? Could I marry her?
“Yes.” I nod.
Her palm taps against my cheek gently. “Good. Then you better woo her so she stops seeing the other boy. Or you better figure out a way for her to know that you are serious.” She raises her eyebrows. “I take it she’s not one to be happy with a gold and diamond bracelet?” Of course she has to reference my go-to, the piece of jewelry I gift to girls to take the sting out of ending our relationship. Or a hookup. Or whatever it is I’m doing with some girl I don’t want coming around, blowing up my phone anymore. Surprisingly, the method works. They all seem to get that the bracelet is a goodbye gift and not an invitation to move our relationship to the next level. How messed up is that? Only in my social circle. Mia would be scandalized.
I snort. “No.”
Mama nods. “Then you better be honest with her about how you really feel. Don’t let her get away if she’s a good girl.”
I nod. As usual, Mama is right.
* * *
Five days pass before Mia finally walks into Angelina’s and my heart catches in my throat. I’ve been waiting to see her, to talk to her. Things seemed to go so well the morning we had breakfast together. And then, I don’t see her for nearly a week. I shake my head. Why couldn’t I have just messaged her like a normal person? Because you actually like her.
And instead of admitting that, I spent the past four nights drinking with Sandro or trying to hook up with Francesca. Or Giulietta. But in the end, I couldn’t do it. They aren’t Mia.
And that thought scares the fuck out of me.
Now, here she is, looking around the inside of the restaurant, deciding where to sit. She’s breathtaking in a tight pair of skinny jeans and a camel-colored cashmere coat. Her brown boots tap against the floor as she walks to an empty table in the back corner, away from the cold that blasts through the door each time someone enters or exits.
She sits down and drops her backpack on the chair next to her. I smile. I love that it’s purple. Mia tucks her hair behind her ears, brushing stray strands out of her eyes. She l
ooks up, as if she can tell I’m staring at her, and when her eyes meet mine, she smiles shyly.
Damn, I’ve missed her. But how do you miss someone you’ve never even had?
“Buona sera.” I walk over to her table, handing her a menu.
“Ciao, Lorenzo.” Her eyes scan the menu quickly.
“Caffé latte?”
“Si.”
“Come stai?”
“Bene, grazie. Tu?”
“Bene.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Why are we having the most generic conversation known to mankind?
“I’ll be right back with your caffé.”
“Okay.”
I stalk back to the kitchen, my nerves rattling me, my hands clenching into fists. Why am I acting like an idiot? Get it together, Enzo! Thank God the restaurant is quiet right now. There’s only one waitress here, and she’s out front smoking a cigarette. I may have to disappear if there had been witnesses to me swooning over a girl, stuttering like a lovesick kid.
After preparing her caffé, I add a few biscotti to a side dish and walk back to her table.
“Here,” I say, placing the caffé and biscotti down.
“Thank you.” She wraps her hands around the mug, breathing in the scent of espresso and milk.
“So,” I start, grabbing the chair next to her and sitting down before I lose my nerve, “how are things going?”
“Good.” She takes a small sip of her drink, a little happy sigh escaping her lips.
I avert my gaze.
“Have you been busy lately?” I try again. Why does she seem distant? Is it that fucking douche Pete?
“Sort of. Just school stuff. Hanging out a lot with Lexi.”
“Yeah. I figured. I haven’t seen you at all this week. Not since we had breakfast,” I add lamely.
She shrugs, taking another sip of caffé before placing the mug down on the saucer.
Jesus. Just ask her out. I turn toward her, placing a hand on her wrist.
She jumps slightly but doesn’t shake my hand off, which I take as a sign to continue.
“Well, if you’re free tomorrow night, want to have dinner with me? I know you have class the next day and it’s short notice, but if you’re free …” I watch her face closely, trying to discern any hesitancy on her part.
She smiles, her face transforming into sunshine. Fuck, I’m a goner.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
I smile back, rubbing my thumb over the delicate skin of her wrist. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00PM?”
She nods. “Sounds good.”
“Okay. I’ll let you study then.” I nod toward her backpack. “I have some errands I need to run. So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Why did I say it like a fucking question?
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Now that Mia actually agreed to the date, my nerves have fled and my confidence is back. Thank God. I park my car about a block from her street and zip my jacket up before getting out. Walking to her place, I tuck my hands in the pockets, surprised by how cold it already is.
Standing in front of Mia’s apartment, I knock twice on the green door. It opens a moment later and a man stands there, a frown peeking through his trim beard.
“Ciao. Sono Lorenzo,” I say steadily, sticking out my hand. Wow, talk about an old-fashioned date. This is such a different experience than any of the other American exchange students I’ve taken out in the past.
“Ciao, Lorenzo. Sono Gianluca. Piacere.” Gianluca shakes my hand, a smile warming his face, changing his features. “Come on in.” He holds the door open wide.
I step into the entrance just as Mia comes walking toward the door. I blink slowly. Damn, she is beautiful. Her long brown hair is loose around her shoulders, curled slightly at the ends. Her makeup is subtle but her eyes appear bigger, her lashes thicker. She’s wearing black skinny jeans tucked into a pair of leather boots that reach her thighs. A thin, long sleeve black shirt with a low V clings to her frame, highlighting the curve of her breasts, usually hidden under a sweater three sizes too big. A thick plaid scarf hangs from her shoulders as she wraps it around her neck, once, twice, tucking in the ends.
“Ciao.” She smiles at me, coming forward and pressing kisses to both my cheeks.
Jeez, who is this girl? She looks stunning, her confidence a total turn-on.
“Don’t forget your jacket,” Gianluca says, reaching into a closet and emerging with Mia’s camel-colored coat.
“Grazie.” She smiles at him adoringly as he holds the jacket open wide for her to slide her arms into. She buttons the front up, pulling a pair of gloves out of the pocket, which she quickly pulls over her hands. “Ready?” she asks me.
I nod. “Si. It was good to meet you,” I tell Gianluca sincerely.
He watches me for a moment, his eyes serious before turning into a look of general friendliness. “You too. Have a nice night.”
“Thanks.”
“See you later, Gianluca.” Mia calls over her shoulder as she steps outside.
“Be careful, cara.”
And I can’t help but smile, enjoying the fact that this guy is worried about my girl. At least, I hope to make her my girl soon.
* * *
I take Mia to one of my favorite restaurants, a place we frequented as a family when Claudia and I were kids. Back when Benito was still a doting and loving uncle and not a manipulative coward. I haven’t been to D’Amico’s in a long time, not since before Papa passed, but the owner, Nino, greets me with the same warmth and kindness he always exhibits when Mia and I walk through the door.
“Ciao, Enzo! What a pleasure to have you here with us this evening.” He shakes my hand warmly, pulling me in for a hug.
“It’s always a pleasure to be here, Nino. How are you doing?” I step back, clasping a hand to his shoulder. “How are Carlotta and the kids?”
Nino wags his finger at me. “You always did have an excellent memory, Enzo. Carlotta is wonderful, busy with her fashion designs. And the kids, well, what can I say? They are hardly bambini anymore. Maria is going to the UK next year for university, and Michele just got engaged this past summer!” He beams with pride.
“Congratulations.”
“Grazie. And who is this beautiful woman?” he asks, taking a small step toward Mia and clasping her hand in his own.
“This is my date, Mia.”
“Ah, what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He kisses her hand lightly. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Nino has always been a flirt. Or, as Mama says affectionately, a hopeless romantic.
“Grazie,” Mia says shyly, dropping her hand back to her side.
“I have the most perfect table for you this evening,” Nino announces, turning to the hostess and taking the menus from her hands. “Follow me.”
He leads us to the back of the restaurant, to a small table next to a massive window. The lights of the city shine below us, the Coliseum and Roman Forum visible.
“Grazie, Nino, this is perfect,” I tell him sincerely.
He nods. “Your waiter this evening will be right with you.” He winks at Mia. “Enjoy your dinner.”
After Nino saunters off, Mia stifles a giggle.
“He’s a lot to take in?” I guess.
She nods. “But charming, as I’m learning most Italians are.”
I chuckle and shrug. “Part of our culture. We can never help ourselves around beautiful women.”
Mia blushes, ducking her head. She picks up a menu and smiles at me over the top of it. “Do you come here often?”
“Not in a long time. I used to come here a lot when I was young. This was my papa’s favorite restaurant; Nino and he were friends from their school days.”
“Oh, wow. That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. I think you will like the food. It’s simple but delicious. The menu always consists of a lot of the foods Papa and Nino grew up eating, back before they were businessmen. Nowadays, all these dishes are featured o
n cooking channels, but back then they were just the plates ordinary families ate for dinner.”
Her eyes scan the menu and she smiles. “Like escarole and beans?”
“Exactly.”
She laughs. “Thank you for bringing me here.” Her eyes shine with sincerity.
“Thank you for coming with me.” I smile at her. Now it’s time to start my wooing.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mia
My heart is galloping in my chest when Lorenzo drops me off at home after our date. It was a perfect evening; he was the perfect gentleman. We are sitting in his car, the heat on full blast to keep the chill at bay, when Lorenzo turns toward me and smiles.
“I had fun tonight, Mia.”
“Me too.”
“No…” he shakes his head “…you don’t understand. I don’t do dates. I mean, not like this. Not just because I really want to get to know the girl. Tonight, this…” he gestures between us “…it’s different for me.”
Now my heart is melting. Literally melting throughout my body. “Me too. I mean, I haven’t been on a lot of dates. Not like this.”
“Good.” He smiles, his dimple tucking into his cheek. Why does he have to be sweet on top of being so hot?
“Well, I better get inside. I feel like Gianluca may peek out the windows waiting for me,” I joke.
Lorenzo laughs. “You have a pretty cool setup here. I’m glad you’re enjoying Rome.”
“Yeah, I do. Gianluca, Paola, and even Lexi are amazing, but you’ve also had a really big impact on my time here,” I tell him honestly.
He leans forward, over the center console, resting his palm against my cheek. “I’m glad.” He stares into my eyes for a beat before leaning forward and kissing me. Soft and sweet. “I’ll see you this week?”
“See you this week.” I agree, opening my car door and stepping outside. “Buona notte.” I wave.