“Happy Birthday!” his family shouted when he and Shawn walked in. Maddy was still there, joined by a few other family friends. Rocco smiled and gave hugs and handshakes, all the while his stomach clenched, wondering if more people would show. Namely, the Vitales. As they all moved to serve themselves from the buffet his mom had spread on the dining room table, Sabrina placed a hand on his back.
“Did you call Chiara?” she whispered.
“Yes, she didn’t answer.”
“Me too. Grandma invited her parents, but they’re having a family dinner later. I guess one of their granddaughter’s birthdays is later in the week and Chiara’s oldest turned seven on Friday.”
“Huh,” he said. It wouldn’t be ideal, but then no time or place would be. At least then there would be someone to watch her boys and maybe Isabella would be on their side. He’d only have to hope her brothers wouldn’t be there.
“You’re fidgety,” Ray said a couple hours later as they sat in the living room.
Rocco’s knee had been bouncing, his mind jumbled, his eyes roamed, and his hands plucked at a pillow. “I have an errand to do later,” he said, glad for the other conversations buzzing around them.
“On a Sunday night?”
“It’s personal.”
Ray motioned to him and Rocco followed him onto the front porch. “Does this have to do with Chiara?” Ray whispered.
His brother had always been too smart for Rocco to get anything past him. The only reason he’d gotten away with so much in high school was because Ray had left for college before his sophomore year. Rocco shifted and stared out at the sky, a colorful haze of blue, red, orange, and pink, a few stars beginning to show in the indigo. He smiled. Chiara would love that sunset, the bright iridescence of it.
“I guess that tells me my answer,” Ray said. Rocco shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but be careful. I don’t want another late night phone call to come pick up your bloody body from the roadside. Once in a lifetime was enough.”
“No worries,” Rocco said patting his brother’s back.
“When you say that, I worry more.”
“I’m not seventeen anymore.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Ray said with a shake of his head.
“It’s all good,” Rocco said. He chuckled as Ray rolled his eyes heavenward.
“I’ll pray for ya’,” Ray said as he walked back into the house.
“Hope I don’t need it,” Rocco whispered. He gave the sky a last look and went inside.
Chapter Nineteen
“Won’t you come in,” Chiara’s mom said after opening the front door.
Chiara squeezed her hands into fists. Interruption after interruption had kept her from telling everyone she planned to divorce Phil. Now the kids were all in the family room watching a video, so it would have been a good opportunity. She faced the open doorway and her stomach dropped. Rocco stood next to her mom, smiling. Her eyes widened. She wished she’d closed them instead of seeing his too sexy self in his black Dockers and blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled and open at the collar. Her cheeks on both ends glowed with heat.
“Isabella, look who’s here,” their mom said. Isabella rolled her eyes discreetly.
Chiara glanced around the room. Santo’s black eyes narrowed, a deep scowl on his face and Tomaso didn’t look any less menacing, strange for her usually easy-going brother. Bobbie stood and went to the window, a completely uncharacteristic move for Chiara’s in-everyone’s- business sister-in-law. Phil grimaced before a satisfied smirk settled. Alarms sounded in Chiara’s mind and she swayed slightly. Chiara’s mom introduced Rocco to Chiara’s uncle Max, her mother’s younger brother, and Grandma and Grandpa Vitale, who of course grinned at Rocco, as her grandpa would anyone so clearly of Italian descent.
“And, of course, you must know Tomaso, Santo, and Bobbie from high school.” Rocco glanced at them with a nod, but they only stared at him. Chiara stepped forward, hoping to get Rocco out of the house before any damage could be done. “How is your family?” Chiara’s mom continued in her incessant chatter. Santo and Tomaso whispered to each other, their dark haired heads almost touching. “We’re sorry we couldn’t come to your birthday party, but I’m sure your mom told you we’re having one of our own. Oh, happy birthday.”
“Thanks, they’re fine,” Rocco said. He had only glanced once at Chiara. His smile had grown even wider.
“If you wanted to speak to Isabella, I’m sure--”
“I’m not here for Isabella,” he said. His smile faded into a still pleasant but determined expression. Chiara tried to motion him to leave by tilting her head.
“Oh?” Chiara’s mom said. She smoothed her pink blouse, a sign of uneasiness. “What can we do for you?”
“Bobbie,” Santo interrupted, “go sit with the kids.”
“Santo, I--” Bobbie said, facing him. Chiara had only heard him speak to his wife like that on a few occasions and she recognized Bobbie’s raised eyebrow and twisted smile as the beginnings of a fight.
“Now,” Santo snapped.
Chiara’s jaw almost dropped when Bobbie rushed into the family room across the hall and shut the door. Isabella’s mouth popped open for a moment in amazement. A fidgety silence filled the room. Santo and Tomaso stood near Chiara while everyone else maintained their seats. Chiara’s mom settled back in next to her husband and in-laws on one of the long couches.
“I’m here for Chiara,” Rocco said in a deep, commanding voice.
Murmurs clicked in the air. Chiara shook her head at him; her hair brushed her cheeks in the frantic movement. Rocco closed the space between them and smoothed her hair back. Their eyes met and for that one moment she forgot everything and took his hand.
“Get away from my sister,” Santo growled.
“No, I’m interested to hear what he has to say,” Phil said, standing.
Chiara swooshed back down to reality and tried to remove her hand from Rocco’s, but he held on. She used the grip to pull him down slightly.
“I told you to let me handle it. Leave now and maybe I can fix it,” she whispered in his ear. She frowned. He smelled different. What did it matter? She needed to think of her boys.
Rocco smiled at her like he did at Sabrina when she said something cute. “You promised you’d let me take care of you,” he said.
Several people said “what” at once. Phil stood next to them now, Santo and Tomaso looming on their other side. Chiara tried to step back, but Rocco held on and she was only a couple of feet in front of the fireplace, as far from the door as you could get.
“I’m still her husband so I think that’s my job,” Phil said in the tone he spoke to Max with when he tried to explain something Max didn’t understand, only with an edge of scorn.
“You haven’t been doing it well,” Rocco said in an equally disdainful voice.
“How would you know?” Phil said.
Chiara knew he was leading Rocco to tell everything--everything he could use against her. The reason for Phil’s dogged silence the last day pushed into her hectic mind.
“I know. I also know you wouldn’t be standing here if Chiara hadn’t stopped me.”
“Are you threatening me?” Phil said.
“Stop it,” Chiara snapped at Rocco.
Rocco’s face changed: his jaw set and his eyes sparked. “I know what you tried to do to her.”
“Are we talking about Friday night?” Phil said. Oh God, he already knew. How? What was he trying to accomplish? “I tried to kiss my wife.”
“That’s why her dress was ripped and the back torn?” Rocco said. He dropped her hand.
“Maybe she did that. Maybe she’s playing you,” Phil spit out. Rocco got in his face and tapped him on the chest with a thump. Phil stood his ground. “You just bought a house, huh? She’s using you. She knows she can’t get anything from me. Prenup. Nice to have a lawyer for a sister.”
Rocco jostled as if a little imp had hopped on his shoulder. He p
unched Phil in the face. Blood trickled from Phil’s nose as Santo and Tomaso jumped on Rocco and held his arms. Sweat, patchouli, and Drakkar Noir scorched Chiara’s sinuses. A child’s scream made them all turn.
Isabella shot up first. “Jesus, Bobbie, you were supposed to keep the kids out,” she said.
The room, now crowded with warm bodies, closed in on Chiara.
“You hit my daddy!” Danny screeched. He ran to Phil, who put his arm around him. Chiara covered her mouth with her hands. Max sidled up behind Phil and studied Rocco, whose furious face fell.
“I thought you were our friend,” Max said.
Santo pushed out an angry breath. Chiara knelt beside Max. “It’ll be okay, honey,” she said.
“You shouldn’t hit people,” Max said. His little brow wrinkled.
“I want to go home,” Danny said.
“See what you’ve done,” Phil said to Chiara. “You think you’ll get custody by moving in with a drunk with assaults on his record who hit me in front of witnesses? I know that was his room you were in on Friday night. I was waiting for proof, but I think this is confirmation enough.”
Chiara shook her head.
“Daddy, I don’t understand,” Danny said, looking up at Phil.
“Mommy doesn’t want to live with us anymore. But I’ll always be here.”
“That’s not true,” Chiara wailed. She sank to her knees and tried to take Danny’s hand, but he gripped Phil’s pants and buried his face into the bunching brown slacks. Max started to cry and Isabella lifted him into a hug.
“I would have helped you,” Isabella said. “It didn’t need to be like this.”
“I’m taking the boys home,” Phil said. “They don’t need to be around you and your friend.”
“No!” Chiara yelled. “They’re my sons!”
“It scares them when you yell,” Chiara’s mom said as she stood by Phil. “Please Phil, let me come over for awhile. I can help with Max.”
This is how it would be, having to beg Phil for permission to see the boys.
“I’ll drive you, Mom,” Isabella said. She and their mom glanced, disappointed, at Chiara before gathering around Max.
“What about me?” Chiara said, choking on the words. She hugged herself and blinked back the tears.
“Obviously you need to calm down and work things out with him,” Phil said with a disgusted up and down look at her and Rocco, who still struggled silently against Tomaso and Santo’s tight grip. “Call your mom or sister when you know what you want to do and I’ll consider it.”
Chiara ran to Max, still in Isabella’s arms, and kissed him. “I’ll be home soon,” she said. She tried to hug and kiss Danny, but he turned away from her. “I love you,” she whispered to him. Danny glared at her, hatred shining in his eyes. He took Phil’s hand as they walked out. Chiara’s legs wobbled. Her uncle Max steadied her. Bobbie and her three girls gawked from the doorway while Chiara’s dad helped his parents get their things.
“Take the girls home, Bobbie,” Santo said. He and Tomaso released Rocco, who rubbed his shoulder. Bobbie and the girls kissed their grandpa, great grandparents, dad, and uncles before they left. A cool breeze snuck in from the open front door. Chiara quavered as if it was the coldest winter day, not the middle of summer.
“I always told you to marry a nice Italian boy,” her grandpa said. He patted her cheek.
Her grandma tisked at her. “A granddaughter of mine, cheating--”
“According to you, she’s not even married, huh?” Grandpa Vitale said to his wife. “Never married in the church.” Grandma sighed, used to her husband pushing her buttons. Usually Chiara would laugh.
“I’ll walk you out,” Chiara’s dad said, taking his mom’s arm. They exchanged goodnights. Chiara went numb at the look of disgust her father shot her as he walked out.
“Chiara, we’ll work it out,” Rocco said. He reached for her. She huddled low, like a cat about to attack.
“Shut up! How could you do this to me?”
His shoulders hunched. “What? I only wanted--”
“We know what you wanted and it sounds like you already got it,” Santo said. “Leave her alone.”
“No. I could have left you alone, Chiara, but you came to me. You can’t tell me that meant nothing to you,” he said, his voice low and soft as he approached.
She put her hands over her face before staring at him. Each word he uttered wove into a poem, a song sung only for her. Leaning into him, she lost herself in his intense, sparkling brown eyes. He kissed her, quick but deep. A sour taste he had never had before made her push him away.
“Have you been drinking?” she said.
He stepped back, or maybe Santo pulled him away. Rocco wouldn’t meet her eyes now.
“No big deal,” he said. “I only had a couple before I came here.”
“How can you after what you told me about Shawn?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I knew it might be a bad scene.”
“No shit Sherlock,” Santo said. “What, thought you could play Chiara and Isabella the way you did Bobbie and Erica? You think you could get away with that again? I should have finished you off when I had the chance.”
“What?” Chiara said, rubbing her arms. Her uncle Max and her dad spoke in the far corner of the room, which crackled with testosterone and hostility.
“Get over it, that was all a long time ago,” Rocco said. He sounded dismissive, but his eyes said something else, more Chiara didn’t want to know.
“Chiara, I can’t believe you fell for this dog,” Santo said. “Then again, you never could see past your hormones.”
Rocco spun around and jabbed Santo in the gut with a hard thwack. Uncle Max and Tomaso ran and restrained him, which Santo used as an excuse to right himself and throw an uppercut to Rocco’s jaw and a nasty lob into his sore shoulder before their dad shouted at him to stop.
“You see what you’ve brought into my house,” Chiara’s dad said to her. He made a spitting noise. “You are no daughter of mine, dirty puttana.”
Chiara’s cheeks stung as if he’d slapped her.
“Santo,” Uncle Max said to her dad, “don’t say things you’ll regret.”
“I’ll be upstairs. Son, take out this trash, eh?” Her father pulled himself tall. His footsteps trudged up the stairs before a door slammed. Chiara exhaled at the finality of it.
“How can you let him talk to her like that?” Rocco said. “Don’t listen to them, Chiara. You’re beautiful. I--”
“Shut up,” Santo said. “Need another lesson?”
Chiara crumpled to the floor. Rocco and her uncle both reached her at the same moment. She let them lift her to the couch, still warm from her parents’ bodies. Chiara’s body ached like when the anesthetic had begun to wear off after her c-section. The pain singed where Rocco had been inside her, had made her believe more than she should, made her feel things she shouldn’t. He and Uncle Max flanked her. Rocco held her hand.
“Come home with me,” Rocco said. His fingertips traced her cheek.
“Oh hell no,” Santo said. “Chiara, you can’t believe a word he says.”
“Like I should believe you?” Chiara countered.
“You can believe me,” Tomaso said. He knelt in front of Chiara and took her hands, forcing Rocco’s aside. Tomaso’s strong, understanding, dark eyes pleaded with her. They had always been close, only two years apart. “Remember when Santo and I were in high school, his senior year? He was dating Bobbie and I was seeing her younger sister?”
“Erica?” Chiara said, vague remembrances of the time floating back. Chiara was twelve or thirteen then.
“Yeah.”
“I was going to tell you--” Rocco said.
Tomaso shook his head. “We’ve heard enough from you.” Rocco leaned forward. “He always had a rep, you know, slept with anyone willing and a few he persuaded. Like Erica, it was her first time. I guess he thought she got too attached to him so he decided sleeping with
Bobbie would be a good way to dump Erica. She was devastated. Bobbie didn’t know about him and Erica. She and Santo had a fight and this asshole got her drunk…you can’t trust him. Santo and I thought we’d convinced him to stop that shit, but he…” Tomaso looked to Santo.
Chiara leaned back into the couch and shut her eyes.
“At our five year reunion, he hadn’t changed, and he was married, two babies at home. He didn’t try anything with Bobbie, not then,” Santo said. Chiara knew that was the year Santo and Bobbie got married.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 16