“You said you weren’t coming in today,” Juan said as he hopped down from the scaffolding. “Hottie bail on you?”
“Whaddaya mean?” Vincente’s chest gripped.
“I saw a woman jumping out of your truck this morning as I was getting off my bus. Who is she? Actress? Model? I haven’t seen anyone that hot since that JLo concert I took my girl to.”
Vincente flexed his biceps. His ears burned, the sensation tightening into his neck and throat. No one should talk about Gina like that. So what if he’d thought it. Cool it.
Juan gave him a look, like “What the hell?” Vincente shrugged. “She’s a family friend, that’s all.”
“Do you have her number?” Juan’s broad smile didn’t stop Vincente from frowning.
“No.” And he didn’t. Not her cell, anyway.
“You know, my sister broke up with her boyfriend.”
“Did she?”
Juan had tried to set him up with his various female relatives before. Now that Juan thought he hadn’t bedded Gina, the hottie, that cemented his trustworthiness to escort any of Juan’s friends and relations. Usually, Vincente was that reliable. He respected women. Not that he didn’t respect Gina…She just threw him, made him want things…
“Uh, yeah…You okay, amigo?”
Vincente forced himself to look at Juan. He’d been staring at nothing, seeing only Gina.
“Yeah, no worries.” He clapped Juan on the shoulder. “Doing a great job. Call me if you need to. I have a meeting with el jefe.” They both chuckled. Grandpop wasn’t really the boss anymore, but everyone at DeGrazia Construction called him that—men like Grandpop didn’t really retire.
Vincente waved as he walked away. He’d dreaded this lunch with Grandpop, until he’d realized he had some questions of his own to ask.
He drove home, slowing as he passed D’Angelo’s Market. If they’d been open, he would’ve stopped, in hopes of catching a glimpse of Gina. This was bad. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d first met his late wife, Marie. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other—not uncommon for two twenty-one-year-olds. But he’d let it blind him to their incompatibility. Just like he was now. Thirty and he still hadn’t learned. Four years alone—more like five, since he and Marie hadn’t been together, really, the last year or so of their marriage. Just dates all those years—no one ever lasted, no one made him feel the way…
A car honked at him, brakes screeching. He started. He gripped the steering wheel. He’d just run right through the stop sign near home. Get your mind in the game. But the only game he was interested in anymore was the one he and Gina were playing.
***
Vincente wiped his mouth with his napkin and thanked Marcella as she cleared the table after lunch. He and Grandpop had spent lunch discussing company business.
“Close the door, please, Marcella,” Grandpop said.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had confidential things to say.
The door swung shut from the kitchen. Vincente glanced around the cozy but masculine sitting room and dining area. Grandpop had redone what used to be a ballroom into a private suite for himself after Grandma had died eight years ago. Grandpop had hoped Vincente would have a family living upstairs by now, but…
“I had a good weekend, nipote. How about you?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“You had dinner with Enzo and the D’Angelos, eh?”
Vincente nodded. He tapped a finger on the table, then stopped, realizing he was beginning to betray too much of his real mood. You had to play it cool to get anywhere with Grandpop.
“That Frank’s a real piece of work, just like his grandfather.”
Vincente leaned back in his chair, ready for a story. Grandpop rose, stretched, and poured himself a small glass of Limoncello from the bar.
He sipped it, walked to the dark green couch, and sat. Pausing, he relaxed into the cushions, crossing his legs and leaning into the armrest. Vincente stood and ambled around the room, giving Grandpop time to relax into whatever he wanted to say. As he walked, he picked up the few artifacts around the room—glass paperweights, a conch shell, an old inlaid box.
“Bring that here,” Grandpop said.
Vincente did. Grandpop pulled the gold chain he always wore from around his neck. It had a tiny key on it. Grandpop fitted it in the lock of the box and opened it.
Vincente sat down. He’d never known what that key was for. Inside the box were a ring, a locket, and a few locks of hair. Grandpop pulled out the ring. The diamond set in the thin gold band caught the afternoon light from the window. Grandpop handed it to him. The lightweight gold was slightly burnished, as if it had been handled over the years, but not worn. It was a simple ring, and all the more beautiful in its sparse, elegant design. It should be on the finger of a beautiful, graceful woman. Like Gina. Vincente swallowed and handed the ring back to Grandpop.
“I presented this ring to my first love, Marina D’Angelo, when we were eighteen. But her father refused my suit. And she wouldn’t go against him.”
“I thought Grandma was…”
Grandpop set the box on the coffee table. “I loved your grandma very much. But we, even so young, had loved and lost. It was one of the things that brought us together.”
“Okay, so, what? The D’Angelos have held that against us for all these years?”
“That’s not the whole story. Not only did her father hate me because of who he thought I was, but also that I had gotten his daughter pregnant.”
Vincente shook his head. He didn’t blame that now-dead D’Angelo patriarch. He’d be angry too.
“I didn’t know. She’d never told me. She didn’t know until after she’d sent me away. And then she lost the baby a month later. I didn’t know until she wrote to me almost a year later. She had become a nun, and wanted me to know the truth before she took her final vows. Not to give me hope that we could reunite, but to absolve herself of her guilt. I didn’t blame her…it was her father.” Grandpop swirled the golden liquid in his glass and set it with a clack on the table.
Vincente rose. “Look, Grandpop, I appreciate you telling me, but I don’t see—”
“You don’t see what this has to do with now? Now Frank D’Angelo, the old man’s grandson, is trying to prevent my brother, your uncle Enzo, from marrying his mother, Celeste. And he’s sniffing around our business. He thinks we are all corrupt and worthless people. So judgmental, eh?”
“We’re not exactly innocents, Grandpop.” Grandpop’s business hadn’t been upstanding, before. That was why Vincente’s dad had moved, and why Vincente had too. But once he’d come home after Marie’s death, he’d convinced Grandpop to give up and stay strictly legal. “And getting a young woman pregnant. Even now, I wouldn’t be happy if it was my daughter, but back then…” He shook his head.
“I know. And I was sorry, but I’ve made my peace with it. We were young, in love—you understand. I wanted to marry her. He was against me before he knew she was pregnant.”
“The ring…”
“It was for her. I saved it. Bought your grandma her own ring. I hoped to give the ring to you.”
When Vincente had married Marie, he’d been on the outs with Grandpop—and Grandpop hadn’t approved of Marie or their marriage. Vincente rubbed a hand over his mouth. He’d lost faith in himself, in finding lasting love. He closed his eyes a moment. That’s why he’d stopped dating. All his excuses about work and family commitments, about getting his life just right before he found the right woman, were just that, excuses. Damn. He’d never thought of himself as one of those self-deluded types. And now, Gina had rushed into his life. Gina made him feel…alive, hopeful. He leaned forward and straightened the magazines on the coffee table.
“I’d like the ring to be part of happiness, to carry on the love I felt for Marina.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died a few months ago, peacefully, at the convent.”
“That’s
the convent in Italy you send money to?” Leave it to Grandpop to have these stories. Vincente didn’t. He hadn’t really lived, hadn’t experienced an overwhelming true love. He sat back and gripped the armrests of the chair.
“Yes, the sisters deserve support.” Grandpop rose and took his glass to the bar. He turned back to Vincente. “You take the ring, nipote. Never know when you might need it.”
Vincente narrowed his eyes at Grandpop, suspicious. “I’m not even seeing anyone.” He’d seen a lot of Gina. His body lightened, the aches soothed by the flash of Gina gazing up at him as they’d made love. Usually he’d call it sex, but with Gina, it was different.
“Love strikes when you least expect it.”
Vincente knew that. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Sometimes, even when you loved someone, the relationship failed. He saw no reason it would be different with Gina. She didn’t like his family. She was a driven, hardened career woman. More power to her. But that’s not who he needed in his life, his family, his bed. He rocked his neck, the tension creeping back. The irrational, chaotic feeling he had wasn’t love. Love was steady, kind, grew over time.
“I’m not twenty anymore,” Vincente said. “I can see around those corners.”
Grandpop clapped him on the back and chuckled. “You’re in for it.” He shook his head and offered Vincente the ring again. “Humor me. Take the ring.”
Vincente shrugged. “Sure, I’ll keep it for you.”
“Good. Get back to work.”
“I will. But, I have a question first. Know anything about why there’d be a problem between Aunt Carolina and the D’Angelos?”
Grandpop pushed open the kitchen door. “Who said there was?”
“I hear things.” Vincente crossed his arms.
“Carolina is my only daughter—I love her. But she’s as ruthless as they come.” Grandpop waved a hand in dismissal and turned.
Vincente held the door open. “Meaning?” Vincente stood still, his stare boring into Grandpop’s back.
“We’re throwing Enzo and Celeste an engagement party this Saturday. You’re expected.”
Vincente gripped the door. So much for getting an answer from Grandpop. Or avoiding Gina. Maybe she wouldn’t show. He doubted her dad would. “Why a party? Aren’t they getting married in a couple weeks?”
“Not if Frank has anything to say about it. We need to do something to mollify them.”
“He probably won’t come.”
“Leave Saturday free. Starts at five.” Grandpop strode through to his bedroom door, on the far side of the room, shutting it behind him.
They never disturbed each other in their bedrooms—their sanctuaries. Neither of them ever even brought women there. Grandpop went out, or to the house in Carmel, while Vincente got a hotel room, or went to his date’s place…until Gina. He’d broken so many of his own rules for her, with her.
He clenched his jaw and slammed the door. Vincente was used to being focused, in control. Gina messed with his mind—with everything in him. He had five days, almost. He could work her out of his system—he just had to avoid her until Saturday. By then, he’d figure out what was going on, with himself. Maybe this thing with her had just happened to get him to realize he’d been deluding himself about why he wasn’t dating. Maybe wasn’t good enough. He liked surety.
Chapter Seven
Gina dried the last lunch dish her mom handed to her. Her father paced in the living room, his footsteps heavy and controlled. Gina hung the towel and faced the living room, crowded with furniture and knick-knacks.
“Frank, please sit,” Grandma Celeste said. She set down her knitting. “We’ll all talk now. Shouldn’t Michael be here?”
“I’m here, Gram,” Michael said as he jogged in the door. He pushed his brown hair off his forehead. Waving to their dad, he kissed Grandma. She patted his cheek.
Gina leaned on the doorframe, open between the kitchen and living room. She smoothed her skirt and tee shirt. Michael turned and spotted her.
“Hey, sis.” He smiled, walked over and hugged her. Gina patted his back, breaking the hug. He gave her his lopsided smile. He looked younger than twenty-two. But he acted older. He’d always been the reliable, cheerful one, people’s favorite—Gina’s too. There were good men in the world. She just hadn’t run across many outside her family.
Dad plopped into his favorite armchair. Gina followed Michael to the couch. Mom joined them, sandwiching Gina between her and Michael. Grandma took up her knitting again. The light from the window behind her shone around her silver hair like a halo. Gina wanted to go sit at her feet and hold her yarn for her, like she had when she was a little girl. But those days were gone. Soon Grandma would be gone from this house—nothing would ever be the same. Nothing ever was. Her throat constricted, the first signal of tears. Grandma leaving, getting married again…How was Gina going to find that childhood world that she longed for?
“Frank,” Mom said. Here it came—the bomb about the DeGrazias. And Gina didn’t even have any ammunition to shoot down the idea. “I know how you feel about the DeGrazias—”
Dad snorted. Grandma’s knitting needles clacked faster. Gina clasped her hands tightly.
“But, we’re all going to be family. We already are, really. Sophia has been married to Carlo thirty years—she’s a DeGrazia. So, our nephew Joey and niece Janetta are too, in a way. You’ve accepted all of them. Why can’t you accept Enzo?” Mom glanced from Dad to Grandma.
“Mom,” Dad said to Grandma. “Aren’t you going to speak for yourself? You three go, so I can talk to my mother.” He waved a hand at Mom, Gina, and Michael.
“Don’t you try to dismiss me, Frank,” Mom said.
Gina rubbed her mouth to keep her smile from showing. It was good to know Mom had grown a backbone with Dad. Dad crossed his arms and sat taller in the chair.
“Maybe you and I should speak alone, Frank” Mom continued.
“No, just go ahead,” Dad said. “If it concerns the store, like you said, it concerns us all. Wish you wouldn’t bring those damn DeGrazias into everything.”
“Francis Alfonso D’Angelo Junior!” Grandma said in a quiet, firm voice. She set aside her knitting. “If your father could hear you…It’s enough I do. I am marrying Enzo in less than three weeks, whether you like it or not. I had hoped you would see reason, at least, but I’ll pray for a miracle instead.”
“Me, see reason?” Dad ground out. He gritted his teeth. “You’re the one who doesn’t see—”
“Enzo is a good man,” Mom said. “He’s offered to give us the money to save the business.”
Dad sprang up. “At what price? I won’t have it!”
“Dad,” Michael said. “Let’s at least listen to any proposal he might have. Gina’s business plan is great, but even she admits we need an infusion of capital.”
“Doesn’t mean we need to get it from the DeGrazias,” Gina said. She wished she’d spent her time finding proof of the DeGrazias’ dirty money, instead of getting dirty with one of them.
“Where will we get it?” Mom said. She had a better head for finances than Dad. He was the people-person—at least for his customers—the hard worker.
Gina rubbed her forehead. No bank would give them a loan, again. The building was in danger of foreclosure. Gina’d already run through her list of contacts—no one would take the risk of investing in a small business that seemed to have had its heyday long ago. She’d even written a proposal to give to Uncle James, but Dad refused to let her send it.
Dad plopped back into the chair. “We could sell.”
Gina’s gut clenched. This place had been her family’s home, their business, part of them, since Grandpa Frank bought the building and opened the store over fifty years ago.
“No,” Grandma whispered. She set her knitting aside. “This was your father’s legacy to you, to Gina, Michael, and Frankie.”
“I love you, Mom,” Dad said. “But like I have no say in you marrying Enzo, you have no say in th
e business. Dad left it to me.”
“Frank,” Mom said. Disappointment singed through the one word.
Grandma rose, her posture even more upright than usual, her habitual smile gone, replaced with a grim, flat expression. Gina hopped up. This wasn’t what she wanted—her family torn further apart. She’d wanted them to unite again, against the DeGrazias. Her enemy seemed to be a mirage. She was the fool, tilting at windmills. The real enemy was their own stubbornness—hers and Dad’s—to accept help, to be open to possibilities.
“Grandma,” she said, reaching out for her.
Grandma waved a hand at her and swiftly walked from the room. Her door clicked shut, the lock turning into place. Only once before had Gina witnessed her Grandma like this, ten years before when all the problems had happened.
Gina edged out from behind the coffee table. “I won’t let you sell. This business is as much Michael’s and mine—”
“Not legally,” Dad said. “Michael makes a salary, and you offered to help. The business is mine to sell.” He stood, his shoulders hunched.
This couldn’t be what he wanted. But she knew he’d rather give up than give in to the DeGrazias.
“I can get the money,” Michael said.
They all turned to him.
“No,” Dad said. “I know where you’d get it.”
Michael hung his head. He’d go to Enzo DeGrazia, just like their brother Frank had gone to Enzo’s son Sal when he’d needed a job.
“Please, Frank,” Mom said. “Vittorio is giving Enzo and Celeste an engagement party this Saturday. We should all be there. Your mom deserves that much from us, for all the years she’s been here for us. She’s your mother, for heaven’s sake. Family—”
“That’s what I’m trying to save,” Dad said, his voice cracking on the last word. He turned and strode out the front door. Gone—just like before. At least Carolina DeGrazia wasn’t around for him to run to anymore.
Gina clutched her stomach. Like she’d run to Vincente last night. Oh, God, she was a traitor, a blind dupe, like her father had been. Like Carolina, maybe Vincente was waiting, biding his time for the opportune moment to blackmail her, make her sign away her integrity—what was left of it.
Always (San Francisco Brides Series Book 1) Page 7