Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) (13 page)

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. Because 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 against 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.”

Claudia nods in agreement. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Mama nods, “Si. I will.”

* * *

On Sunday even though I’ve had a full twenty-four hours to process everything Mama shared, my mind is still reeling, my temper running high and hot, and my patience obliterated. Fucking Benito.

After Mama told Claudia and me everything she knew, we immediately jumped in with every solution we could think of to rectify the situation. Mama sadly shook her head at every angle we thought we could play. In short, it seems Papa changed his will thirteen months before he passed. He did so while he was completely competent and of sound mind. His lawyer, Raffaelo Palmeri, was present and acted as witness to my father’s actions. Benito wasn’t there. Since Benito is expressly stated as the beneficiary of Papa’s will as well as his successor to the board, there is little Mama can do to contest Benito’s position.

The only provisions stated that Benito can’t mess with are our family home and Angelina’s Ristorante since it belongs to Mama independently of Papa. Everything else—the mansion in Liguria, the house in Lake Como, the apartment buildings in Sicily, the portfolios of investments, the factories in Turin, the vineyards in Tuscany, our entire fucking livelihood—all belong to and are under the control of Benito.

And now I’m going to fix it.

* * *

When Mia enters the restaurant Monday afternoon, I’m both frustrated and relieved. Frustrated because she’s kept her distance for more than a week; she’s been avoiding me since I kissed her. I haven’t even laid eyes on her since she came to Angelina’s with Pete-I-wear-fucking-polo-shirts-Buchanan last Wednesday.

But then again, I’ve been distant too. Except, I’m fairly certain that she’s kept her distance because of Pete Buchanan. And I’ve kept mine because my family is falling apart. Not even remotely the same thing.

Now she walks in here and I’m in the worst possible mood to have a conversation. Not to mention the timing is completely off as I’m about to leave to meet with Papa’s lawyer, Rafaello, and see if I can drag some useful information out of him. Still, I’m relieved because well, she’s here. And I get to appreciate her shy smile for several seconds before the scowl on my face wipes it off.

“Hey,” she says softly, sitting down at her usual patio table, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. It’s getting too cold to sit outside.

“Ciao,” I say back, running my hand over the scruff covering my face. I need to shave, to feel like a human being again. I’ve been a disaster since Mama dropped the Benito bomb.

“Um. Busy weekend?” she whispers, her eyes wide and serious. She pulls her sleeves over her hands, curling her fingers up into her jacket.

Damn it. Now this beautiful girl is going to think that my foul mood has something to do with her. Another thing I need to fix.

I attempt a smile. “Yeah. I have some family stuff going on that I need to take care of.”

“Oh.” She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

I rub my hand down my face.
Just be honest with her, Enzo. I’m sure she’ll get it. She’s a reasonable girl.
“Look this isn’t really a good time. I’m just heading out now. Can we talk later?”

She looks down at her shoes for a few seconds before raising her gaze to meet mine. Her face is pale and her eyes look worried. Otherwise, she sits still as a statue. “Sure.”

I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but I really don’t have time to explain and coddle her. I need to meet Rafaello in twenty minutes at a bar near the Spanish steps. I’m probably going to be late, even if I leave this minute. “Okay. I’ll message you later.” I tell her, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze as I make my way out of the patio.

I’m tempted to turn around but really, why torture myself?

* * *

Taking another sip of the Negroni, I breathe in the orange scent, and try to calm my nerves. I stare at my cufflink, the Medusa head mocking me, while I process Rafaello’s words.