Page 13 of Mafia Bride
“I remember lots of things, but that girl in the hall, I can never forget.”
My cheeks burn pink at the honor of being so memorable, and I know right there that getting all squishy isn’t going to help me get through the second half of this conversation. With a glance behind to check on my aunts’ progress, I start walking again, trying to sound casual.
“Have you known my zio long?”
“Sure. I know a lot of people a long time.”
He’s not going to hold up his end of the conversation. That’s the true fact right now, and it humanizes him in a way.
“But my zio’s house was one of your first stops when you got here. And let’s skip the part where you say you remember lots of things.”
“I don’t like explaining. Remember that.”
Remember when I cared?
Me neither.
“So, you stop at our house practically right off the boat—”
“I took a flight.”
“—and you see me there, remember me in a crowd of children? Do you remember my sister, Rosetta? My cousin Theresa? Or Mateo and Luca?”
He laughs, but the kind that tells me I’m ridiculous, not that I’m funny. “Do I strike you as an idiot?”
That feels like a trap if there ever was one.
“Not at all. Quite the opposite. You strike me as a guy who doesn’t answer straight.”
“I can. Try again.”
We turn the corner, but it doesn’t feel like we’ll be returning to the house anytime soon. If only my head and heart could get straight how we feel about this situation.
“Okay. Tell me what you do for a living.”
“This and that.”
I laugh so hard I have to stop and bend over. When I look up, he’s smiling as if he knows exactly what cracked me up.
“Show me how to answer like an American,” he says. “Tell me what you do.”
“I’m at St. John’s University studying nursing. See? Did you note the specificity?”
“I did. But you didn’t say why.”
“Okay so, lesson two…an open-ended question can be answered with a story.” I’m not trying to be a cutting snot-ass, so I check on his expression. He doesn’t look offended, so I continue. “My older sister died five and a half years ago from pneumonia while she was in the old country. And yes they have fine, fine care in Italy, but for some reason, not in that town, and not for her. So this is what motivates me. Even more than my parents, losing my sister was a big deal and if I can keep someone else from going through that, I’ll live happy. Now, you get to tell me what motivates you.”
“I’m sorry about Rosetta.” He lays his hand on my arm. All the blood in my veins races to the very spot, spreading heat across my entire body and I’m not sure if it’s from the touch itself or the unexpectedness of my sister’s name in his mouth.
“Thanks.” I step away, and his hand falls off me. “Now, you tell a story.”
“I knew your father.”
The statement itself stops my heart. I’m caught off guard by the revelation, but I’m not surprised he knew Emilio Moretti. We’re from a small corner of a big city, where everyone knows everyone.
But then he says nothing. Just those four words.
“That’s your story?”
