“Now, see, technically, I’m a stranger. You shouldn’t tell a stranger where you and your friends go on a regular basis. You’re leaving yourself open for problems.”
“Well, stranger, considering you know where I live, I don’t think my one-night-a-week hangout is going to be the problem.” She lifted her martini glass to him and sipped her drink.
Carlo’s eyes bore into her as he struggled with a question he wanted to ask. He decided it was more important that he knew now, rather than make an ass out of himself later. “Mia, this might seem too forward, but I have to ask. Do you have someone special in your life?”
For some reason, one she could not explain, her heart started to beat faster, and she could feel small sweat beads start to form on her forehead. “No,” she whispered.
“I’m curious, then, why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t have any other information for you. For your case.” She tilted her head and smiled, her hair fell over her shoulders.
“Right,” he smirked, “but you knew when I said anything twice that meant anything.”
She blushed, knowing exactly what he meant. She took a sip of the martini and looked at him seriously. “Did you find anything else out about Denise?”
“We’re working on a strong lead right now. If we need anything from you, we will show up at your door.” He chuckled at her crooked look.
He could tell she was a closed person. Her personal life was hers, and he respected that. He realized he would need to be subtle with her in order to learn more about her. The last thing that he wanted was to scare Mia away before he had the chance to get to know her. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
“Well, good question. I like going to the movies, catching a play on Broadway, spending time with Pirate.” She giggled. “I also like to learn new things, especially history. I’m a history buff.”
“Really? Me, too! When’s your favorite era?”
“For me, it would have to be the fifteenth century. They fascinate me with their survival techniques and economic structure.” She had become enthralled with that period after she left the cult. It gave her a better understanding of James and the formation in which he ran the community.
“I’ve spent endless hours studying their barbaric views,” Carlo stated.
“And what brought you to enjoy that era?” she asked.
“I became interested as a teenager. When I was seventeen, I had something stolen from me. After that, I often fantasized of ways to torture the thief.” Carlo’s eyes were distant, remembering that afternoon when he had lost faith in people and their honesty. He was devastated, and scared to tell his family that he had lost something so precious that he stayed away from home for three days.
“Wow, that’s pretty wicked. I hope you weren’t planning on cutting off a hand or something.” Mia giggled, taking another drink of her martini. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was stolen?”
“I’d rather not say, at least, not tonight.” He smiled and reached over to grab her hand. He examined her wrist where authorities in the fifteenth century would cut it off. “I see that you know your history, though. You know, I went into law enforcement with a mission; I wanted to find and bring to justice that insensitive jerk. Of course, the right way, not the barbaric way.” He grinned.
“Whew.” Mia ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “I’m glad to hear that. Can you imagine how tragic it would be if I were caught with my hand in your cookie jar?” When Carlo roared in laughter, Mia’s face turned bright red. She replayed her sentence, in her head, and realized how it sounded. She joined him profusely in laughter.
Carlo and Mia sat in the restaurant sharing stories. The once-crowded room had thinned out. Mia scanned the joint, realizing that her friends had left. She swayed slightly from side to side to the rhythm of a live band that played alternative music. The melody floated through the air, serenading the restaurant’s customers. When her eyes met Carlo’s, he was intently staring at her.
“What?” She smiled.
“You’re beautiful.” He took her hand in his, and caressed her fingers.
Mia pulled her hand back, an impulsive move that she regretted the moment she saw his eyes turn cold. She wanted more than anything to feel his touch, but she was worried that such a distraction might make her lose sight of her family. And . . . she was scared.
“I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by that.” Carlo’s voice sounded flat and deflated. Women always found him attractive, but Mia had a double-enforced wall around her emotions. Something happened in her past that has kept her single and alone, he thought. Her eyes were warm and inviting, but her actions told him something different.
“It’s not you, Carlo. I have things going on in my life right now.” She looked away bashfully, “and I’m new at this.”
“You’re new at what?”
“This,” she pointed to him and then herself.
Carlo put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to look directly in her eyes. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”
Mia exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly. “I should get going.”
“Do you have to? It’s still early.”
“I know, but I’m tired,” she said, staring into his light brown eyes, set behind flecks of green.
“I’ll walk you out and get you a cab.” He helped her off the bar stool, and gently placed his hand on the small of her back while they walked toward the restaurant doors.
Her beauty and kindness mesmerized him. He had never met anyone like her. He could spend endless hours in her presence, learning about her, staring into her simmering, brown eyes.
When the cab pulled up in front of them, Carlo paid the driver in advance. They stood in front of each other, sifting through that awkward moment of how to end the night. He wanted to kiss her, but she had already rejected him, and he vowed to respect her wishes. “Thank you for having a drink with me.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” she whispered. Emotion and desire choked up in her throat. She hesitantly turned to get into the cab, but Carlo’s gentle touch rested on her arm to stop her.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
She smiled and nodded. On a napkin from the restaurant, Mia wrote down her cell number, and then leaned in and softly kissed his cheek. She quickly turned and slid into the back seat of the yellow, musty cab.
She watched Carlo from her window as the cab driver pulled away from the curb. Her hands were sweaty and shaking, her heart pounding against her chest. It was hard to breathe the thick air inside the cab. She rolled down her window, laid her head against the back seat of the vehicle, and closed her eyes for a moment. The next thing she knew, the cabbie was yelling back at her to get out; she was home.
Chapter Six
The rising sun shined brightly through the cracked drapes covering Carlo’s bedroom window. He pulled the sheet over his head and moaned at the thought of getting up. He had a hard time sleeping last night. The small amount of time he had spent with Mia made him realize just how mysterious she was and how much he wanted to know more about her—no, needed to know more.
He fell asleep a couple of hours before he had to get up. Now with the blaring alarm ringing in his ears, it was time to get dressed and walk Aldabella to school. He wanted to sleep for a few more hours, but knew he had no choice but to push himself out of bed.
Carlo owned a two-bedroom house in Morris Park. His bachelor-style home was complete with necessities. Although it needed an interior designer’s touch, it was clean and tidy.
He stood and stretched, walked into the bathroom, and let the shower water run while he used the pull-up bar in the bathroom doorway. Each muscle strained against his taut skin—bulging from years of weight training. His natural sun-kissed skin color glistened with flawless perfection.
He removed his briefs and stepped into the piping-hot shower. The water hit his face and clung t
o the rippling muscles of his body. The scent of soap and shampoo helped to revive him from exhaustion while the water penetrated the muscles beneath his skin, soothing his entire body.
He grabbed a towel and dried his hair and body, wrapping the towel over his shoulders, Carlo began his morning grooming rituals. He turned on the radio in his bathroom, set on a talk station, and listened while he got ready for the day.
On his way out the door, Carlo grabbed a protein bar and a bottle of water. The sun spread its warm rays, touching down across his neighborhood. Neighbors waved from their porches when he walked past their homes.
When Carlo arrived at his mother’s house, Bella was already locking the front door on her way out. She sighed when she saw him walking toward the porch.
“Carlo, do you have to take it this far?”
“I’m impressed, nice threads,” he said, tugging at the sleeve of her conservative, button-down shirt.
“Well, I’m glad you like them because I look ridiculous in these.”
“No, you look beautiful. Who knows, maybe you’ll start a new trend.”
“I’ll probably get teased for dressing preppy,” she retorted.
On the short walk to Bella’s school, Carlo strolled a few feet behind her. His mind drifted over every detail of his evening with Mia. She had told him that this was a first for her. What did that mean? Was it her first time dating in general? Her beauty far exceeded that of many women. He had a hard time wrapping his mind around the thought that Mia had never dated; then again, he had a hard time picturing her on a date with another man. The thought of her sharing her time with someone else the way she did with him last night, drove him crazy. Mia’s smile and playful personality were the reason his thoughts were in a jumbled mess.
When they reached the school, Carlo’s mind was so preoccupied that he almost ran into the back of Bella. He chuckled to himself.
“Listen, Bella, you look beautiful, and I love you. Do all your work in class and I’ll call you later to make sure you’re doing okay.”
She gave him a closed-mouth smile and kissed his cheek. Carlo watched her enter the school before he left to pick up Mia for their date. The weather was perfect, topping the high seventies with small puffy clouds floating above.
The closer he got to her apartment, the faster his heart seemed to beat. When he stood in front of her apartment door, he dragged his hands down the sides of his thighs. He inhaled deeply, laughing at this new sense of nervousness he was feeling. He knocked lightly.
When Mia opened the door, Carlo was awestruck. She wore a pair of designer blue jeans with a sleek pair of black boots and a black form-fitting blouse. Her long brown hair flowed loosely over her shoulders with a loose curl at the end of each strand. She held a small clutch in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. She smiled—his heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. He was pleased when she didn’t reject him.
“So, where are we going?” she asked bashfully.
“It’s a surprise. Come on, the cab is waiting.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. Mia felt her heart race at the strength and warmth within his simple touch. She kept her hand deep in the pocket of his palm.
The minute that the taxicab pulled near the entrance of the ferry to Liberty Island, Mia’s eyes grew wide. Carlo saw her expression and wondered why she reacted with such shock. “You have been to the Statue of Liberty before, haven’t you?”
“Actually . . . no.” She had avoided the Statue of Liberty. Maybe some deep, embedded thought to leave the purity of the statue in the memory of the day she had left the Compound. The Statue of Liberty gave her the strength to take a different path in her life. She had left behind her destined existence as a tenth wife to a cult leader and sought out a new life with freedom and growth. For ten years, she had shut out that part of her life and now, Carlo, unaware, was unknowingly making her face it again with their date to the Statue of Liberty.
“You look. . . scared. Are you okay?”
She did not talk, for fear her voice would tremble. She nodded, staring at the enormous symbol of freedom. There were always opportunities for her to see the landmark, but she constantly refused the experience, an experience she thought she would rather leave to her imagination. However, today she would come face-to-face with the icon that urged her to seek a better life.
They boarded the ferry with a group of tourists and sightseers. The breeze slightly caressed Mia’s face while the sun’s warmth brushed her skin. Carlo held her hand, directing her to a long bench where he sat down and pulled her next to him. She leaned her back against his chest, her body quivered at the closeness between them.
He ran his hand up and down her arm, making sure she stayed warm on the ride to the island. Carlo had sensed that there was something about the statue or the island that bothered Mia, something that brought about a bittersweet reaction. If he asked, he knew she would never tell him. Instead, he watched her movements, her expressions, and her demeanor. Each pointed to a woman with a daunting past. A past he suspected that she wanted to keep in the past.
Carlo wanted to tell her a story that might put her mind in a happier place. He decided to share with her the story he heard as a young boy. His lips pressed against the top of her head while he stared out at the open sea. After a few moments, he began his tale.
“Years ago, in 1898, a fifteen-year-old boy named Domenicaniello fell madly in love with a sixteen-year-old girl named Caterina.” Carlo could feel Mia’s body start to relax, giving him the go-ahead to continue with his story. His deep, baritone voice rumbled sweetly near her ear. Mia closed her eyes and listened.
“Their families were neighbors and friends in an oppressed country. Poverty ate at their core during an economic time of low wages and high taxes. They loved Italy, but needed an opportunity for a better life.
“One day, Domenicaniello proposed to Caterina and the families rejoiced. Together, they decided to leave their oppressed lives, and make their way to America, the land of possibilities. However, there was one catch: their parents asked their children to wait to get married until they were in America. Of course, they reluctantly agreed.”
Mia looked over her shoulder at Carlo with a questioning look. “Why did they agree?”
“They wanted to honor their parents.”
Mia found Carlo’s voice to be soothing and alluring, almost to the point of being addicting. She could have fallen asleep right there in his arms, if only she were not so intrigued with his story. As the ferry waded through Upper Bay, she yearned for this moment to never end. “I see. Go on.” She adjusted her body and curled up in his arms.
“When the time finally came to board the steamships, the government held Caterina and her family back, due to confusion with their tickets. The two families boarded separate ships. The engaged couple were, for the first time, separated.
“Domenicaniello and his family traveled in steerage, crowded like chattel, with one suitcase each. The conditions were not fit for animals, let alone human beings.” Carlo paused for a moment, running his strong hand along the side of her arm. Her back rested firmly against his chest, and they both looked out past the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to the more expansive Lower Bay.
“There was little food to feed third-class travelers, and they lacked toilets and amenities, leaving seasick passengers to cling to their beds during the rough Atlantic crossings.”
Mia sat straight up and turned to look at Carlo. “That is bad. He must have been so lonely without the love of his life.”
Carlo nodded. Within seconds, Mia had once again found her spot against his chest, waiting for him to continue.
“On a cold night, where clouds covered the skies and fog covered the water, Domenicaniello snuck out onto the deck of the ship. He missed Caterina, and wondered where she was in her journey to America. While he stood on the deck in the early morning, through the fog, Domenicaniello could see the Statue of Liberty holding her glorious torch high in the
sky. He gripped the banister and held back tears of admiration while goose bumps traveled up and down his arms. He had finally made it to America.”
Engulfed in the story, Mia did not hear the announcement to disembark the ferry. Carlo gently stood her up and tucked her arm around his while he escorted her onto Liberty Island. When she stood at the base of Lady Liberty, her eyes trailed up the enormous statue, tilting her head back as far as it would go. Her look of wonderment left her mouth agape. Carlo laughed.
“Come on, there’s a museum inside.”
“A museum?”
“Yep and three hundred steps that’ll take us to her crown; we can see all of Manhattan from up there.”
“No, Carlo, I don’t want to go inside. I do not want to see the commercialized side of her. Please, can we go sit in the grass over there?”
The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U. Page 6
