“I brought you here to see the museum. You told me you loved museums,” he questioned, still gripping her hand. He could feel her try to pull her hand away, but he refused to let it go. “Don’t shut down on me, Mia.”
“I just don’t want to go inside, okay? Please, let’s stay out here.”
Carlo nodded. He couldn’t understand why she would shut down so quickly. If he said or did one thing wrong, she instantly changed. He could sense her strong desire to remain outside of the statue, so he respected her wishes and brought her to the grass.
He laid his jacket on the grass for her to sit on and then sat down next to her. She lay back, resting her head on his leg while she stared at the statue. His strong fingers ran through her thick, brown hair, massaging her scalp.
After a few moments of silence, Mia could not help but think about the story that Carlo was telling her. She could imagine the feeling that Domenicaniello had. She knew that it was the same feeling she had when she made it to the other side of the wall, a feeling of hope and desperation for a new life. She believed that she could relate to Domenicaniello as he stood on the steamship, staring out at his future. She swelled with emotion.
“Carlo, what happened next? You said Domenicaniello’s steamship had pulled into the harbor,” she asked softly.
It took Carlo a few moments to respond. He felt all sorts of emotion toward Mia—emotions he did not know how to handle. Mia’s hidden secrets frustrated him. He had not known her long, but long enough to know that this was not the way to start a relationship.
However, when he told the story, he saw another side of her; he saw a side that might open up to him. He saw a side of this woman that saw hope in the same way that those with a bleak life saw hope. So, he continued.
“As I am sure, you can imagine the American government did not want to bring immigrants into the country with an illness that might cause a burden on the city. So, the government had doctors check each person thoroughly. To Domenicaniello’s horror, both of his parents had become ill during the trip with severe coughs. Unable to conceal their sickness, the government denied both of his parents entry into the country. He had to make a choice. Leave with his parents and go back to his home country or stay and wait for Caterina.”
“He waited,” she mumbled.
“Yes,” Carlo said staring at Mia’s beautiful, flawless face. She lay on his leg staring at the statue, listening to his story intently. He appreciated her for that.
“When the American government asked for the spelling of his name, Domenicaniello was not sure. And because of that, they shortened his name and registered him as Domenic. He stayed in New York and waited for his beloved Caterina. Sadly, she never arrived.”
“What do you mean, she never arrived? She was on her way with her family, and a woman just does not walk away from her one true love.” Mia sat up. “Why didn’t she show up?” Mia looked at him intently, waiting for him to answer.
He laughed at her passion and the seriousness in her facial expressions. “Domenic waited every day for the ferry. He watched new people arrive, and she was never one of the passengers. After a year, he became discouraged.”
Mia laid her head down again. “This better not be a sad story, Detective Mancini,” she said, smiling up at him from her position on his leg.
He grinned and continued, “On the day before Christmas day, Domenic took ill. He decided not to go out into the cold snow. Caterina had not been there any other day, so why should that day be any different? He fell back to sleep.
“In a sudden rage, he woke from a nightmare of Caterina. He jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes, and trekked out in the cold to wait for the ferry. When people started to disembark, he did not see her. Then, as the last person stepped foot off the ferry and Domenic was ready to leave, he turned and looked one last time. He saw her mesmerizing smile.
“I knew she would be there,” Mia said, smiling at the happy turn in his story.
“Domenic ran to her, but as he got closer, his pace slowed down. In her arms, she carried an infant, a seven-month-old boy. When he walked up to her, he removed the blanket from the child’s face. He trembled when the child stared back at him with Domenic’s eyes. He grabbed Caterina and the baby and embraced them with his endearing love.”
“So they were together, you know, prior to marriage? That wasn’t honoring their parents.”
“Yes, but they secretly married before they left. They didn’t tell their families because they wanted to respect their wishes, but they wanted to be married in their country, not a foreign land. So that baby was conceived in marriage.”
“Why did it take her over a year to get to him?”
“On the day of his release, she arrived into the port. She had his name searched on the logs.”
“Oh no! His name wasn’t there because the government changed it,” Mia stated. Her wide eyes looked up at Carlo.
“Exactly. Caterina didn’t think her true love had made it to America. When she realized that she was pregnant, she went back to look for him. When Domenic’s parents explained to her what happened, she waited until she had the baby and then made the trip again, alone, just her and the infant.”
Mia sat up again and turned around to face him. Her legs pulled up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. “Tell me who told you this story.”
“My grandfather shared this story with me when I was a boy. He was the baby in the woman’s arms who returned to America in search of her one true love.”
“That is a great story, Carlo. Thank you for sharing it with me.” Mia smiled at him and for a moment, their eyes connected. The wind blew through her hair; Carlo was mesmerized. The sound of children playing, and people talking, were no longer a part of that moment. They faded in the distance.
Carlo reached his hand up to her face and ran his fingers down her cheek. He could feel her tremble. Her smooth, warm skin beneath his fingertips was delicate and soft. His eyes narrowed in on her naturally crimson-red lips. Full and supple, smooth and soft, he wanted to taste them.
His hand ran down the side of her neck. She tilted her head, her eyes hooded. Mia licked her lips, moistening them, giving them a shimmer in the sunlight. His strong fingers circled around the back of her neck and weaved their way into her thick, brown hair.
She swallowed hard at his touch. This was a new sensation. He leaned in slowly, his heart beating hard against his chest. When he was close enough to feel her breath on his lips, he pulled her into him and firmly pressed his lips against hers. She instantly moaned, needing his mouth more than she had realized.
The passion she felt overwhelmed her. The heat within that single kiss drowned her in desire. His soft tongue maneuvered into her mouth. He loved how she tasted. His lips melted into her soft, inviting lips. The kiss became more aggressive with a greater need as his jeans pulled tight between his legs.
He knew that he had better pull back before he could not stop himself. When he released her lips, she kept her eyes closed, trying to find her equilibrium, her balance. She was dizzy.
“Are you okay?” he whispered while running his hand down her bright red, heated cheeks.
Yes, she wanted to say, but the words never left her mouth. She nodded her head and slowly opened her eyes. She noticed the tension on Carlo’s face. Desire at its peak reared its head in Carlo’s smoldering, hazel-brown eyes. A brisk breeze touched Mia’s face and shifted through her hair, bringing her back to Liberty Island, back to the moment.
The day flew by as the two of them sat in the grass and talked about history and the museums they had been to. As the sun started to set, and the bright sky turned to dusk, they left the Statue of Liberty and headed back through Battery Park.
It had been a perfect day for such an adventure. Neither of them wanted to see it end. There was still so much to talk about and even more to learn. He reached in and grabbed his wallet, pulling out twenty dollars. “Are you hungry? Let’s get a hotdog.” He pointed to a hotdog stand
on the side of the busy street in front of a clothing store.
Carlo handed her the money as he put his wallet back in his pocket. While they stood on the sidewalk, behind a line of people, in front of the hot dog stand, Mia felt a jolt in her body. Two hands pushed her forward, and ripped the money she carried between her fingers.
“Hey,” she yelled at the young boy running with their money flapping in his hand. Immediately, Carlo took off after the boy.
When he caught up to the child, he grabbed hold of his small arm and yanked him to slow his momentum. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Fearful tears ran down the child’s face. Tears mixed with dirt streaked his cheeks. He ran the back of his hand across his eyes and stared toward the ground.
Carlo was irritated, “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked again. “Do you want me to throw you in jail, young man?”
“Stop,” Mia yelled to Carlo when she finally caught up to them. “Carlo, let him go, he is a child.”
“He is a thief, Mia. And if he is a thief at this age, what do you think he’ll be stealing at sixteen?” he growled.
Mia felt her blood start to boil. How dare he condemn this child before he had even found out why he took the money. She put her hands on her hips and turned slowly to look at him. “I understand, Carlo, but maybe there is a reason why he needed the money. We should talk to him first before we put him in the slammer and throw away the key,” she said sarcastically.
Carlo stared at her, the veins in his neck pulsating. He kept his hand wrapped around the boy's arm, but pushed the child forward toward Mia, staring at her the entire time.
Carlo realized that Mia did not understand the anger that he carried toward those who took what was not theirs. That was one of his goals in life, to stop others from experiencing the pain that he felt on the day that something irreplaceable had been stolen from him, ten years ago.
Mia knelt down near the child. “I want to talk with you, but you have to stop crying.”
The boy mumbled through his sobs. Mia instantly noticed that he spoke Spanish. She put her fingers under his chin to lift his face so she could see his eyes.
“Cuantos anos tienes? (How old are you?)”
Carlo glared at her, a form of awe and admiration flashed over his eyes. She is not only beautiful, she is also intelligent, he thought.
“Seis. (six)”
“Como te llamas? (What’s your name?)” she asked.
“Jose.”
“Por que trastate de robar mi dinero?”
“What did you ask him?” Carlo sneered.
“I asked him why he tried to steal my money.”
Jose cried again. “Mi mama está enferma y mi hermano tiene hambre. No quiero escuchar lollorar. Por favor no te enojes. Disculpame.”
Mia leaned down and picked Jose up in her arms. She turned toward Carlo’s questioning face. “He said his mommy is sick, and his little brother is hungry. He doesn’t want to hear his brother cry anymore. He asked me not to be mad at him, and he apologized.”
“So, you’re taking him home?” His eyebrows furrowed while his lips pressed together.
“No, we’re going to feed him and his family. I also know someone that runs a shelter; I can send them to her. Or would you rather us go pick up the entire family on charges of starving, and put them in jail?” Mia set the boy down.
That was enough. Carlo took a step closer to her. His six-foot, two-inch frame, carrying two-hundred and fifteen pounds of muscle mass engulfed her petite stature. “Mia, I’m a detective who upholds the law. Stealing is a crime, regardless of age.”
“Yes, and starving is a crime, too,” she replied, remembering those lonely first weeks she spent on the streets of New York. The thought of those days brought tears to her eyes, tears, and anger.
He saw her bottom lip tremble and the tears start to fill her eyes. She could not conceal that from him, even if she tried. He melted and pulled her into his chest. That act alone made her tears flood faster. “You’re right, amore mio (my love), no one should go hungry.” Carlo lightly gripped Jose’s small hand and glanced down at his dirty face. “Donde es tu madre? (Where is your mother?)”
Mia laughed as she quickly glanced through her tears into Carlo’s eyes, impressed with his Spanish. “Not bad for an Italian.”
Hours later, after they had fed Jose and his family and got them settled into a family shelter, Mia and Carlo walked hand-in-hand down the street. They did not say much, they watched people around them, walked in and out of stores, and reveled in their time together.
“So, where are you from?” Carlo finally asked, breaking the silence. “According to my records, you don’t officially exist.”
She cringed.
“I am not just asking as a police officer. I am asking as a man who cares about you.”
She knew he was going to, eventually, ask her personal questions, but she was not ready to answer them, not yet. Her past was eccentric and different. What if, traditional Carlo, did not like what he heard? She feared his reaction to her upbringing. Her mind twirled with possible answers, ones that would not spark his investigative nature. She decided to keep her responses simple.
“I was born at home and raised in Connecticut. What about you?”
“I was born here in New York, along with my four brothers and a sister. What about your parents?” Carlo asked.
“My parents grew up in Connecticut, as well.”
“How do you even work?” he asked, and she knew the exact intent of his broad question.
Oh no, here it comes, the inquisition. “I work for tips only at a restaurant. It’s not that unusual if you know anything about the restaurant business.” She paused. “You ran my name through the police computer?”
He blew air through his lips. “It’s my job. I have a professional interest in your welfare and safety, as well as a personal interest.”
She sighed. “I’m trying to get a birth certificate, so don’t assume that I’m using a fake name. I’m not. It’s been a long haul, but I am working on the problem with a legal agency. This waitress job is the only kind I can get. For now.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother.” Her lips twitched upward.
“What’s his name?”
“Kyle.”
Each question Carlo asked, she responded with terse answers. He could feel irritation creeping up on him. He decided to go about getting to know her in a different way.
“Tell me something about yourself without me asking, a story of some sort.”
“Like what?”
“Anything, Mia,” he quickly replied.
She did not respond. She wanted to, but stories of her family included the Compound. Her mind was not ready to take her back to those sixteen years of her life. Frustrated at his stare, she threw her hands in the air. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what, trying to get to know you? These are normal questions, Mia,” he said, stopping to face her. “Tell me something about your family, something random.”
“I can’t.” She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.
Carlo stared at her. Why would she not share her life with him? What, in her past, was so severe that she could not produce a single memory from those years? Frustrated, he whistled and raised his hand to flag down a cab.
Mia quickly opened her eyes. “What are you doing?”
He did not respond. He opened the cab door and guided her into the vehicle. He handed the cab driver some money, then leaned into the car, and whispered in Mia’s ear, “You intrigue me, and I want to know more about you. When you can remember one story to tell me, about you and your family, call me. Just don’t make me wait too long.” He kissed her cheek and told the cabbie, “Take her home.”
Mia looked at Carlo, shocked. At that moment, she realized just how much Carlo wanted to know her—that was the bottom line. But, she could not think of one measly bit of information about herself to
give him. She watched as he stood with his hands in his pockets. He did not move, instead he watched the cab driver pull away. For some reason, Mia’s stomach ached.
When she walked through her front door, she went straight to the phone. She owed him at least one story. A simple story she thought of while the cab drove her home. His answering machine beeped. “Carlo, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for our day at Liberty Island. So, I’m calling to thank you.”
She paused, thinking.
“Also, I wanted to share a story with you. I remember a time when Kyle and I wanted to make our parents a special meal. We decided to concoct our own ingredients and put everything in a casserole dish, everything except toilet water,” she giggled to herself, remembering that day all too clearly.
The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U. Page 7
