Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (17 page)

Is skipping one class really going to ruin my future?

No.

“Ready?” Lorenzo asks, stopping to stand next to my chair and reaching his hand out toward me.

I smile up at him. “Andiamo.”

* * *

“Wow.” It falls from my mouth. I’m frozen in awe. Astonished really.

Lorenzo and I are sitting in the dip of a clearing, high above the waking towns below. And it’s beautiful. People, tiny like ants, shuffle below us to start their days. And in my mind I can picture them sweeping their front porches, sipping their espressos at their kitchen tables, their eyes running lazily along the lines of a newspaper, placing tiny children in car seats and backing out of parking spots. Life awakens and begins below us. Around us. And here we sit, observing it all.

If I turn completely in the other direction, it’s miles of ocean as far as the eye can see. I watch as the ocean meets the sky, a thin blue line marking the horizon. The sun beats down, warming the tops of our heads as icy tendrils of almost-winter lick at our cheeks through the strong winds.

“This is really something else,” I tell Lorenzo honestly. I pull my phone out of my bag and take a few photos of the scenery surrounding us. On a whim, I flip the camera so that it’s pointed at Lorenzo and me. “Smile.” I say, snapping a selfie.

He smiles brightly, his blue eyes burning in the photo. He’s sitting behind me, his legs bent at the knees, protecting my frame from the wind. His chest and stomach press into my back, but his arms don’t envelope me. Instead, they remain braced behind him, supporting his upper body. After ensuring that I look somewhat decent in the picture, I shift in my position, nestled between his legs, and hold the phone up for him to see the photo I snapped.

“I like it.” He smiles, shifting slightly to peer down at the picture.

I almost miss his words as they wind captures them, stealing them away.

“Do you come here often?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. I used to come here with Papa when I was little. This is where I learned to fly a kite.” He laughs suddenly, his childhood memories gleaming briefly in his eyes. “I used to think I was on top of the world.”

“I’d believe it.” I snuggle deeper into the open V of his legs as the wind picks up.

Lorenzo sits up straighter, trapping me in between his jeans. “Are you cold?” he asks, his arms coming around to wrap around my shoulders and the top of my chest. He pulls me deeper into his embrace.

“A little,” I answer honestly.

“I’m sorry, bella. Why didn’t you tell me?” He moves to stand up.

“No, it’s okay.” I stop him by placing my hand on his thigh. He stills abruptly. “Just a few more minutes.”

Lorenzo settles back down, pulling me into his arms and hooking his chin over my shoulder. I keep my hand on his thigh, enjoying the feel of his hard muscle, the heat of his skin through his jeans. I stare out to the wide expanse below us: the bustling lives of the town folk, the rolling waves of the ocean, the natural beauty of the land. I memorize the feel of Lorenzo’s fingers rubbing tiny circles into my shoulder, the tickle of his breath on the shell of my ear, the warmth of his body against my back, under my palm. I hold his scent around me and lose myself momentarily in him, in this moment.
Remember this moment, Mia. Remember it forever.

It feels like I’m dreaming with open eyes.

Chapter Thirty-One

Lorenzo

Mia’s frame feels tiny, almost fragile, in my arms. I wrap my arms around her tighter when I feel her body shiver. I breathe in the scent of her hair, vanilla and something I can’t place. Something uniquely Mia.

I surprised myself when I brought her here. I haven’t been to this spot in a long time. Not since Papa passed. We would come here all the time together, back when I was a kid, back when I didn’t have any pressure weighing across my shoulders, back when my biggest decision was which gelato flavor I preferred to eat that day. But now, in this moment, even with this new information—Papa’s deceit, Benito’s manipulation, Anthony’s existence (and without Papa here to explain any of it)—I feel I can handle it. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the feel of Mia beneath my fingertips. A sense of purpose stirs within me, erasing the burden and replacing it with an onus, a sense of responsibility I don’t know if I’ve ever felt before.

I smile into the thick brown hair of this beautiful girl and press a kiss to the back of her head. I was right to bring her here, to confide in her. I was right to trust her.

* * *

“So, what’s the deal? Haven’t seen you around much lately?” Sandro asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He pulls a Peroni out of a bucket of ice and pops the top, sliding it across the table to me.

I take a pull of the beer, enjoying the smooth coldness as it glides down my throat. I shrug. “Got some stuff going on.”

Sandro nods. “Figured as much.”

I raise the bottle to my lips, studying him over the rim. His eyes meet mine and he doesn’t blink.

“Family stuff,” I clarify.

“Yeah.” He gives nothing away.

I tip the bottle back, taking another swig of beer. Where is Sandro going with this? Does he know something?

Sandro rolls his shoulders forward, crossing his arms in front of him on the table. We’re sitting at a back table in an old bar, the one we used to escape to when we cut class in high school. Not a lot of our crew knows about this place, Sandro and I preferred to keep it quiet. A good hole to blow off steam and avoid the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of our inner circle. There’s gotta be a reason he asked me to meet him here today. I just can’t figure out his angle.

I lean forward, placing my beer down on a cheap coaster, the colors already faded. I raise my eyebrows, “Something you want to contribute to this non-conversation?”

He laughs but it’s humorless. “Benito’s back in town.”

Damn it! I slam my fist down against the edge of the table and squeeze my eyes closed, reining in my anger, trying to curb my lit fuse before it explodes, and I blow up at Sandro. Sandro, who may have useful information. Sandro, my best friend.

“So you didn’t know?” he asks slowly, his eyes assessing.

“No, I didn’t know. How long has he been back for?” And why couldn’t he just stay buried in casinos and prostitutes in Sanremo?

The left side of Sandro’s mouth quirks up in a rare smile. “Man, I thought you weren’t telling me.”

“What?” I ask.

“I thought you knew and were just keeping it quiet. Covering for him.” He must register the shock on my face because he waves his hand dismissively, “I know, I know, it was stupid of me to think that.” The last time Benito skipped town, years ago now, he did so without paying back the thousands of dollars he borrowed from Sandro’s papa. As usual, Benito used my papa’s name, his reputation and contacts, to get what he wanted. And then he let everyone else deal with the fallout of his actions. I’m just grateful his shit didn’t affect my friendship with Sandro.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head to clear it. “How do you know he’s back?”

“Domenico Costenzo called Papa. He was at the Costenzo place two nights back, meeting with Gianni.”

That catches my attention. Everyone knows Gianni Costenzo isn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen. And he plays on the goodness of his mother’s heart to stay deep in the family fold. Sure, he has some legitimate businesses here and there, but he really makes his bread and butter from pushing cocaine. Something his brothers, particularly Domenico, can’t stand. It’s no surprise Domenico would tip off Sandro’s papa, what with everyone knowing how Benito owes him a ton of money. What the fuck could Benito want mixing with Gianni’s company?

“Benito, he’s the beneficiary of Papa’s will,” I say quietly. “And he’s taking us for everything we’re worth.” I finally confide the deep dark secret, barring Anthony, to someone outside my family.

Sandro’s mouth drops open in shock. “Fuck.”

I nod in agreement.

“How much?”

“Everything.” I look up at him. “Except Angelina’s. And our family home.”

He shakes his head. “Might as well be everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Enzo. I’m sorry, I had no idea. Fuckin’ Benito. Whenever he’s back, he stirs up shit.”

I nod.

Sandro lets out a low whistle and pops open another beer, pushing his empty one aside. He takes a long gulp. “This is going to be fucked up … whatever it is.”

“I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone about Benito being back in town until I can tell Mama and Claudia. They should hear it from me.” The beer bottle feels small in my grasp, and I grip it hard, remembering Mama’s tears when she finally told me the truth about Papa’s will.

“Yeah. Okay.” He agrees. “How’s Claudia doing anyway?”

I shrug. “Okay … I guess.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Help you out any way I can.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“You good though? You need anything?” Sandro asks quietly, his eyes studying me closely. And I know he’s offering me money but doesn’t want to come out and say it since if I accept, despite all the years of friendship between us, it will change the dynamics of our friendship.

“No. I’m good. Thanks though.”

He nods. “Have another beer then.” He slides another Peroni across to me.

I pop the top gratefully.

* * *

Winter arrives early this year, cold seeping into the autumn days of October. Last night I stacked all the patio tables and chairs and stored them away for the winter months. It may even snow in the next couple of weeks. I shiver as I enter Angelina’s, cursing myself for leaving my jacket in the car. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans and duck into the kitchen. Mama is standing at the counter, her rapid chopping a sharp staccato in the silence.

“Mama?”

She turns to look over her shoulder, her mouth curling into a rare smile when she sees me. She used to smile all the time, her laughter bubbly. It hits me hard in the chest, and I realize how much I miss the way she was, the person Papa helped her be. I wonder if that version of Mama will reappear as time passes or if she’s lost forever.

“Ciao, caro. Come stai oggi?” She turns back to the tomatoes on the cutting board.

“Bene. Is Claudia here?”

“No, it’s too early for Claudia.”

I nod.

“Do you need some help?” I ask. It’s still early morning; the restaurant isn’t even open yet. In a way, this is my favorite time. The quiet solitude, the monotonous work that needs to be accomplished before the day begins. It’s a good time for thinking, letting my thoughts roam rampant before I have to check them and focus on our patrons. I never thought I’d wish for solitude just to think, or that I’d find it at Angelina’s, but here I am.

“I’d love some,” Mama says, surprising me. She hands me an apron and gestures toward a bowl of vegetables. She places a sharp knife on the cutting board next to her. “Cut them the long way. Not too thick.”

I nod, tying the apron around my waist and picking up the knife.

“You’ve been quiet lately. All okay?” Mama asks.

“Sure.” I smile. “Same old.”

She chuckles. “I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?”

She places down her knife and turns to look at me. Her quick eyes don’t miss a trick as they study my face carefully. She exhales. “I know I haven’t been myself lately, Enzo. I know you’ve had to take a lot on, shoulder a lot of responsibilities that you haven’t had to deal with before. I understand that this situation with Benito is difficult. And delicate.” Her hand reaches out and covers mine, halting my chopping. “But I know you, Enzo. There’s a girl.” Mama smiles. “Tell me about her.”

I look at her sharply. How the hell did she pick up on that? There’s always girls. There always have been. Mama’s always known it. But never, not even when she was her old self, clapping her hands together and choosing the ribbons for the lavish presents I gifted to girls to soften the blow of ending things with them, has she ever called me out and directly asked me about one.

“What do you mean?” I ask her.

“I may be old, Enzo, but I’m not senile yet,” she scolds me, removing her hand.

I continue chopping.

“You’ve been different. This one, she’s different. Who is she?” Mama continues, leaning lightly into my side, bumping her shoulder against my upper arm.

I laugh. “You’re something else you know that?”

“Tell me about her.” For a moment, a girlish delight from her past is back in her voice, lacing through her words like laughter.

“She’s an American.”

Mama frowns slightly. “A blonde?”

I laugh. “No, she’s a brunette. Italian roots.”

Mama smiles. “Oh, so she’s Italian?”

“I guess so.”

“And …”

“I think she’s interested in another guy.” Stupid Pete Buchanan.

Mama’s laughter erupts, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

I place the knife down and face her. “Seriously? You think that’s funny? Your own son getting played?”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. She places a palm on my cheek. “Oh, Enzo. After all the girls and all the parties, you’re finally getting a tiny taste of your own medicine. Is she a good girl?” Mama asks. And I know what she means. Is she true and kind and sweet? Will she be loyal and faithful if we were serious? Could I marry her?

“Yes.” I nod.

Her palm taps against my cheek gently. “Good. Then you better woo her so she stops seeing the other boy. Or you better figure out a way for her to know that you are serious.” She raises her eyebrows. “I take it she’s not one to be happy with a gold and diamond bracelet?” Of course she has to reference my go-to, the piece of jewelry I gift to girls to take the sting out of ending our relationship. Or a hookup. Or whatever it is I’m doing with some girl I don’t want coming around, blowing up my phone anymore. Surprisingly, the method works. They all seem to get that the bracelet is a goodbye gift and not an invitation to move our relationship to the next level. How messed up is that? Only in my social circle. Mia would be scandalized.

I snort. “No.”