Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2)

by Juliano, Celia

  Michael smiled again and went out front.

  Celeste patted Lita’s arm. “How’s Enzo?”

  “Okay,” Lita said. “Still insisting Lorenzo is wrong.”

  Celeste frowned. “My husband. So stubborn.”

  “You knew that when you married him,” a beautiful, twenty-something woman said. She radiated confidence and sex appeal, from her long hair to her long legs, like Sophia Loren or some other glamorous actress. The kind of woman Lorenzo had seemed to like, not like Lita, quieter, a little shy with men, girlish, short.

  “Yes, Gina, I did.” Celeste turned. “Lita, this is my granddaughter, Gina. Gina, meet Lita, Enzo’s niece.”

  Gina smiled and walked to Lita. “Glad to meet you. I just came down to help Grandma bake. Would you want to join us? You could just sit if you like.”

  “No, I love baking.” Lita smiled. “Congratulations on your engagement. Lorenzo, and Uncle Enzo, think Vincente’s a good man.”

  “He is, thanks.” Gina’s smile beamed, the love she must feel for Vincente radiating—she glowed. “Vincente thinks the same of Lorenzo.” Gina’s tone turned serious.

  Celeste had probably told her family about the problem at Uncle Enzo’s earlier. Lita glanced away and rubbed her hands. “I wish he could convince Uncle Enzo.”

  “We’ll work on him, don’t worry.” Gina gave her a half-hug. “How about some music?”

  Lita smiled again and nodded. Celeste rubbed Lita’s arm, a comforting gesture. Lita’s worries pattered to the floor, like flour shaken from an apron. Gina turned on a Frank Sinatra CD. She twirled Celeste and then Lita.

  “Regrets, I’ve had a few…” Gina sang.

  “But then again, too few to mention,” Lita joined Gina.

  They laughed and danced to the baking island. La grazia dell’amore would find a way. Love always did. Lita just had to be patient. Lorenzo had said he’d be back. So he would be.

  ***

  Lita placed the last dinner dish in the dishwasher. She dampened a cloth, sprayed the counter with cleaner, and scrubbed. Uncle Enzo and his older brother, Vittorio, known to most of the family as Grandpop, were in Uncle Enzo’s sitting room playing chess. Their voices sometimes drifted from under the door. Celeste and Gina had stayed home—for today. Celeste thought it would have more impact on Uncle Enzo if she waited until he’d at least begun to soften his attitude about Lorenzo before she came home. And she and Gina had wedding planning to do, for Gina’s upcoming wedding.

  Over dinner, Lita had tried to convince Uncle Enzo and Grandpop how wrong they were. But she’d only gotten their denials of her truth, and assurances that they knew Lorenzo better than she did. So she should trust them.

  It was Lorenzo she trusted. She’d hoped to have heard from him by now. She checked her cell phone again. No calls, no texts. She scrubbed the counter over and over and over. The phone rang. She threw the cloth into the sink and answered.

  “Can I talk to Mr. DeGrazia?” a rough male voice said.

  “He’s busy right now.” Uncle Enzo didn’t like to be disturbed during a chess game. “May I take a message?”

  “Yeah. This is Rudy, down at his nephew’s club. The old man—I mean Mr. Calabra, died this afternoon. Now Lorenzo’s acting crazy, tearing apart his father’s office. Maybe Mr. DeGrazia can talk some sense into him. Lorenzo’s scaring the girls. Who knows what he’ll do. But I can’t call the cops on my own boss, ya’ know?”

  Lita gripped the phone so hard it made crackling noises. “Yes. Someone will be there. Where is it?”

  The man recited the address and hung up.

  Lita glanced toward the sitting room door. Uncle Enzo and Grandpop had pushed Lorenzo out, as if he was a hopeless case. Lorenzo needed help, needed her. She tugged the hem of her tee shirt. She had to help Lorenzo. She walked to the door and knocked.

  “Yes,” Uncle Enzo’s voice answered.

  “Celeste wants me to go and pick her up.”

  Rustling and a thump came from under the door. Uncle Enzo swung open the door. “She called?” Lita nodded. “I’ll go.”

  Lita put up her hands. “She wants me to pick her up. She wants to talk to me, so we might be awhile. Please, Uncle Enzo.”

  He frowned but nodded. “Take my car, then.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Lita blew out a breath and waited for Uncle Enzo to shut the door again. She raced for the front door. She grabbed her purse and Uncle Enzo’s keys.

  She hopped in his car and sped down the hill. Unsure of where the club was, even with the address, she circled a few times before finding it. Then it took another twenty minutes to find a parking spot.

  She breathed in the humid evening air. A storm was growing. She clutched her purse and ran to the club. She’d never been in a strip club before.

  The doorman gave her an odd look as she showed him her ID and took her money. “Where’s Rudy? He called my uncle about Lorenzo.”

  “Oh, yeah. Take this back, huh? He’s over there.” The man shoved Lita’s cash back into her hand and pointed to a long bar. Tables crowded the room. Lita averted her eyes from the stages and focused on the black-haired Latino man behind the bar. The dim lighting and loud music pulsed through her. She held her breath.

  She reached the bar. Only a few men sat down its length—it was early still. “Rudy?” She practically shouted. “We just talked on the phone.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Rudy leaned over the bar, evaluating her body. “I don’t think you should go up there, miss. I thought Mr. DeGrazia’d send one of Lorenzo’s cousins.”

  Lorenzo’s cousins, except Janetta, were all men—Vincente, Pete, Gianni, and Joey—and all did, or had, worked in Uncle Enzo’s or Grandpop’s businesses. She didn’t know, or care at the moment, who was corrupt, innocent, or both. She only cared that Lorenzo needed her. Lita slung her purse onto her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. “I can handle this. Where is he?”

  Rudy shrugged and said something to the other bartender. Rudy motioned to Lita and came out the end. Lita met him.

  “Follow me.” He pointed to a door marked “Staff Only” at the end of a short hall.

  As they approached, a loud banging echoed from above. It grew louder when Rudy opened the door, even over the music and women chattering from what Lita assumed were dressing rooms. Rudy led her up a narrow flight of stairs. Something metal slammed against the wall as they reached the landing. Rudy held out an arm, to stop Lita from going further.

  A low, angry growl pitched from the office on the right. Lorenzo. Lita rubbed her arms.

  “You better not, miss. Go call—”

  “No. He won’t hurt me.” Lita pushed Rudy’s arm away and stepped up the final stair. “Lorenzo, it’s Lita. Can I come in?”

  “Rudy, I told you not to call anyone!” Lorenzo muttered something else.

  “Had to. Mr. Calabra would’ve—”

  “He’s dead! I’m in charge.” Lorenzo appeared. His hair drooped onto his forehead. His shirt angled oddly, halfway untucked from his rumpled slacks. His hand bleed—a drop of blood stained a paper strewn on the floor. He noticed Lita. She stayed focused on him. He needed her.

  He pushed his hair back. His glare disappeared. He turned and kicked papers out of his way.

  “Go. I’ve got this,” Lita whispered to Rudy. He shrugged and jogged down the stairs.

  Lita followed Lorenzo. The office was littered with papers, desk drawers on the floor, a safe open, couch cushions upended, a mirror shattered, glass shards sparkled among the papers.

  “Lorenzo, please, come out of here. Let me bandage your hand.” Lita kept her voice quiet, as she’d talk to a skittish cat.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk.

  “Neither should you.” Lita glanced around. A door hung open—a bathroom. She hurried in and found a first aid kit in the cabinet. She walked back into the office and placed the kit near Lorenzo. She opened it and took out first aid cream and a large Band-Aid.

&
nbsp; Lorenzo hadn’t moved. She grasped his fingers and turned his hand up. She leaned in and studied the wound to make sure there was no glass embedded in his skin. She found a gauze pad, cleaned the blood, dabbed on cream, and covered it with the bandage. Lorenzo’s strong hand was hot in hers, but he remained still, his face impassive.

  Lita placed a hand on his back. His shirt was damp. “Lorenzo, please come with me. I’ll take you home, make you some dinner. Please.” Her words sounded choked, her throat had gone dry as stale bread.

  “I have to find it.” His voice rasped. He pressed his hands back into the desk top.

  “Find what?”

  He shook his head. “He was right, I’ll never be free. Stay away from me, Lita.”

  “No. I…” She loved him. But saying it would change everything. She wanted it to be like a song in a musical, solving all the problems with one tune. But just as their kiss hadn’t changed circumstances, neither would declaring her love, not in this moment. “I won’t. Let me take you home. We can figure it out. I’ll help you find whatever you were looking for.”

  “I’ve already found what I was looking for.” Lorenzo faced her. He pulled her into him with one hand and pressed his other hand to her cheek. His gaze intensified, his dark eyes and strong features clouded with pain and passion. Lita closed her eyes a moment. He leaned his forehead into hers. “Unless I find what my father had, I can’t have you.”

  His words, his touch, breezed through her, a balmy summer wind—but then a quick thunderclap shook her momentary lift. She had to get them through this, help Lorenzo, even though she didn’t know what he needed help with.

  “Come with me. You’ll think more clearly if you get out for a while.”

  “No. It’s here. The bastard must have it here.” He pushed her away with a gentle motion.

  He must mean his father, as she assumed this was his office, not Lorenzo’s. “If he was hiding something from you, why would he keep it here?”

  He stopped mid-stride. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

  Lita touched his arm. “Please, Lorenzo, let me take you home.”

  He nodded. She smiled, almost laughed in relief. She caressed his arm then took his hand. They walked out and down the stairs.

  “We’ll go through the back.” Lorenzo led her away from the door into the club. “I don’t want you in there.”

  Even in the hall, the scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne stung her nose. She leaned into Lorenzo. When they stepped into the fresh night air, she breathed in, but the smells lingered. Raindrops pattered on the sidewalk. She ran for Uncle Enzo’s car, Lorenzo beside her. They hopped in. Lita twitched her nose. Now it smelled like wet pavement and dirty laundry, an odd contrast to the lingering lemony scent of Uncle Enzo’s aftershave also wafting in the car.

  Lita drove around the corner and up the street to Sal’s building. She parked in the back, where Lorenzo’s car had been the night before. He must’ve left his at the club. Before Lita could get out of the car, Lorenzo grabbed her arm.

  “You were right. Wait here.” He focused on the side of the building. Lita followed his glare. A burly man smoking a cigarette paced near the private door to the upstairs.

  Lita rubbed her throat. Before she could speak, Lorenzo got out of the car and approached the man, who threw down his cigarette. He pulled an envelope from his pocket, whispered something, and handed it to Lorenzo, who glanced at it. He nodded then watched the man walk out of the parking lot. The man disappeared around the corner.

  Lorenzo strode back to the car. He opened the door for Lita.

  “Is that what you were looking for?” Lita chafed her hands on her skirt.

  They sprinted to the building, to get out of the rain.

  “Not exactly.” Lorenzo stopped when they reached the stairwell inside. “You go home. I’ll be okay.” His voice dragged with weary resignation, as her father’s had during some of the long, painful days of his illness.

  “No.” She pushed her damp hair back.

  “I forgot how stubborn you are.” His voice lifted slightly.

  Lita smiled. “Give up, then. Or I’ll start singing.”

  He glanced at her. “Okay, for a few minutes. Sal’s probably here. He can play mother hen instead of you.”

  Lita’s smile faded. She preferred Lorenzo calling her kitten to mother hen. Lorenzo held the door for her. She walked upstairs.

  Lorenzo opened his front door. Lita walked down the hall. His apartment was cold. The rain pounded into the roof.

  “Excuse me.” Lita walked to the bathroom.

  When she was done, she entered the living room. It was still dark, except for the light in the kitchen. Lorenzo was rinsing out a glass. She stood in the doorway. Papers, still creased, contrasted white against the dark counter.

  “Should I get Sal?” Lita rubbed her fingers.

  Lorenzo shook his head. “I will, later. I need something from you first.” His voice was that same low rasp he’d spoken to her in last night—part hurt, part desire. He strode to her. She gripped the doorframe.

  He hugged her waist and pulled her into him. Her hands went instinctively to his chest. He kissed her, a fierce, unrelenting force.

  A sharp taste. Held too tight. No. She pushed at him. He wouldn’t let go. A scream began in her throat, strangled by his mouth. He released her. She panted for air, stepped back. He watched her. She trembled, hugged herself.

  “Lita…I didn’t mean…” Lorenzo took a step toward her.

  She shook her head. Images flashed—Jane’s boyfriend, reeking of alcohol, groping her, pressing on her...She scrunched her eyes shut. She’d thought all this was past her, that she’d processed it. But the taste on Lorenzo’s lips had reminded her.

  You’re safe. You’re loved. You’re protected.

  “I’d never hurt you.” His words reinforced her thoughts.

  She opened her eyes and edged toward him, reached out her hand. “I know.” She focused on her breath for a moment. Lorenzo caressed her arms and kissed her forehead. Warmth seeped into her. The rain danced against the window. “It was the alcohol taste, not you, not your kiss. Sometimes, little things remind me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll remember. You should never have gone through that.” He held her close. “Are you sure you want to be with me, Lita? My past, you won’t like it.”

  “I want to know what’s in that paper. I want to know the truth, I want to know you.” Lita glanced up at him. She touched his hair, smoothed it back from his forehead. He took her hand and kissed her palm.

  He led her to the couch. They sat. He held her hands, studied them. They sat silent. He wouldn’t look at her.

  “Please, Lorenzo. I want to help you. Please let me.”

  He met her gaze. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “My father’s been blackmailing me for years. I thought I could find the evidence now, destroy it. But he had it with an associate…He made sure I could never escape.”

  Lita squeezed his hands. A father blackmailing a son…her stomach lurched, the jerky movements of a newly awakened monster in an old movie. Lita rubbed the faint scarring on Lorenzo’s hands. The hurt he must have been through…She shivered.

  “He started gathering documentation of my…indiscretions…in high school. Fights, girls, petty stuff. Then, I made the mistake…I wanted to protect you from that guy.”

  Lita shifted. “His death wasn’t an accident.” Lita’s voice was as hard as the nasty, rotted pit in her stomach.

  “No. I didn’t mean for him to get killed—but my father took it too far. Then I owed him. My mom died and I gave up. I did more things—wrong choices. Fights, extortion, affairs…”

  Lita pulled her hands away. A faint buzzing began in her ears. It was as if her body didn’t want her to hear this any more than her mind wanted to process the details of Lorenzo’s corruption.

  “That’s why I promised Lee I wouldn’t take you into my world. He doesn’t know everything, but e
nough to want you out of it. I want you out of it.”

  Lita clasped her throat. Screams and tears and denials lodged there, unwanted guests who stay too long. She shook her head.

  “You deserve better. You deserve your dreams. You deserve a good man. I’d sell my soul to be that man. But it’s already gone, broken.” Lorenzo brushed his hands against his thighs, as if he wanted to sweep away the shattered pieces of his soul.

  “No. You’re…” The words she’d said—You’re a good man—felt tainted now. She glanced at her hands. A spot of blood nestled in the skin between her thumb and finger. That man who’d tried to rape her, that predator—his death was on her too. Lorenzo’s father had taken things too far, but so had Lorenzo.

  Maybe Lorenzo was right. Maybe Lee was right. Maybe Uncle Enzo was right. She couldn’t face that kind of world, where retribution trumped justice and personal pleasure forced out kindness and love.

  But love wasn’t gone. It was in Lorenzo’s eyes, in his words, in his kisses, in his caresses. But love couldn’t save people. Love couldn’t make a relationship work. Love remained in her heart, but people didn’t stay: people changed, people left, people died.

  “I’ll leave town for awhile if that’d make it easier for you.” Lorenzo stood.

  Lita hugged her knees. “No. Please, don’t leave. It’s just…a lot to take in.” She wanted to believe in Lorenzo. She did believe in him. He could change.

  “I’ll be fine now.” He walked to the window and leaned against the side.

  Lita rose, her body aching as if she’d spent the day pushing her father’s wheelchair around town, and the night cleaning their little house. She walked to him, placed her hand on his back. He didn’t move.

  “Lita, go. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  He pressed his hand against the wall. The muscles in his shoulder tightened. “I want to be alone.”

  She didn’t believe him. “But—”

  “Just go.” He hunched his shoulders, moving away from her.

  “Will you come over tomorrow, please?”

  “Yeah,” he rasped.

  Her head throbbed—her heart screamed to stay with him, but her mind told her to give him space, and give herself time to process what he’d told her. She touched his back once more. He stayed rigid. She padded out, tugging the door shut behind her. She’d get Sal; maybe he could help Lorenzo.