Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2) Page 4

  Words, more words than Lorenzo had ever wanted to say, fought, a bloody battle, closing his throat and making his chest ache with the pressure. Dammit.

  He drove, distracted by his thoughts, instinctively getting them to Uncle Enzo’s. He parked a little way down the block from the Mediterranean-style house. It held its own on the block with the other mini-mansions, standing out in its Italianate, understated elegance.

  Lita turned to him and grabbed his hand before he could exit the car. “Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. Her warm lips, her scent, caused a cease-fire in his mind. His chest expanded. He breathed in.

  “We could…” He wanted to take her back to his place, to be with her, show her how he felt.

  Lita frowned. His feelings weren’t enough. She knew enough of his player ways and dark moods to not believe what he might say. Words weren’t effective. He fingered her hair. She flickered her eyelids shut, as she might during an orgasm. He swallowed and focused on Uncle Enzo’s up the street. But when he thought he had control, he made the mistake of looking at Lita again.

  Her lips curved in a pout, full and rosy…He pushed out a breath, leaned in, and kissed her again. Kisses like theirs made talking pointless. Their lips, their breath, their tongues, spoke every loving thought, every desire. Lita pushed at him. He pulled her closer. She wriggled. He embraced.

  Lorenzo’s door whooshed open. A hand grabbed his collar. Lita gasped. Lorenzo swung out. Lee stood, his eyes narrowed, his fists ready. He pushed Lorenzo.

  “What the hell?” Lee shoved his shoulder.

  Lorenzo’s nostrils flared, but he made no move to defend himself. Lita appeared from the other side of the car and placed her hand on Lee’s arm.

  “Lee—”

  “No, Lita. I know what I saw.” He turned back to Lorenzo. “She was pushing you away.” Lee shook his head, his tone tight. Lee barely sounded like himself—in one moment, his best friend had become a stranger. “Un-fucking-believable. I thought you respected women, even with all your bullshit. I thought you respected our friendship. I was wrong.”

  Lee might as well have punched him in the gut. That’s how it felt.

  Lee grabbed Lita’s arm. “Come on, sweetie.”

  “No, Lee, you misunderstood. It was all…I mean…it wasn’t like that.” Lita stood still, but she didn’t look at Lorenzo.

  He glanced at his shoes. Lee was right. Lorenzo’d disrespected Lee’s friendship. But he wasn’t ready to declare himself, his feelings for Lita, to everyone. He’d wanted just one day with Lita, without the whole family in their business. Shit.

  “Inside, now. Enzo needs to know about this.”

  Lorenzo smoothed his shirt. He always faced consequences. They usually weren’t so immediate.

  “This has nothing to do with anyone but Lorenzo and me.” Lita’s voice quivered. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong. I wanted—”

  “You don’t know him, sweetie. Let’s talk.” Lee wrapped an arm around Lita.

  “Fine, we’ll talk.” Lita glanced back at Lorenzo, her eyes, her lips pleading.

  He clenched his hands. The tension snapped into his arms, his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, the click of a ratchet strap binding tighter. Lee had talked Lita out of staying with the few guys she’d dated in college, when her father hadn’t. Lorenzo followed Lita and Lee into the house. The scent of lemon and fresh-baked bread greeted him, the same as it had when Aunt Angela was alive.

  “Lee, good to see you.” Uncle Enzo greeted them from his usual spot at the old oak kitchen table. Celeste sat next to him, smiling at them.

  Lee nodded. “Glad to see you.”

  “Something wrong?” Uncle Enzo trained his shrewd eyes on Lorenzo.

  “I don’t know that Celeste wants to hear any of this.” Lee held Lita’s arm, which hung limp.

  “Celeste is my wife now.” Uncle Enzo grasped Celeste’s hand.

  “It’s all right, Enzo, if Lee would rather I leave—” Celeste moved to rise.

  “I wouldn’t.” Lita’s voice was firm. She tugged her arm away from her brother.

  “Did you get your work done, Lee?” Uncle Enzo tapped his finger on the table.

  “I wasn’t working today.”

  “Lorenzo said you were. Didn’t Lita stay with you last night?” Uncle Enzo still stared at Lorenzo, though he spoke to Lee.

  Lorenzo willed his face to remain impassive. Really it was tight with tension, but to an observer, he’d appear his usual self—cool, controlled, intense.

  “No.” Lee glanced at Lorenzo. “I thought she was here.”

  “I lied. Not Lorenzo.” Lita stepped toward Lorenzo. He shook his head. “He was a gentleman. You’re all making a big deal out of nothing.”

  Lorenzo’s gut did an about face. March out that door. Last night wasn’t nothing. It was everything. Lita was everything good—trust, innocence, hope, love.

  “A gentleman?” Lee chuckled derisively. “He was pushing himself on you in his car, Lita. That’s not being a gentleman. Lying, making moves on an innocent girl—”

  “I’m not a girl.” Lita’s cheeks pricked with color. Lorenzo ran his hand over his eyes.

  “Okay.” Lee turned to Lorenzo. “You want to tell her, or should I?”

  “There’s nothing you can tell me, Lee.” Lita walked to the cabinet over the sink, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. She sipped it, her back to them.

  “Lorenzo, so help me…” Uncle Enzo’s face twisted and colored, an angry purplish hue, a bruise long in healing.

  Celeste squeezed Uncle Enzo’s hand. “Enzo, why not let them be? They’re both adults. Maybe Lorenzo has made some wrong choices, but who among us hasn’t?”

  “I wouldn’t hurt Lita.” Lorenzo choked out the words. Their stares pressed in on him. Lita still had her back to them. She set her glass in the sink.

  “You never mean to.” Lee approached him. “But it happens. We both know it. I won’t let you bring Lita into your world.”

  Lee was right. Lita belonged in a different world, full of light, hope, faith, goodness. Lorenzo’s world wasn’t any of that.

  “I won’t.” Lorenzo nodded at Lee, a solemn promise. “But it’s not my world either. Not for long.”

  “Don’t show your face here, Lorenzo.” Uncle Enzo rose.

  “Enzo—” Celeste’s tone was disappointed, disapproving.

  “No, Celeste. I won’t tolerate this. I warned him to keep his distance from Lita. He’s no better than his father, than my son Sal was. I wouldn’t put up with them…I won’t let Lita suffer, as my niece did, as Sal’s wife did.”

  Lorenzo crumpled inside, as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

  “Uncle Enzo, don’t say that.” Lita whirled around and rushed to Uncle Enzo. “You don’t mean it…Lorenzo…” She glanced from Uncle Enzo to Lorenzo. She hurt. Lorenzo’d seen that look on his mother’s face over and over. Lorenzo wasn’t his father, but he’d been on his way there—a cold-hearted, arrogant, immoral, cynical bastard.

  “Enzo.” Celeste stood. “You’re not seeing clearly—”

  “I am.” Uncle Enzo gave an imperious nod.

  Celeste sighed. “Enzo, he said he wants to change. Didn’t you hear him?”

  Uncle Enzo puffed a breath. “The wolf can don a sheepskin. It doesn’t change who he is.”

  Lorenzo tensed, his neck stiff.

  “He’s not a wolf, he’s a man, a good man,” Lita said. “Anyone can change, if they really want to, and are given grace.” Lita stepped to him and held his hand.

  Lita believed in him. That was enough, for now. He squeezed her hand then released her.

  “I’ll go,” Lorenzo said.

  “Lorenzo, no…” Lita pleaded.

  “It’s okay. Just for today.” He kissed her cheek. She grasped his arm. With a gentle tug, he freed himself. He leaned close to her. “We’ll be together, I promise,” he whispered.

  She kissed his cheek, closed her eyes a moment.

  “Enzo, this isn�
��t necessary.” Celeste frowned.

  “I think it is.”

  “Then I think I’ll go down to the market for a bit. Unless Lita needs me.” Celeste stood beside Lita and touched her arm.

  Lita glanced up at her, hugging her arms to her stomach. “I’ll be okay, thanks. Maybe you can help Lorenzo figure something out.”

  Celeste nodded. “I’ll be home for dinner.” She took her purse off the chair and walked to Lorenzo. “Would you mind driving me to the market?”

  “Not at all.” Lorenzo turned to her. He had to get out of there.

  He closed himself down. But where his armor used to protect, numb him, it now constricted, an uncomfortable chink letting in too many sensations, too many feelings.

  “Uncle Enzo, please,” Lita continued as he and Celeste walked out. “Nothing happened. We can…”

  Lita’s words faded as Lorenzo led Celeste outside. He helped her into his car. He sat in his seat. He held the wheel. He couldn’t move.

  “Lorenzo, you are not your father. I’m sure you’ve made mistakes, but I see good in you. So does Lita. You’re so young—you can change.”

  His hands slackened and slipped off the wheel. He wanted to believe her words. “I want to change.”

  “Then you will.” She patted his cheek, like his mother used to. He bowed his head. Celeste clasped her hands in her lap. They sat silent a moment. God, help me.

  He started the car and drove down the hill. The sun shone bright, the streets hummed with life and activity. He was alive—he had a chance.

  “Enzo is hurt.” Celeste’s voice was quiet. “I say this to you in confidence, in hopes you’ll understand.”

  Lorenzo nodded.

  “Lita reminds him so much of his Angela…”

  Lita did resemble Aunt Angela a lot—Lorenzo hadn’t really thought about it before. Uncle Enzo had loved his wife Angela more than anyone. When she’d died five years before, the family had been concerned for Uncle Enzo, but eventually he’d pulled himself out of his black mood.

  “So, Enzo is overprotective of Lita…I think he wants to prevent the kind of hurt he caused Angela, a hurt that he can never fix.”

  “What do you mean?” Lorenzo couldn’t imagine Uncle Enzo ever doing anything to hurt Aunt Angela.

  “He was unfaithful to Angela when they were younger. She’d forgiven. And at the end, he went against her wishes and tried to get a black market organ for her. He confessed, but it was already too late. She couldn’t speak, and died that day. Enzo has never forgiven himself—for that and for not honoring Angela’s wish that he forgive their son, Sal, in time for her to see it. When you can’t forgive yourself, you can’t really forgive others.”

  Lorenzo pulled up outside D’Angelo’s Market. He gripped the steering wheel. Anger gripped him harder. Uncle Enzo had no right to condemn him, to try and keep him from Lita. No one but Lita had that right.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Please, Lorenzo, make peace with him. He needs you, needs his family. Family—”

  “Yeah.” All he needed was Lita. That and to get the hell away from his father. “You have a good day.”

  “You too, dear.”

  Lorenzo went around and opened the passenger door. He waited until Celeste went inside. Then he drove to the club. He wouldn’t let his father get there first—Lorenzo would be waiting for him this time.

  ***

  Lorenzo sat at his desk in his office. Faint echoes of music and people talking drifted under the door. They weren’t open yet, but most of the staff were there. Glancing down, the picture of him, Lita, and Lee in Italy caught his eye. He moved it from under the blotter and picked it up, touching a finger to Lita’s face. The door slammed open.

  “Lorenzo, what do you mean firing Del?” his father bellowed. He crashed the door shut and strode to the desk. Grabbing the photo, his father studied it before handing it back. His eyes glinted. Lorenzo shoved the photo into a drawer.

  “He came to work drunk.” Lorenzo eased himself deeper into his chair. His father remained standing.

  “Even drunk he’s a better bouncer than anyone else. You’re losing your edge.” He leaned over the desk, his face a foot away from Lorenzo’s. “You think moving into Sal’s and making up to some young woman is going to save you from yourself?” He chuckled.

  Lorenzo crossed his arms and stared at his father.

  “I know you better than you know yourself. You’re twenty-eight. Time to accept the fact that all you care about is having good food, fine wine, expensive toys, and beautiful women. Your mother tried to make you soft. Those damn DeGrazias. Think they’re better.” His father’s face reddened as his voice became louder. “Take what you want and make no apologies. You think they don’t? Ha. And that Enzo…no one is innocent. At least everyone knows where they stand with me.” He jabbed his finger at his chest then waved it at Lorenzo. “Your mother never loved me. But you knew that, didn’t you?” His father’s tone was tight with bitter distaste.

  Lorenzo strained to regain an impassive expression. He’d never give his father the satisfaction of admitting that sometimes he was right. Lorenzo knew his mother didn’t love his father—not the way a wife should love a husband. “She should have left you.”

  His father laughed. “She wouldn’t—for you. She wouldn’t let a son be without his father.”

  Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk and stood. “Bastard.” His father patted his cheek, like Lorenzo’s mom used to. Lorenzo grabbed his hand.

  His father wrenched away his hand. Sweat beaded across his forehead and dampened his upper lip. “You’re mine. Those DeGrazias tried to take you from me, but they can’t. You’ll never escape who you are. Ask Sal, Enzo—ask them the truth. They’re no better than we are.”

  “I’m not you. I quit.” Pieces of his internal armor clattered away. His neck and shoulders loosened. He hadn’t realized they were tense.

  His father’s laugh turned to a barking cough. “And live on what? Your mother was too weak to make sure to leave anything to you. And even when I’m gone, the things you’ve done won’t disappear.”

  Lorenzo strode to the door. “I quit. I know what I need. Whatever you have on me would implicate you too.” He could get a job somewhere. He had a business degree, years of managerial experience. Once he proved himself worthy of her…

  “You need this!” His father shouted, waving his arm before he clutched it to his side. He crumpled against the desk. Another ploy. Lorenzo scowled.

  “Go to hell, old man.”

  His father slid to the floor. His head thumped against the desk. Vincenzo Calabra lay prone and unmoving. This was no act. Lorenzo ran and knelt beside his father. His throat closed. His father still had a pulse. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he dialed 911. As he spoke to the dispatcher, he grasped his father’s hand. Vincenzo squeezed Lorenzo’s palm but didn’t open his eyes.

  “You’ll never escape.” Vincenzo’s face paled, grey like the ash of a snuffed, smoldering fire.

  Lorenzo dropped the phone. No breath. He checked again before starting CPR. As he compressed his father’s chest, he gritted his teeth.

  “Not now. You won’t die now.” A chill numbed Lorenzo. Not now, when happiness had been in his arms. His father dying would leave a bigger mess, one he might not be able to get out from under.

  He was still trying to resuscitate his father when the paramedics arrived. Dead. His father was dead.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m going to visit Celeste,” Lita called to Uncle Enzo, who was in his study. “I’ll be back to make dinner.”

  “Vittorio will be here for dinner.” Uncle Enzo stood in the doorway. “We want to talk to you.”

  Lita sighed. “Okay.” Uncle Enzo and his brother probably wanted to tell her how Lorenzo wasn’t good enough for her. Uncle Enzo and Lee had already tried, but Lita had managed to shut them down and go upstairs to shower and change. Lee had gone home, but Uncle Enzo was still upset. Lita hoped to g
et a break by visiting Celeste, and hopefully they could come back together.

  “Promise you’re only going to see Celeste?”

  “I promise. See you soon.” She’d see Lorenzo soon. She had faith.

  Lita walked out. The day was still sunny, the city bright and full of life and possibilities. She walked down, letting her senses waken in the warm air, the scents changing from baking concrete into baking breads as she reached the square. Her step lightened, like when she was a girl, in her summery sandals, a breezy skirt and light tee shirt on. She ambled into D’Angelo’s.

  “Hello,” Lita said to Frank D’Angelo, who stood behind the counter. Several customers sat at tables and browsed the narrow aisles of Italian grocery items displayed on metal shelves.

  Frank nodded. “If you’ve come to see my mom, she’s in back baking with Gina. You can go in.” He motioned to a door just behind the end of the counter, marked “Staff Only.”

  Lita smiled. “Thanks.”

  “My mom told me what happened. For once, I agree with Enzo.”

  Lita paused at the door. “Love might not be sensible, but it’s what makes us alive.”

  Frank didn’t acknowledge her, but turned to a customer. Lita pushed the door open and let it shut behind her. A kind-looking man about Lita’s age, his light brown hair tumbled over his forehead, grabbed a tray of cookies. Lita opened the door for him.

  “Thanks,” he said. He smiled, an open, warm expression.

  “Oh, Lita, this is my grandson, Michael,” Celeste said as she hurried to greet Lita.

  “Nice to meet you,” Michael said at the same time as Lita. They laughed.

  “Grandma tells me you’ll be joining us at the food bank next week.” Michael’s muscles flexed as he shifted the tray. He was slight, but his biceps were strong, probably from all the lifting he did.

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Lita wanted to be useful, and be a part of the community. Soon she’d find a school to volunteer in too—she loved working with children, especially reading and singing with them.