by Gina Azzi
“Ciao, bellezza.” Lorenzo smiles, walking over to our table and leaning down to kiss my cheek.
Well that was unexpected.
I feel my cheeks redden, and I grip the underside of the table to check my emotions. “Ciao.” I smile back.
“Who is your friend?” Lorenzo asks, assessing Pete directly, his eyes sharp on Pete’s face.
Pete stands up slightly and sticks out a hand. “Pete Buchanan.”
“Lorenzo.” Lorenzo shakes Pete’s hand, but his arm is stiff, his smile tight.
“We’re just working on a project. Pete’s my partner.” I hold up my notebook apologetically. Why do I feel the need to explain myself? Pete and I aren’t doing anything wrong by studying here. Maybe we should have gone somewhere else? Ugh, why am I overthinking this? It was one kiss; it meant nothing. Still, my face grows warm under Lorenzo’s gaze and the hard glint in his eyes sends a slew of wishful thoughts through my mind. And heart. He looks … jealous. Maybe it was more than just a kiss?
Lorenzo nods. “What can I get for you?” he asks Pete.
“A cappuccino.”
“And a caffé latte for you, bella?” Lorenzo turns his gaze to me and his eyes darken. He leans in slightly, his fingers tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger a moment longer than necessary and stroke the curve of my neck.
I nod, shivering inadvertently at his touch. I definitely shouldn’t have brought Pete here. Maybe I should have visited Angelina’s earlier in the week instead of waiting so long to see Lorenzo after our kiss? Dumb, stupid games.
Lorenzo’s eyes assess mine, and he offers a small smile before turning back into the restaurant.
“Come here often?” Pete asks, leaning forward and scooting his chair closer to mine. His tone holds an edge of sarcasm but his face remains blank, concealing his thoughts. Or maybe he’s just making small talk?
I nod, leaning back in my chair and putting some distance between us. “Yeah. I study here a lot.”
Pete leans back as well and looks around. “It’s a good place to study. The location is quiet, but since it’s so close to Campo de’ Fiori, it’s still a central location.” He drums his fingertips against the edge of the table. “It’s nice to sit outside before it gets too cold, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” I smile, leaning forward again and resting my arms along the edge of the table. “Although I think this may be the last week to sit outside. Should we start?”
“Sure.” Pete runs a hand through his sandy hair. He leans over the side of his chair and retrieves his notebook and a pen from his backpack. “Hey, are you going to the Tre Fratelli concert?”
I shake my head, flipping my notebook open and shuffling through the pages to find the notes I jotted down regarding the partner project. Tre Fratelli. The insanely popular Italian boy band. Think Justin Beiber meets One Direction, Italian-style. I need to send Lila some of their clips on YouTube. She’d love them. “No. I didn’t even know about it.”
“What?” Pete stops moving and faces me. He reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder, shaking gently. “Are you for real? That’s all anyone is talking about. Everyone is going!”
“Everyone?” I raise my eyebrows.
He laughs. “Yes. Literally everyone that you know from school is going. It was just announced that they’re performing here next month. You should come.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“No really. Come with me. A bunch of us are meeting up at my place beforehand to pre-game. It’s going to be dope.”
I roll my eyes but smile back at Pete. An invitation to a party, a pre-game? I’ve been to two pre-games before for basketball games when McShain made it to the finals. Lila and Emma made me go both times, citing the end of our friendship if I didn’t show up. But this time, I won’t have Lila or Emma to act as a buffer for me. I’ll have to mingle and chat with people and be normal. But it’s weeks away. I may be more comfortable around my classmates by then. Plus, I’m sure Lexi would come if I ask her. Push past your comfort zone. “Okay.”
“Great!” Pete slides his hand down my arm to my elbow, squeezing gently before letting go. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”
“Cappuccino.” Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the air. He places the cup down between Pete and me, forcing additional space between us.
“Grazie.” Pete smiles at Lorenzo appreciatively. “Looks great.”
Lorenzo nods briskly, his lips a thin line of frustration.
Crap. Is he mad at me? Ugh, why did I bring Pete here? Especially since I haven’t even talked to Lorenzo since our kiss. I wasn’t thinking. Did I want Lorenzo to see me with Pete and react? Why am I playing these stupid games?
“Un caffé latte.” He places the latte down gently near my hand. “Con latte scremato.” He watches me closely, his eyes flashing the instant I force myself to meet his gaze. “Good luck with your project,” he says sincerely, but his skeptical expression belies his words.
Yep, he’s pissed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lorenzo
I’m sitting in the restaurant, pretending to roll silverware, while I really watch Mia and her friend. Pete Buchanan. The All-American guy who wears a freaking polo shirt and a baseball cap to class. He’s ridiculous. And yet Mia is eating it up, smiling at him, leaning in when he speaks, not brushing his hand away when he touches her.
A small vein in my forehead throbs, and I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Shut it down, Enzo. I kissed the girl one freaking time. Once. Nothing else happened. So why am I reacting like I just caught my girl fucking another guy? Why do I even care? She’s doing an assignment with her classmate. Drinking a caffé. Not eating chocolate covered strawberries and sipping champagne. In bed.
I shake my head at my wayward thoughts. Besides, she brought him here. To my restaurant. She obviously knew she would see me. Which means one of two things: she wanted me to see her with another guy to make me jealous or she really is working on an assignment with a classmate and didn’t think anything of it.
Jesus, I hope it’s the second one.
“Enzo.” Claudia’s voice rings out, a welcomed distraction from my thoughts. “Glad you’re still here.” She sits down next to me, her dark curls falling forward over her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are serious, more serious than I’ve ever seen them.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, expertly tucking in the napkin around the fork and knife and placing it in the pile of perfectly rolled silverware. This was the first responsibility I ever had at Angelina’s, back when I was a kid. Years of practice means I can roll silverware without paying attention, without even thinking.
Claudia reaches out, clutching my hand in hers, stilling my efforts to pick up the next knife and fork. “Claudia, is Mama okay?”
She swallows and her eyes fill with tears. “Si. She’s okay. But I learned why she hasn’t been herself, why she’s been so despondent.”
I let out a long breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. “Okay. What is it?”
She shakes her head. “Zio Benito. Jesus.” She drops her head into her hand and takes a deep breath, squeezing my hand gently before letting go. I don’t interrupt her as she tries to regain her composure. When she raises her head again, she looks me directly in the eyes. Her eyes are clear. And angry. A deep fury burning from her irises. “He … I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he convinced Papa to name him as his beneficiary. He’s inherited all of Papa’s shares for all of the companies. He’s inherited all the properties, the vineyards, everything. He’s even on the board! Benito has effectively stepped in to control Papa’s legacy.”
My boiling blood instantly runs cold. Ice flows through my veins as panic grips my stomach. All sounds cease except the pounding in my ears. I take a deep breath, steady my hands, and look at Claudia. She is watching me expectantly, tears welling in her eyes but not spilling over. One wrong reaction from me and her tears will fall, coursing down her cheeks in waves. Becau
se even though deep down we both know what this means, it’s now up to me to fix it.
We’re ruined.
* * *
I leave the restaurant shortly after my conversation with Claudia. She dutifully takes over my silverware rolling and agrees to close out all of my tables. Including Mia’s. I can’t think about Mia right now. The future of my family is resting on my shoulders.
I slam the front door behind me as I enter our home.
“Lorenzo.” Mama stands up from the kitchen table. She doesn’t seem startled by my entrance or surprised to see me. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, clipped in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her face is free from makeup. Her high cheekbones, usually a defining feature in her lovely face, suddenly look severe. Her expression is grim. She is dressed well in a loose fitting silk blouse and black pants. But I notice how tightly her hand grips the back of the chair. The emerald ring on her finger shakes slightly when she breathes. She’s nervous.
Damn it. That’s the last thing I want. For her to feel like this is her fault. Like she could have prevented it in any way. She couldn’t. Zio Benito has always been a wily, sneaky, duplicitous bastard. I don’t know what he did to get to Papa, but it must have been something huge, drastic—like blackmail or threats—to convince him to change his will in such a way. To effectively ensure that Mama is left with nothing after his passing.
“Is it true?” I ask her directly, placing my hands on her arms to provide her some comfort. A bit of strength. A show of solidarity.
“It’s true.” She doesn’t hesitate. And her voice doesn’t tremble. Pride swells in my chest over her resiliency.
“How bad?”
She shakes her head slightly, averting her gaze, and steps out of my embrace.
“How bad?” I repeat.
“We have nothing. Nothing except this home. And Angelina’s.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? All this time, you knew?”
She nods again. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Giuseppe. Matteo. They know?”
She nods again, looking down. She twirls the emerald around her finger absently. “I asked them not to tell you. You’ve spoken with them?” She meets my gaze again.
I nod. “Yes, they called me weeks ago!”
Mama shakes her head. “They were trying to drop hints.” She sighs. “I should have confided in you and Claudia earlier. I thought … I don’t know what I thought. I thought I could handle it, fix everything. But now it’s too late.” She holds her arms out wide. “We have lost everything.” Then she drops her head onto my chest and sobs.
Tears soak through the front of my shirt as I wrap Mama in my arms and cradle her to me. Even though I have no clue what I’m doing, I make small shushing noises to calm her, rocking slightly. I’m reminded of when I was a boy and would come home after falling off my bike or getting into a fight with some random kid at school. I would rush to Mama and she would scoop me in her arms, soothing and comforting me, until I calmed down enough so we could devise a plan to solve whatever predicament I was experiencing.
And now the roles have reversed.
I think back to last year, running my credit card at every VIP booth without a second thought, to a few months ago when I crashed another Maserati. I hang my head in disappointment, a shame I’ve never felt before spreading through my chest. The heavy weight of providing for my family, ensuring their safety, guaranteeing their happiness settles on my shoulders and takes root in my heart.
October
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mia
On Friday, our schedules clear of classes, Pete and I meet again and really start working on our project. The assignment requires that we choose Dante, Boccaccio, or Petrarch and place them in modern day. Then we need to create a storyline, either a film or a book, that retells their struggles, desires, passions, conflicts, etc., but in a contemporary plot. It’s actually a really fun and creative project as we can choose the actors to cast as our characters, write interesting dialogue, and include plot twists. So far Pete and I have narrowed our themes down to three possible scenarios: Petrarch wanting to ask Laura to prom in high school, Boccaccio and the members from his baseball team stuck at home with the chicken pox before an important tournament, or Dante trying out for the high school football team and comparing his teammates, the coaches, and the practices to the different layers of Hell.
We pop over to Quattro Gusti and sit at our usual table, heads bent together, discussing the merits and weaknesses of each topic. I quickly vetoed us working at Angelina’s again. No way am I bringing Pete there, not until Lorenzo and I have the opportunity to talk. He didn’t even say goodbye to me on Wednesday when Pete and I studied there.
“We could cast Ryan Gosling as Petrarch,” Pete points out, trying to bolster support for option one.
“Seriously? Why Ryan Gosling? And why are you so set on the prom theme? If anything, I would have thought you’d be championing option two.”
Pete nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I know. There’s just something about Petrarch and Laura, their romance, that I think would make a better movie.”
“Really?” I arch an eyebrow incredulously. The athlete choosing a love story over sports. Who is this guy?
“It’s definitely more marketable,” Pete adds. “Girls love this type of thing. Why aren’t you more on board?” He laughs suddenly, pointing at me.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Uh-oh. Did you have an awful prom night? What happened? Was it terribly cliché?” Pete teases, but I can hear the curiosity burning behind his words.
“What? No, of course not. It was fun. I went with a friend from dance.”
“A gay guy?” Pete asks, leaning forward in interest.
“At least he could dance! Unlike all the other jocks there,” I retort, somewhat defensively.
“So, no goodnight kiss then?” Pete asks.
“Shut up.” I swat at him. “Focus on the project. Stop being nosey. I’m not asking you about your prom night.”
Pete laughs, his signature lopsided grin turning his lips up. “Mine was completely cliché.”
“Really?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He nods. “Every cliché you can think of happened. Me in a black suit, her in a red dress. I bought the corsage, she bought the boutonniere. And stabbed me with it while trying to pin it on.” He laughs again. “Finally, her mom did it.”
I laugh with him. “That sounds awful.”
He nods. “We went in a limo with three other couples. She stepped on my feet all night trying to dance. Someone, naturally, spiked the punch. We got incredibly drunk, she lost her virginity in the back of the limo, and then she barfed all over my shoes.”
“Shut up!” I exclaim, my hand covering my mouth to hold my laughter in.
Pete smiles at me. “Well, most of that happened.”
“What parts did you make up?”
He shakes his head. “Her barfing on my shoes. She really barfed in my lap.”
“Oh my God!” I laugh again. “That sounds awful.” I wrinkle my nose. “And totally gross.”
He nods in agreement. “You would have made a much better date. I’m sure you would have worn something much classier than red. You didn’t wear red, did you?” He looks at me expectantly.
I shake my head.
“I didn’t think you would. We would have danced the night away, obviously being the best ones out there with your mad skills. As a result, we would have been voted prom king and queen.”
I snort. No way would I ever, not in a million years, be voted prom queen.
I’m about to tell Pete that when he leans closer to me. “And you would have definitely gotten a goodnight kiss.” His voice lowers as he looks down at my mouth. He’s so close I can smell his cologne and the fresh scent of his soap.
I don’t dare make a move. Do I want Pete to kiss me?
He closes the distance between our mouths slowly and presses his lips ag
ainst mine, kissing me gently. It’s nice, sweet, sincere.
My hands rise to cup his cheeks, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips. I sigh into him and he pulls me closer. His touch is warm, gentle, everything a girl would want her goodnight kiss on prom night to be like. I smile against his mouth and feel him return the smile.
“So we can do option one?” he asks.
I laugh loudly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lorenzo
On Saturday Mama arranges for Simona and Rosella to open the restaurant. Instead of rushing off to ensure that the deliveries have arrived, the restaurant is spotless, and the menu for dinner is set, Mama relinquishes control to our employees.
Just like she used to back when Papa was alive. Back when our family fortune was intact and money wasn’t even a consideration.
Ironic really.
Mama, Claudia, and I sit around the kitchen table, staring at each other, each of us avoiding starting the conversation.
Finally, I sigh and place my hands palm down on the table. “Zio Benito?”
Mama nods, trying to keep the quiver out of her chin as she takes a sip of espresso. She closes her eyes and takes a minute, calming her nerves, collecting her thoughts. When she opens her eyes, they’re clear, open, maybe even a little bit hopeful.
Jesus. This whole time Mama has been carrying this burden around by herself, shouldering all this responsibility, this guilt, while Claudia and I ran around blowing money and acting like children. For fuck’s sake, just this summer I vacationed on a yacht in the Mediterranean and bought myself a new Maserati. It’s like a punch to the gut when I realize how foolish I’ve been, how out of touch with reality my lifestyle really is. I clench my hands into fists, fighting the urge to bang my fist through the table.
“Calmati,” Mama says quietly, placing her smooth palm over my closed fist. “We will figure this out. Together, as a family.” She looks to Claudia and me. “It’s time I tell you the truth.”
