Patrona dei Lupi, the Mistress of Wolves

Chapter One

My legs barely held me, and my hands shook. Two years in the job, mostly on time, I was the face of Roberts Accounting CPA. Clients wishing to make appointments had to go through me. My hands clenched the notebook in my lap. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to release my tight grip, then wiped my palms along my polyester skirt.

The door opened, and Miss Taylor waved me into Mr. Roberts’s office. Her face set into her usual stern expression, her gaze swept up and down my figure, appraising my boring office outfit of navy skirt, white blouse, and matching blazer. She nodded to herself, seemingly disappointed that there was nothing she could criticize.

“Miss Caleem to see you, Mr. Roberts,” she announced, as if her boss wasn’t already on his feet and holding out his hand for me to shake. I kept my face pleasantly polite in face of Miss Taylor butchering my name again. I corrected her every time, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

“Come in, sit down. What can I do for you?”

The portly gentleman smiled as he pointed at the chair in front of his desk. The office was small, much like the business. Furniture cobbled together from generations of previous owners made the room look disjointed. His desk was huge, taking up nearly the entire width of the room. The outside light glared onto the screen most of the day.

When I’d started, I’d made the mistake of suggesting moving the PC to avoid eyestrain. Miss Taylor had hustled me out of the office so quickly I’d gotten dizzy.

“Never ever criticize your elders and betters,” she’d hissed into my ear. “You won’t last long if you don’t learn to keep your mouth shut.”

Anybody more experienced would have pushed back and told her where to go. But me? I was straight out of high school. Besides, I wasn’t a rebel. Never had been. So I’d just smiled and nodded.

I lowered myself onto a plastic chair and swallowed hard. Mr. Roberts stared at me expectantly, a smile on his rotund face. He wasn’t a bad boss, exactly. He never shouted, or wanted me to stay longer, or flirted with me like Jimmy. I suspected he was afraid of Miss Taylor. That thought gave me the courage to open my mouth.

“Mr. Roberts, I’ve been working here for two years now. I’m a good receptionist. My manner is professional, and I work well with my colleagues.”

My boss continued looking at me, but now his eyebrows pulled together. My heart sank. Damn it, why was this so hard? Come on, Ren, remember what you read online: don’t just ask for yourself, but explain why a raise is good for the company.

I gathered the rest of my courage and continued. “I feel I could contribute more to the office if my salary was adjusted upwards.” There, that sounded good.

“How would that work exactly?”

I was puzzled. “Sorry? How would what work exactly?”

Now he looked definitely annoyed. “How would giving you more money contribute to the office’s bottom line?”

Oh crap. He had me there. That was exactly where I’d gotten stuck when I’d run through the conversation last night in my tiny studio apartment. Mr. Roberts was still waiting, the tap tap of his pen hitting the desk surface increasing the tension. Say something, Ren. Anything.

“Because happy employees are more productive?” Way to go, sounding all hesitant.

“Are you saying you’re not happy?”

I closed my eyes and pulled up my shoulders. This wasn’t going well.

“Miss Calemme.” He smiled at me, a fatherly gesture that nearly hid the hard gleam in his eyes.

“You’re very young so I’ll overlook your statement of discontent. You’ve been here barely long enough to know how I take my coffee. I took you on because your brother is a good client of ours. As you should know if you were at all interested in the business, we’re going through hard economic times. A pay rise is out of the question. In fact, Miss Taylor has mentioned once or twice that we don’t really need a receptionist.”

Seriously? I’d just talked myself out of a job? I grew light-headed, and my breathing sped up. Even though I hated the office, hated the job, hated my boss, I couldn’t do without. No money meant having to move back in with my parents. No way.

I barely noticed Mr. Roberts raising his hand. “Don’t worry. Your job is safe for now. A receptionist makes the office look more professional. I would suggest to maybe tame that hair of yours and wear some makeup, but I’m happy to keep you on as an overhead. However, a pay rise won’t be possible for at least this fiscal year. Maybe we can talk again next year.”

He stopped the infernal tapping and bent his head over a stack of contracts on his desk. Apparently, I was dismissed. Without another word, I rose and left the room. As I walked to the bathroom, I kept my head low so others wouldn’t see the tears of rage and frustration in my eyes. Once I got there, I studied my face in the mirror.

My long hair was tied back. I had overslept this morning and only applied a little lipstick. Otherwise, I looked just fine. And what was that jab about making coffee? Face it, you’ll never get anywhere in this office. I stared into my brown eyes and thought of my grandmother, nonna Francesca, whose looks I had inherited.

She’d come all the way from Sicily after the war that had left half her family dead, fighting for a government that had betrayed them again and again. She’d been Sicilian first, Italian second. Her island, its customs and stories, had been ingrained in her heart, and she’d passed them on to me until— I swallowed hard. A deeper sadness than being denied a promotion gripped my heart and squeezed.

Fuck it, I was going home. I wiped my eyes and splashed some cold water into my hot face. When I thought I could face the dragon lady outside the bathroom door, I stood up straight, pulled my shoulders back, and reached for the door handle.

Then I remembered I wanted to leave and pulled my face into a suffering expression. Turned out, I needn’t have bothered. The hallway was empty, and nobody tried to stop me as I slipped out. Not even that infernal Jimmy. Sending a text explaining my absence would be good enough.

As I closed the door to the street behind me, a familiar voice called my name.

“Renata, cara. Wait for me.”

Chapter Two

My mother. Lunch. I’d forgotten. I shut my eyes for a moment before turning around. There was no way getting out of this one.

“Ciao, Mamma.”

We kissed each other’s cheeks, then she grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of our usual lunch place. When my mom was on a mission, she moved at a speed belying her full figure. Sometimes, I thought she lived for food. And her family, of course. Mamma only stopped her march right outside Civitello’s.

Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped. A large German Shepherd sat on its haunches and gazed up at me with big hopeful eyes. Its lolling tongue made the dog look as if it were grinning.

I stepped back, frowning at the massive animal, then looking around for its owner. I couldn’t see anybody. When I looked down again, the dog was gone.

“Come on,” my mom urged.

“Did you see that huge dog?”

“What dog?” The impatience in her voice stopped my questions. It must have run off while I was distracted. Never mind.

The sign hanging outside the Italian delicatessen on the main street of New Barton promised Italian pastries and spumoni, a layered ice-cream with nuts and fruit. Civitello’s selection of freshly made cannoli, filled with ricotta cheese and candied fruit, were largely to blame for my own weight problems. That, and genetics.

The sun beamed from a cloud-less sky, and my mood lifted at the sight of metal tables set up outside. It was still early enough that the lunch crowd hadn’t taken all the seats.

Mamma cruised straight toward a table in the sun, popping her sunglasses on top of her graying short hair. I was always amazed how Italian she looked after growing up in the US.

She’d never been back to her mom’s birthland, yet she could have stepped out of one those fotoromanzi magazines we loved to read.

We had barely settled down when my favorite waitress Franca asked us for our order.

“A salad for me, please.”

I hid my grin behind the menu. My mom’s latest diet wasn’t going to last long, but at least she tried. I opened my mouth to order some cannoli when I caught her pleading look. Oh, damnit. The last thing I needed was her complaining for the next few weeks about how I’d sabotaged her efforts once again. No way could I eat delicious treats in front of her while she was on her diet.

I sighed and put the menu down. “Espresso and what she’s having.”

Mamma nodded her approval, and I returned her smile. I’d use the bathroom and pick up some cannoli on the way out. She never needed to know.

For the next few minutes, we talked about how unusual the temperatures were for May, how Papà was doing well on his blood pressure medication, how Aunty Rosa’s baby was growing so tall.

When Franca brought out the salads, she bent and whispered while Mamma was distracted.

“I’ve got some cannoli wrapped up for you.”

I beamed. She knew me too well. Sometimes, living in a small town had its advantages. All was well while we dug into our food. The lettuce was crispy, the dressing oily and tangy, the chicken breast tender and spicy. Not bad for rabbit food.

But the moment Mamma pushed her plate aside, I tensed up. Here it comes.

“Renata. You know I worry about you.”

I steeled myself for the weekly lecture.

“Your papà and I are very proud of you. You found a job, and you set up your own home, even though we don’t understand why you wouldn’t stay with us until you’re married.”

I forced a smile. There was no point arguing. I’d heard the arguments since I’d turned twenty. Which was apparently the cut-off age for any respectable girl.

“We worry because you’re alone. You have no-one to look after you. Look at your cousin Cecilia. She found herself a handsome Italian man and has just given birth to a beautiful baby with curly hair. Don’t you think you’d be happier if you started a family while you’re still young?”

That stung. I was twenty-two, for fuck’s sake. My eyes tightened, but I held on to my temper. My fingers played with the necklace Nonna Francesca had left me. I calmed down immediately. The feel of the cool metal against my skin had that effect on me.

Mamma continued talking, but I’d stopped listening. There was a reason I’d moved out the moment I’d received my first paycheck. I loved my parents dearly, but surely there was more to life than popping out babies for some… some Guido.

Although I wouldn’t mind a sexy, hot-blooded man like Riccardo Bonacchi. He’d been huge in the seventies, and once upon a time, I’d had a huge crush on him.

Blond, brown-eyed, his hair too long for tastes today, he’d been the epitome of Italian alpha male. The girls starring with him had melted under his seductive stare, and honestly, if I met him today, I would do the same.

“Renata. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Mamma. Sorry, I have to get back to work,” I lied without hesitation. It was bad enough having to endure her monologues every chance she got. I didn’t want to have to explain my career setback as well.

A wet cold tongue licked my hand. I pulled away with a gasp of surprise. What the hell? The dog was back. Its head nearly reached the top of the table as it sat next to my leg, leaning against me.

Chapter Three

I pushed the giant dog with my foot until it got the hint. It slunk off, looking back at me with accusatory eyes. I kept my hand away from my body, not wanting to touch anything with it until I’d washed the slobber off it. Who knew what disease the animal carried.

“Are you okay? You seem a little pale. Are you eating enough?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

Had she not seen the dog? Apparently not. She could get a little single-minded about her mission to marry me off.

When I made my way back from the bathroom, there was a tray of mouthwatering filled pastry waiting for me. Franca promised to keep it for me until I doubled back after saying good-bye to Mamma and promising to be there for Sunday lunch.

On the short walk to my studio, the sting of being shot down by Mr. Roberts returned. Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I needed a husband to look after me.

Or maybe hell would freeze over. I knew what would make me feel better. Immersing myself in the photographic dream world of a fotoromanzo I’d swiped from Mamma last week.

Those magazines were like picture books for adults—illustrated love stories on cheap paper, following a comforting pattern of boy meets girl, girl rejects him, girl reconsiders after boy proves himself. They’d been massively popular in the seventies and eighties, although none of my American friends had ever seen one.

The hero had just rescued the girl from the ocean and kissed her back to life. I sighed. Maybe I wouldn’t mind a strong man with fire in his eyes to look after me for a change. But I would pick him and call the shots, I thought defiantly as I licked the cream from the first cannolo. Hmmm. So sweet and gooey.

My second sigh was full of happiness as I lost myself to the love story for the remainder of the afternoon.

***

Maybe it was the pastry, maybe it was the fotoromanzo. But that night, I dreamed some weird shit.

The landscape was completely unfamiliar. The vast seascape’s variations of colors ranged from ink-black to dark-blue, lightening up as the wind whipped the water into sharp peaks. The tops were crested with white sea-foam.

The bite of ozone mixed with the slightly unpleasant smell of seaweed and salt. I stood so close to the edge of the ocean that the wind carried droplets of seawater, tangled my hair, and took my breath away.

“Do you like it here?”

I spun around at the sound of a male voice. “Who are you? Why am I here? Is this a dream?”

My words tumbled over themselves. The man smiled while nodding. “Yes, you’re dreaming. But this place is real. It’s where you belong, Renata. This is the Isola delle Correnti, the Island of Currents. It’s on the southern-most tip of Sicilia, where you and your family come from.”

Island of Currents. The water churned as it hit the rocks. It was aptly named.

“So this is Sicily.” Even though it was a dream, I didn’t doubt his words. The place felt real, solid, under my feet. “But why am I here?”

“I can’t answer that. Maybe we’re fated to meet here. Maybe I’m a figment of your imagination, and you dreamed me up because you’re lonely. Chi lo sa. Who knows.”

He stepped up next to me, taking my hand. I let him. He was no danger to me, and the warmth of his palm and fingers felt good. Together we stood and watched the waves break at our feet again and again.

When he lifted his hand to stop his hair blowing into his face, my gaze followed his motion. He was gorgeous. Blue eyes, clear as glass with the sun hitting them just at the right angle. Dark-blond hair to his collar, whipping around his tanned face. Tall, with a surfer’s body.

I held on to his hand, and he tightened his grip in response. When he smiled at me, my knees went weak. He was breath-taking. Thank you, subconscious, I mouthed silently.

His smile broadened as if he’d heard me. He probably had. For a moment, I didn’t know where to look.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

That didn’t exactly help, but before I could get even more uncomfortable, his head shot up. From one moment to the next, his whole demeanor changed. No longer relaxed, he reminded me of an animal that had spotted a predator.

He sniffed the air before saying regretfully, “I’m sorry, cara. I have to go.”

Not waiting for my response, he bent down and brushed his lips against mine. The gesture was so sweet and unexpected, I didn’t move back until he straightened up.

“Ci vediamo presto.”

I blinked, and he was gone. My fingertips brushed along my lips, still tingling from the brief contact. I turned around, but there was no sign of him. As if he’d blinked out of existence.

It’s a dream after all. I shouldn’t be surprised it ended much like my real life encounters.

The wind blew my long hair forward before dying down completely. The moment the air stilled, the sun warmed my chilled skin. The mainland was visible in the distance.

It was peaceful here. Only crickets singing their rhythmic song, and in the far distance, wolves howling their melancholy into the blue sky. I inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of thyme and grass.

Another howl sounded much closer. A shiver ran down my spine. This couldn’t be right. There were no wolves in Sicily. But the sound was too wild, too unrestrained, to be made by domestic dogs.

But what did I care what happened in a dream? I turned back towards the ocean. Closing my eyes, I drifted in the warm breeze until everything faded around me.

I woke up with cream stuck to my face. Half-asleep, I tried to wipe it off, but only managed to get it all over my tangled hair. Yuck, I was sticky all over. I must have rolled onto the last of the pastry during the night.

The sun was beaming into my window. Had I really slept all afternoon and night? I hadn’t even undressed before wrestling with sweetened cheese and squashed pastry. My skirt had twisted itself around my waist, and my bra was strangling me.

My shirt was ruined with grease stains, and somehow, squashed pastry had made its way into my cleavage. I scraped at it with my finger when I caught a whiff of myself. Ugh. Polyester was not suitable for nightwear. I needed a shower badly.

While I soaped up my hair, I tried to remember my dream. I felt it had been important, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recall more than scents and sounds. Thyme, sun, wind, howling. And suddenly the memory of a gorgeous, tall man struck me so hard, I nearly lost my footing on the slippery shower floor.

Chapter Four

As I struggled for balance on the slippery surface, I remembered blue eyes, a killer smile, and his parting words. Ci vediamo presto. We’ll see each other again. Soon.

Oh, boy. As far as dreams went, this one had been a whopper. I wouldn’t mind a repeat. If only… Shaking my head, I finished rinsing my hair and body, then toweled off and got dressed. Dreaming was great, but reality, or rather my growling stomach, called. Time to hit the small supermarket around the corner.

On days like today I loved New Barton. Mrs. Bartoli from across the street waved from the second floor window. Her three kids were drawing the outline of a hopscotch game on the sidewalk below. Mr. Bartoli was working nights so the children played outside when the weather was good.

Today, it was glorious. The sun beamed from a cloudless sky, and the scent of hyacinths wafted from Mr. Giovanotti’s garden next door. He was out early, his grin belying his eighty-six years of age.

“Ciao, bella,” he shouted across the fence.

“Good morning, Mr. Giovanotti!” I answered just as loudly. The poor man was as deaf as a post, yet somehow knew everything happening in the neighborhood.

“It’s a beautiful day, no?” He’d never lost his Italian accent. Nonna Francesca had sounded just the same. I missed her so badly, I swallowed once, twice, before answering. I pasted on a bright smile, although I was sure I wasn’t fooling him.

“Amazing.”

Before I could ask him what he was going to plant this year, he asked, “How is your mamma? I saw you having lunch at Civitello’s.”

And just like that I remembered what drove me crazy about New Barton. Everybody knew everything about you. I bet he’d heard about little Natty not having found a man yet. God, how I hated that nickname. I could just imagine how somebody had overheard us yesterday and spread the gossip all over town. I hated being judged by people, hated how they sided with my mother and felt it was their right to give me advice.

I opened my mouth to tell Mr. Giovanotti to mind his own business—nicely of course—, when he put his worn hand on my arm.

“Calmati, Renata. Take an old man’s advice. Not every woman needs a man and a child to be happy. You’re so very young. Take your time, travel, learn who you are.”

He sighed, his smile slipping off his face. “You are so like your nonna. She was a remarkable woman. Una vera signora. You know people rumored she had the gift, no? Una chiaroveggente.”

Chiaro-what? I’d never heard the expression before. I’d look up the unfamiliar word later. For now, I was more intrigued about the depth of feeling Mr. Giovanotti revealed when talking about Nonna Francesca. He would have been a few years older than her, and Nonno Matteo had died a long time before his wife followed him. Maybe Mr. Giovanotti’d had the hots for her?

I giggled at the thought of the two seniors meeting secretly so that the nosy neighbors in New Barton never found out. The old man’s face lit up at my laughter.

“That’s better, cara. Enjoy your youth. It won’t last forever.”

He nodded to himself as if he’d dispensed profound wisdom, bent down, and pulled furiously at a stubborn weed. Apparently, I was dismissed.

While I made my way to Carluccio’s grocery store, I re-ran the conversation in my head. What was that word he’d called me? I couldn’t remember for the life of me. My Italian was basic, although I could hold a conversation if necessary. Something clear… I gave up. It would come back to me.

Soon, I stopped in front of my destination. The name Carluccio’s was painted in red, white, and green above the glass entrance. The shop was tiny but stocked a good selection of seasonal vegetables, fresh and cured meats, and awesome desserts.

As I entered, I inhaled deeply. The smell of parma ham and freshly baked vegetable pies, called crostate, permeated the air. For once, I’d actually made a shopping list. With the rising temperature, I was keen on making a few salads throughout the week. I pushed my shopping cart through the narrow aisles, grateful that most shoppers wouldn’t fill the space until the afternoon.

Working my way from the front towards the back, I grabbed lettuce, tomatoes, onions. Then some cans of tuna and insalata di mare. Some fettucine and a bottle of good olive oil later, I felt downright virtuous. I was still within budget, and as I turned the last corner, the tarts and pies were calling my name.

The mushroom pie, decorated with red cherry tomatoes and green tips of asparagus, smelled of garlic and rosemary. Nobody would be able to turn this down. Right? And I still had enough money for a few slices of Panarea, a pistachio biscuit cream cake with nuts and ricotta cream. I mean, come on—I was actually salivating by the time I paid for my shopping.

I hadn’t met the new checkout girl before. Unlike the owners, she didn’t question my shopping choices. Both the Carluccios seemed to be under the impression I needed fattening up. As if. By the time the new girl had finished scanning my items, I was suffering from a serious case of buyer’s regret. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought three slices of Panarea.

I stood for a few moments, pondering whether it was worth the embarrassment returning the cake. Not that the girl—Anna, according to her name tag—would have taken it back anyway. I was just about to grab my bags and go, when Anna apparently took my indecision for an invitation to chat.

“So, I haven’t seen you before. Most of our customers are local. Do you live around here?”

I plastered a smile on my face. No need to be rude to the girl. She probably only moved to New Barton recently, judging by her Southern accent.

“I do. My name is Ren. You’re new, right?”

Anna’s smile broadened. “Yeah, I only started a few days ago. Saturday is my day off, but Mr. Carluccio asked me to come in to cover.”

She stopped, looking at me appraisingly. “Say, are you looking for a job? Mr. Carluccio needs somebody to come in Saturday and Sunday for a few hours. I was just about to put a sign in the window.”

A job? I could certainly do with some extra money. The warm scent of thyme and the roar of water breaking on rocks. Sicily. My vague dream of traveling, of leaving New Barton, had just come closer to being realized.

Chapter Five

I filled out the application form right there and then. My bag lay abandoned on the ground while I scribbled my name, address, and relevant experience on to the piece of paper. Excitement bubbled in my chest like a bottle of prosecco. Nonna Francesca would have been proud of me.

I grabbed the amulet and kissed it, whispering the mantra she’d taught me when I was a young girl, Fortuna i forti aiuta, e i timidi rifiuta. “Fortune favors the bold and rejects the cowards,” she’d repeated in English to make sure I’d understood. I wasn’t brave. Far from it.

But today, for the first time since I’d graduated from high school, I’d made a decision by myself to work towards a goal. Even if it was only to work a few hours at a part-time job to save money for a trip to Europe. I walked home, swinging my shopping, a broad grin on my face, buzzing with excitement.

***

Mr. Carluccio hired me on the spot. He was desperate for some help on the weekend, ever since some foodie magazine had run an article on his selection of imported delicatessen directly from Italia. I’d known him since I was a child. His store had grown from a mom and pop shop, where I’d spent my pocket money, to a three-story fashionable food empire. No more Shark Bites or FunMallows at the counter.

So I wasn’t surprised when he quizzed me on whether I could handle my full-time job and stacking shelves. My eyes had wanted to roll at his questions, but I’d restrained myself. He meant well. Mr. Carluccio even agreed to let me have the late-shift on Sundays, so I could be there for the family luncheon.

The first Sunday, I managed to sneak out before dessert, claiming I wasn’t feeling well. Mamma had made enough tiramisú to feed an army and insisted on giving me a plastic container full of creamy, gooey goodness.

“For when you feel better, Renatina.”

I nodded, feeling a little—yeah, alright—very guilty.

The second Sunday, I’d claimed I had a presentation to prepare. Mamma’d looked up from her second helping of panna cotta, her eyebrow raised in surprise. I’d kept my head down as I’d left the room among a chorus of, “Who works on a Sunday?” and “Dai, Natina, can’t you do it later?”

My part-time job wouldn’t stay secret for long. New Barton was too small, and the Italian community too tightly-knit. But it was still a shock when a shrill voice shouted into my ear.

“Renata Francesca Calemme. I knew there was something weird going on.”

I jumped so hard, I dropped a paper container full of orrechiete di prete. The bag full of weirdly ear-shaped pasta hit the ground, thankfully without bursting. Hoping Mr. Carluccio hadn’t seen the mishap, I bent down and picked up the package. Once it was safely stacked on the shelf, I took a deep breath and turned towards the owner of the voice, my older sister.

“Sofia. So nice to see you. How can I help you?”

Her hand clipped the top of my head with the speed of a rattle snake.

“Ow. What was that for?”

Sofia glared at me, hands on her hips. “You know very well what that was for. You lied to us! To Mamma, to me, to the whole family.”

I should have come clean weeks ago. I just didn’t want to have to explain to my parents what I was planning. Maybe I could still rescue this.

“You’re right.”

Sofia obviously hadn’t expected me to cave in so easily. She stared at me for another moment before nodding. “Good. I’m glad you’re seeing sense. Let’s find Mr. Carluccio and tell him you’re coming with me.”

“Whoa, just a moment. Why would I come with you? My shift doesn’t end until ten.”

The glare was back. I resisted the urge to pull my head between my shoulder blades like a human turtle. “What are you talking about? If you need money, we’re happy to help you out. But you can’t work here until late and then walk home by yourself. It’s not safe.”

There were thirteen years between us. Sometimes it felt like thirty. I took a deep breath and said as calmly as possible, “I’m a grownup. I can work when, where, and as long as I want to. I’ve decided to work a few hours on the weekend to save up for something special.”

“For what?” Man, she wasn’t giving up easily. Her blue eyes, so similar to mine, blazed with annoyance. “What could you possibly want to save for? A car? What?”

I had enough. I was so sick of my family treating me like a child. I burst out without thinking, “I want to go to Sicily. There. Are you happy?”

Her irritation morphed into amusement. “Sicily? Is that all? Do you know how much it costs to fly there? And who’ll be going with you? You know we’re all busy, what with Chiara being pregnant again, and Alessandro expanding his auto repair shop.”

At what stage had I asked for any of my siblings to come along? My frustration with my sister grew. As usual, she wasn’t listening. I forced myself to stay calm.

“I never said I wanted any of you to be there. I’ll be going to Sicily by myself. That’s what I’m saving for. And I know how much it costs, thank you very much.”

“Really.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And when are you planning to do that?”

Good question. My salary was pretty much eaten up by rent and food. And Mr. Carluccio was barely paying minimum wage.

“How long will you be staying for? Will Mr. Roberts give you time off?”

And another layer of deception. I hadn’t told my family I’d resigned. I couldn’t answer any of her questions. So far, I’d researched the destination online. That was it. I bit my tongue hard enough to smart, but Sofia’s triumphant satisfaction made my frustration boil over.

“Stop giving me the third degree, strega!”

“Don’t you dare swear at me, facciabrutt’!”

“Ladies, ladies, don’t use bad language in front of the customers.”

Sofia’s eyes widened, mirroring my shock. We hadn’t heard Mr. Carluccio approach us, but there he was. His face reddened with anger, he dared us to say another word. My mind went blank. All I could think was that I’d lose this job, and that mamma would find out, and all hell would break loose.

Sofia broke the silence. “We are very sorry, Mr. Carluccio.” When I didn’t react, she elbowed me. “Aren’t we, Renatina?”

I nodded, grateful for her taking the lead. Mr. Carluccio shook his head, but went back to his place behind the cash till.

As we followed him, Sofia whispered, “Don’t think I won’t tell mamma. This isn’t over, stuppiau.”

I whacked her in response. When my hand connected with her long-sleeved arm, she flinched away as if I’d stabbed her.

Chapter Six

I hadn’t hit her hard at all. There was no reason to react like that. And her face had expressed genuine pain. But before I could ask what was wrong, she stuck her tongue out at me.

Pft, what a child. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was older than me. Either way, I better prepare myself for a fight when Mamma found out about my job.

My mom was formidable. I swallowed hard. Twenty-two years old and still afraid of your mother. Grow up, Ren. You have two jobs and an apartment. You are free as a bird and can go wherever you want.

I sighed. If only.

***

Mr. Carluccio locked the door behind me and waved. I returned the gesture, glad he didn’t bear a grudge. After that childish blowup with Sofia, he’d given me a lecture about how my behavior reflected on his shop. I’d apologized, and that was that.

I made a mental note to ask Chiara if Sofia had fallen or been in an accident. Any further thoughts about my sister’s odd behavior fled my mind as I set out on my way home.

The council had recently replaced the bright streetlights with new bulbs to reduce glare. The lights were more pleasant and easier on the eyes, but also darker. Shadows were deeper, colors more muted. The moon, a nearly invisible parenthesis of shining silver, wasn’t bright enough to lighten the black night.

It was after ten o’clock, and the road was empty except for a few stragglers. By the time I turned into my small side-street, I was all alone. I pulled out my key and held it in my fist, protruding between my middle and index fingers.

Every time I walked at night, I vowed to take a self-defense course. And every morning, I’d forgotten until the next time.

Something rustled behind me, and I whirled around. But no man stared at me with hungry eyes.

Instead, a large dog limped towards me. Its head hanging low, tail between its legs, it couldn’t have looked less intimidating if it’d tried. It reminded me of the dog I’d seen when I’d had lunch with Mamma.

I waited until it stopped within petting distance. Then I bent down and stuck out my hand, expecting it to sniff. Its wet tongue sneaked out of its mouth and licked my fingers.

I pulled my hand back, quickly enough to scare the dog. It flinched, its head dropping even lower.

“Hey,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The dog whimpered, but crept closer again.

“That’s a good dog.” The animal’s head snapped up, staring into my eyes. Weird.

“Easy. Don’t you like to be called ‘dog’?” Great, now I was talking to the creature as if it could understand me.

The dog grumbled deep from its chest. Its ears perked up. The animal seemed to listen intently, waiting for me to say more.

“So what would you like to be called?”

The dog sat down, lifted its head, and made the weirdest noise, like a suppressed howl.

“Ssshh,” I admonished.

A quick look confirmed the noise hadn’t woken the neighbors. Yet. The animal hadn’t moved. It sat on its haunches and stared at me with amber eyes, full of intelligence and wildness. Its lips were pulled up as if it were grinning. Its legs were long for a German shepherd. So was its jaw. In fact, the dog was huge.

I looked closer and swallowed hard. My stomach did a slow twist as I stared at the impossible. If anything, the animal looked like a… wolf? Surely not. What the heck would a wolf do in New Barton, laughing at me outside my studio?

I stepped back, shaking with primal fear, even though the animal had made no move to harm me. I backed up even further, holding my breath while I waited for the wolf to make its next move.

It stood up, shook its head, and yawned. Its teeth were curved like daggers. Then it turned around and melted into the shadows. I stood with my back pressed against my front door, fearing it might come back.

Suddenly the door opened, and I nearly fell backwards into the house. The guy who lived down the hallway stepped back in surprise. I smiled apologetically and raced up the stairs to my little apartment.

I didn’t feel safe until I had double-locked the front door, shut the curtains on the windows, and turned on every single light, including the bathroom.

***

From then on, I looked out for the animal. A few times, I could have sworn I saw glimpses of its honey-colored fur or heard a forlorn howl in the distance. But it didn’t approach me again.

By the following Saturday, I’d nearly forgotten the eerie encounter. Especially since I’d received several phone call from the family, asking me what the hell I was thinking, planning on traveling to Europe by myself.

Thanks, Sofia. I knew she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. Where before it had been a vague idea, the constant badgering made me more determined than ever. If I didn’t travel to Sicily, I’d never live it down. Thanks to the Calemme clan, now I had to go.

Mr. Carluccio trusted me enough to let me work the checkout with Anna supervising. It wasn’t difficult, and I enjoyed chatting with the regular customers. This was no hypermarket where speed was of importance.

There were periods during the day when business was slow. During those times, the mostly older customers were happy to chat about the weather or discuss cooking recipes. I deftly deflected questions about my own family.

Today, I was in deep conversation with Signora Bruno. She was a sprightly septuagenarian who wore her silver hair tied back with a mother-of-pearl comb. Her English was flavored with the strongest Italian accent, and she often sprinkled Italian words into the conversation when her vocabulary ran out.

She was showing me pictures of her grandchildren, her nipotini, when something caught her eye. “Buongiorno, Signora Calemme.”

I froze. I’d been expecting a visit since I hung up the phone on my brother a few days ago.

“Good morning, Signora Bruno. How is your son? Back from the Gulf yet?”

I closed my eyes. Of course. My mom knew everybody and had a memory like a bear trap. While the two women chatted, I tried to gather my thoughts. I’d practiced my speech, something about being old enough to know my own mind. I still struggled with not sounding like a rebellious teenager.

It wasn’t until my mom poked my shoulder that I realized they’d stopped talking to each other and were staring at me expectantly.

When I didn’t answer, my mother repeated what she’d said. “I asked Signora Bruno’s opinion on a young girl traveling to Europe by herself.”

The old lady nodded, her face drawn into a distasteful grimace. “You young people, always wanting to get away from your famiglia. It’s not rispettabile. Not respectable for a young woman to leave her parents without a man to look after her. The world is a dangerous place, cara.”

She meant well, but boy, did she aggravate me. Since I didn’t want to contradict a customer, I glared at my mother instead, struggling to keep my temper in check.

Mr. Carluccio was watching us from across the store. Now more than ever, I needed this job. Because as long as I stayed in New Barton, I would always be ‘little Renatina’, the youngest of the Calemme family.

With my fists clenched and my lips pressed tightly together, I waited until Signora Bruno had finally collected her groceries and left the store. Then I turned to my mother and whispered sharply, “If you’ve come here to treat me like a child, you may as well leave. I don’t need your or Papà’s permission.”

Chapter Seven

My mother’s eyes blazed at my words, ready to unleash her temper at me. But as she opened her mouth, a deep voice interrupted her.

“Scusi, could you help me?”

Both my mother and I stared open-mouthed at a man that could have stepped out of the pages of our favorite fotoromanzo. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-brown hair shortly cropped with olive-green eyes in a tanned face. His accent was nearly as strong as Signora Bruno’s, but he made it sound seductive rather than comical.

The man looked from my mother to me and back again. His face relaxed into a friendly grin. “Am I interrupting you?”

Mamma shook herself, then stuck out her hand. “No, of course not. My name is Giulia Calemme. This is my daughter, Renata.”

I nodded, still somewhat in a daze. There was something about this man, something dark underneath his polished appearance.

It didn’t make him any less attractive, just added some layers to him. I was fascinated by the way he spoke, the expensive suit, the old-fashioned courtesy he showed my mother.

Mamma was chatting away with breathless enthusiasm. The man listened attentively, but occasionally, his gaze strayed to me, and a smile played around his perfect lips.

When he finally excused himself, my mother had told him everything about our family. How long my parents had been married, how many children they had, where the family was from.

He waited until she had to take a breath. Then, to my amusement, he excused himself politely and bolted for the door. My mom could be a bit much sometimes. I called after him. “You never introduced yourself.”

His smile made my stomach flutter. “I’m sorry. My name is Lorenzo Battista. Piacere, signora. Signorina.”

And he was gone. My mother sighed with longing. “See, ‘tina. That’s the kind of man you need to go after. Not stuff your head full of stupid ideas about going to Europe. Stay here, settle down with a handsome husband, and you’ll see, you’ll be so much happier.”

I glared at her. She ignored it as usual. Maybe she noticed that the power of my evil eye was blunted. Because I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a man like Lorenzo. Not that I’d ever get the chance, mind you. Guys like him wanted skinny blond bitches on his arm, not pudgy small Italian girls like me.

***

A shrill ringing nudged me towards wakefulness. I blinked my eyes open and fought against the weight of my cover. I don’t want to get up. But I have to. But I don’t want to.

My usual Monday morning mantra buzzed around my overtired brain. I hadn’t gotten to sleep until the early morning hours. After finishing my shift, I’d been too hyper to drop off immediately, despite my aching feet and tired body.

This morning, I was paying the price for it. Groaning like an old woman, I stretched out my hand to shut off the infernal racket. There was no time to apply full makeup or do my hair. A quick blow-dry and some lipstick would have to do today. At the last minute, I applied some eye-shadow and mascara. Then I ran out the door as fast as I could.

With less than a minute to spare, I was at my desk in reception and turned on my PC. Somebody cleared their throat behind me. I froze before plastering a smile onto my overheated face and turned around. “Good morning, Miss Taylor. Anything I can help you with?”

The office manager’s face, devoid of emotion, never moved. Sometimes I wondered if she was alive or the reincarnation of some ancient admin goddess. Maybe she’d haunted Julius Caesar with the same expressionless disapproval as she did me.

She stood behind me, watching every keystroke I made to call up today’s meeting schedule. Her stare brushed over my exposed neck like a blow of icy air.

Eventually, I couldn’t bear it any more and turned around. Our eyes met. Instead of backing down as I’d done so often before, this time, my glare matched hers.

What the hell was her beef with me? I’d always done my job as well as I knew how. Sure, I’d made my share of mistakes, but who wouldn’t, straight out of high school?

I blurted out, “Is there something you want me to do? Or why are you standing there, watching me?”

The moment I said those words, the corners of her mouth lifted. Her eyes stayed cold and unblinking, and her lips pulled back, slowly revealing her teeth. Her expression reminded me of a cracking glacier rather than a smile. A shiver ran over my skin as the little hairs on my arms stood up. The woman gave me the creeps.

I turned back towards my screen and pretended to concentrate on the schedule. Yet, all my senses were focused on the woman behind me. Another few moments passed before she finally—finally—moved away.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. What was wrong with that woman? She’d been odd since I’d known her, but lately, she was weirder than usual.

Shaking my head, I concentrated on starting my day. Mondays were always busy with new clients, meetings that needed to be set up, coffee that needed to be cooked, lunches to be ordered.

The second unusual thing to happen that day was my boss sauntering out of his office, hands behind his back, his eyes a little glazed. Was he drunk? In my two years working for Mr. Roberts, I’d never seen him touch an alcoholic beverage. Not even at last year’s office party where I had to fight off a drunk Jimmy.

A man followed him out of his office, and my eyes widened. It was the guy I’d met at the supermarket. Lorenzo. I hadn’t forgotten his name. What was he doing here? And what had he done with my boss?

Mr. Roberts meandered towards me, a silly grin plastered on his face. When he reached my desk, he put both palms on to the surface, leaning towards me.

“Misssss Calemme.” Well. The man was drunk. The slur was unmistakable.

I expected the smell of fumes exuding from him, but he only smelled like the expensive aftershave he applied liberally every day. I moved back wearily, not sure what he’d do next.

“May I introduce our new client. Lor… Lore…” He turned towards the amused Italian who had moved to his side.

“Whasss your name, son?”

“Lorenzo Battista. Ms. Calemme and I met a few days ago. Come sta, signorina Calemme?”

My cheeks were on fire. Here stood the guy I might have fantasized about a few times throughout the weekend. Never mind my inebriated boss babbling about the new contract. I stared at Lorenzo whose eyes bore into my soul. Why was he here? If the contract was as important as Mr. Roberts said, why not pick any of the large tax companies in town?

We were such a small outfit with only one accountant—because Jimmy barely counted—and two support staff. All we handled were individual tax returns with the odd small limited liability thrown in. It made no sense.

I had stopped listening to Mr. Robert. Lorenzo’s eyes had the weirdest color. Olive-green with golden specks. A copper rim around the outside of his pupils seemed to expand and contract like a heartbeat. It pulled me in, drew me into a trance.

A warm hand covered my fingers, and I blinked. Mr. Roberts had gone back to his office. His voice on the phone was loud enough to sound through the closed door. Lorenzo sat on my desk and watched me with a look of concern on his face. “Are you okay? You stopped responding for a moment. Where did you go?”

His voice dropped to a seductive murmur at the last sentence. Holy crap, he was good. Did he flirt like that with all the girls? He was everything a woman could want, with his intense gaze, his incredible body, his blinding smile.

And yet, something inside of me blinked like a gigantic warning sign. He was too perfect. I was an overweight Italian girl who’d never left her hometown. What could a sophisticated, globe-trotting guy possibly see in me? It was weird. And the way I’d phased-out earlier was equally strange.

I sighed with relief when Mr. Roberts called Lorenzo back into the office. Apparently, there were more contracts to be signed. Lorenzo’s fingers brushed slowly and sensually over the back of my hand as he stood up.

“Now that I’m a client, I hope to see you again soon, Renata. I hope it’s okay I call you Renata?”

I nodded, wide-eyed with shock at my body’s reaction to the casual touch. My hand felt on fire, while a shiver ran through me. My stomach fluttered with excitement.

Lorenzo continued with his baritone voice, “Ci vediamo presto,” before shooting me one last devastating smile.

I gasped for air the moment the door closed behind him. Ci vediamo presto. I remembered hearing those words before. Except then, they’d filled me with longing. Hearing the same phrase from Lorenzo’s mouth, I shuddered with apprehension.

Chapter Eight

Every night, I closed my eyes, hoping to revisit that beautiful island from my dreams—that thyme and salt scented spot at the southern tip of Europe. La Isola delle Correnti. There were dreams, not all of them pleasant, but none brought me back to Sicily.

When I closed my eyes tonight, something felt different. Maybe I’d meet him again in my sleep. The man whose image was blurred, mixed up with summer scents and the sound of howling. Smiling, I drifted off.

Soon, sea-spray blew toward me as if to welcome me back. I was alone, the wind whipping my hair around my face. Sky and sea merged in the distance, so similar in color, I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

Dark-gray volcanic rock had hardened into smooth-edged scales after the lava had hit the ice-cold seawater. A few feet further inland, I stood barefoot on ocher-colored sand, warmed by the sun. After watching the waves and listening to the lonely cries of seabirds for a while, I turned and walked across the land towards a castle, maybe a hundred yards away.

The sand gave way to fist-sized rocks. I stretched out both arms, balancing as I picked my way across the unstable surface. Soon, I stood below the building. From the distance, I’d assumed it was a medieval structure, but closer up, it was clear it had been built not that long ago. Features were reinforced with modern concrete, and the beach on the other side was marred with footsteps.

A partly submerged walkway bridged the tiny island to the mainland of Sicily. Judging by the watermarks, the beach was tidal so visitors could walk across at low tide.

I swept my hair back from my face, wondering what to do next. I was here, but where was the man I’d dreamed about last time? I didn’t even know his name.

“It’s Beck.” The tall man appeared by my side, and I jumped at his words. Where had he come from? Then I shrugged. “My dreams, my rules.”

“ Scusa?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “What did you just say?”

“You were asking what my name was. It’s Beck.”

I hadn’t asked as much as thought what his name was. He’d read my mind. But dreams were weird that way so I let it go.

A big, warm hand touched mine, then held on to my fingers and squeezed. When I looked up, his eyes caught the light of the sun, just as it had before. Everything felt like a déja-vu. Only this time, there was more intensity.

I stared at his face, mesmerized by his presence. He put his arm around my back and pulled me against him. Then he bent towards me, lower and lower, until his lips brushed over mine. Pulling back, he regarded me cautiously, waiting for my protest. When I said nothing, he did it again.

He let go of my hand and tangled his fingers in my hair. My head tilted, yielding to his pressure. It gave him the angle he was looking for. He slotted his mouth over mine, and time stood still. I’d never been kissed like that before. Sure, I’d had a few dates, but their sloppy attempts were pitiful compared to this.

Everything around me faded. The sun, the cries of seabirds, the whooshing of waves, it all disappeared as his tongue explored my mouth. My skin was sensitized to his touch. The palm of his hand rested on my cheek, moving me where he wanted me, always gentle, always hot as hell.

I held my breath, the strokes of his tongue lighting a fire in my belly. My legs trembled, and the pressure of his hard body against mine made my core ache. Nobody had ever touched me like this. I pushed my lower body against him, wanting him to do more, grab me harder, make me feel more.

Eventually, he pulled back. My eyes were closed, and I staggered when his lips disappeared from mine. He chuckled and grabbed my shoulder to steady me.

“This is only the beginning, bella.”

The beginning of what? I opened my mouth to ask when he put his fingers on my lips.

“I can’t tell you yet. You need to trust me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Trust you how? You’re in my dream. What difference does it make if I trust a… what did you call it? A figment of my imagination?”

He grinned, running the tip of his finger along the top of my lips. I shivered at the intimate touch, wanting so badly to suck his finger into my mouth. It was my dream, after all. I could do whatever I wanted.

As if reading my thoughts again, he pulled back. “We don’t have time. There is a great danger coming for you, Ren.”

His voice had dropped its flirty banter. His expression was serious, haunted even. “There is a man in your life. I don’t know his name, but you cannot trust him.”

A man? There’d only been one guy I met recently. Lorenzo. Why was my subconscious warning me of him? I hoped I’d remember this dream when I woke up. Lorenzo probably got his kicks out of seducing young women before moving on. I kinda suspected that anyway, so the warning wasn’t all that surprising.

“Okay,” I finally said.

“Cara, you need to take my warning seriously. The man is dangerous. He will do anything to hurt you, to stop you from finding your destiny.”

Beck wasn’t kidding. He’d grabbed my shoulders, staring into my eyes with a burning intensity that made me go all gooey inside. When I didn’t answer, he shook me slightly. “Please, Ren, you must listen. Your life is in danger, and that of your family.”

That got my attention. My subconscious was apparently fond of the overdramatic—not entirely unsurprising given its owner.“Okay. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He exhaled a sigh of relief. Then he kissed me again, and the fire his mouth ignited ran like hot molasses through my body. I forgot how to breathe, how to exist. Something hard pressed against my lower body, and I moaned my approval. Far too soon, he let go. “Ci vediamo presto. Please remember your promise.”

Then he was gone, and in his place, nothing remained but the wind and the sea. Soon, I drifted towards wakefulness, my lips still tingling and tasting of him.

I lay on my back, running through the encounter again and again. I remembered every detail, everything Beck had told me. It had felt so real. And boy, could he kiss.

Maybe I should heed my mind’s warning, even if it chose a very unusual way to communicate with me. Beck had been so adamant about Lorenzo. There was something unsettling about the Italian businessman, a darkness behind his pretty eyes that I’d noticed the first time I’d met him. And yet…

My hand wandered over my belly until my finger reached that aching place between my legs. It didn’t take long, as riled up as I was. A few circles on my clit pushed me over the edge. But when I threw my head back in the throes of passion, I exhaled two names.

Chapter NINE

Working seven days a week was draining me. Every morning, I woke up, feeling more tired than the night before.

“Come on, come on,” I mumbled to myself as I dragged my poor, exhausted body out of bed. Whatever sleep I’d gotten, it clearly hadn’t been enough.

Even a hot shower and cup of espresso couldn’t pierce my brain fog. I moved on autopilot from my flat to Carluccio’s. When I arrived, I had no recollection of how I’d gotten there. I slipped on my dark-green apron with the jaunty pizza on it and took my seat behind the cash till.

A steady stream of customers picking up breakfast pastries and cake orders kept me busy for a while. Business dropped off an hour before lunchtime when we’d be rushed again.

A young man with a baseball cap stood with his back to me, reading the ingredients on a box of biscotti. I was sure he’d been doing that for quite a while. Narrowing my eyes, I studied him. What could possibly be so exciting about what was in fancy cookies? Flour, butter, eggs, and preservatives. Tasty, but nothing special.

He turned to the side, pulling something from his pocket. I caught a glimpse of his profile. Greasy black hair. Sunglasses. Weird. My stomach dropped as my intuition kicked in.

Something was about to go down. Something bad. As quietly as I could, I inched myself up from my seat. Too late. He must have noticed my movement from the corner of his eyes because he swung around, taking me by surprise.

My mind went completely blank as I stared at his hand. I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The guy was pointing a gun at me. In the middle of the day. I opened my mouth to say something before thinking better of it. My gaze flew up to his face.

“Give me the money.”

He said it so calmly, so rationally, as if he did this thing every day. Maybe he did. But his hand trembled, and his jaw was clenched as he waited for me to move.

Sorry, Mr. Carluccio. Your takings aren’t worth my life. I didn’t have a key to open the till so I reached for a chocolate bar in order to scan it. His gun followed my movement so quickly, I was terrified he’d shoot me by accident.

“I’m— I need to open the till.”

He nodded, gesturing with his gun-hand to get a move on. My fingers felt like they didn’t belong to my body. I dropped the bar, picked it up with a shaking hand, dropped it again.

“Hurry the fuck up.” His stage-whisper was so loud, everybody in the store would have heard it if we hadn’t been alone.

Then the door swished open, and in strode Lorenzo, a bright smile on his face when he saw me. I stared at him with wide-open eyes, willing him to leave and get help. The smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed. His gaze drifted to the man in front of me, and understanding flashed across his face.

“Don’t move. I’ll blow your fucking head off.” The guy pointed his gun at Lorenzo, judging him the bigger threat. Then he snarled at me. “Move it, bitch. What’s taking so long?”

I nodded, finally managing to scan the chocolate bar. The cash register sprang open, and I pulled out the bills. But my mind was whirring. What was the point of robbing the shop in the morning? This was stupid—there were less than thirty dollars in my hand. The takings would be in the hundreds by tonight.

The guy thought so as well. He guy glared at the money I held out to him. “Is that all? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His gun swung back towards my head. He stepped closer, peering over the conveyor belt to catch a glimpse of the open cash till drawer.

I was about to explain that custom was slow in the morning when Lorenzo stepped next to the robber. In a whirl of movement, he grabbed the gun and threw the man to the ground.

It happened so fast, I still held a wad of cash in my outstretched hand. One moment, Lorenzo was a good few feet away, the next he stood over the prone man, the gun now in Lorenzo’s hand.

“Are you okay, Ren?”

He seemed perfectly calm. But his eyes were shining with anger, and there was a growl in his voice I hadn’t heard before. For a moment, I was frightened for the moaning wanna-be gangster on the ground.

Something must have shown on my face because Lorenzo stepped closer to me, pointing the gun down. He pulled me from the seat with one hand, then hugged me tightly. I clung to him like a child, shivering with the shock of what had just happened.

It wasn’t until the doors whooshed again that I realized the man with the sunglasses had made his escape while we were distracted. I didn’t care. I was alive, and Lorenzo had saved me. I hugged him tighter until he disengaged himself.

“Hey, don’t squeeze me to death. You’re okay. Nothing else matters.”

I nodded, holding back tears. I hated being so weak. An alarmed Mr. Carluccio was striding towards us, and I stepped back. “I’m sorry. I was just so scared—”

Lorenzo interrupted me. “Don’t worry. It’s okay to be scared when somebody points a gun at you.”

He turned the weapon this way, then that. “It’s not even real. Look.”

He held the damn thing so I could see. I nodded, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Then I turned towards my boss, ready to explain why the cash register was open, and why Lorenzo was holding a toy gun in his hand.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

I spun back towards Lorenzo. Dinner? After Beck’s warning, I’d decided to stay away from the tall Italian, but he’d just saved my life, even though it hadn’t been a real gun pointed at me. I owed him dinner at least. “Of course. I would love to.”

Lorenzo’s smile returned to his handsome face. And if his eyes seemed to turn cold and triumphant for a split-second, it was probably because I was still in shock from what had happened.

Chapter Ten

Oh, but how he made me wait for that dinner date. All week I could barely concentrate on work. Jimmy’s plump attempts at flirting bounced off me like bullets off a forcefield.

Miss Taylor tried her best, but she also couldn’t get a rise out of me. “Miss Caleem, you know very well Mr. Roberts wants you to answer the phone at the second ring. Not at the first and not at the third ring.”

“Yes, Miss Taylor.”

I was a master of hiding my eye-rolls. By Friday afternoon, my eyes were hurting with the effort to keep them inside their sockets. When the phone rang, I waited dutifully for one ring, then answered, “Roberts Accounting CPA, our expertise for your benefit. How may I help you?”

“Buon’ pomeriggio, signorina. Did you miss me?”

Lorenzo’s voice was as smooth as the panna cotta chilling in the fridge at home. Just hearing his rich baritone ran a shiver of anticipation down my back. I supposed I had missed him. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been daydreaming about his kisses.

Miss Taylor was glaring at me again, probably because a big smile was stretching my mouth from cheek to cheek.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Battista. What can I do for you?”

He laughed. “We can discuss that over dinner tonight. Are you available at seven?”

My face grew hot as my thoughts went on an inappropriate detour. If he talked to me with that growl in his voice, I’d likely do whatever he wanted. Sue me.

Miss Taylor cleared her throat right next to me. How had I not noticed her sooner? I sat up straight and picked up a pen. “Certainly, Mr. Battista.”

“Is the old bat listening in?”

I pressed my lips together to not laugh out loud.

“Yes, seven o’clock would be perfect.”

“I take that as a yes. At your place?”

“Of course. I’ll let Mr. Roberts know.”

“Ciao, bella. Ci vediamo presto.”

That phrase again. The one I remembered from my dream. I hung up, working hard to keep my face neutral while a delicious tremor traveled through my belly.

Miss Taylor stared at me suspiciously. “You should have cleared that with Mr. Roberts first.”

Then she disappeared into her office, closing the door harder than necessary. Was there a rule against dating clients of the firm? I’d never had a reason to ask.

Whatever. I resolutely squashed my misgivings. I had more important things to think about. Like what to wear. And how to do my hair. And what Lorenzo might want me to do for him. Another shiver, this time of expectation, ran through me.

Would he touch me as gently as he’d kissed me? Or would he go all growly on me? Or maybe I should play hard to get. I rolled my shoulders to rid myself of the tension building up.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. By six o’clock, I was taking a shower at home, high as a kite with anticipation. By six thirty, I stared at a bed full of clothes. Nothing fit. Well, nothing nice. My jogging pants with their elasticated waist fit just fine.

I pinched the side of my waist while staring at a small roll of fat protruding from my fingers. Time to lay off the sweets again. This time for good.

Sighing loudly, I picked up a pair of black slacks that had been a little big when I’d bought them in the sales. I held my breath when I pulled up the zipper. Thank goodness, it closed easily.

Teaming it with a jade-colored blouse, at least I didn’t look like the child my family thought I was. As the last touch, I put my gold necklace back on, kissing the worn plant relief. Touched by generations of Calemme women, Nonna had explained. I’d always laughed at that, but since her passing, touching the metal made me feel like she was watching over me.

I shook my head, dispelling the maudlin thoughts. Tonight, I was going to have a good time. A dinner with a handsome foreign man. What could be more exciting?

“Don’t trust him. Be careful.”

I whirled around, eyes wide with shock. The words had come from right behind me. As my gaze flitted from side to side, I held my breath, trembling with tension. There was no-one there.

Which wasn’t surprising because how could there have been? I was in my studio apartment with view of the entrance door. Nobody could have sneaked in to whisper a warning to me.

“Come on, get a grip,” I muttered to myself. “Calm the fuck down.”

My nerves must have been frayed from the ‘incident at work’, as I called it. Mr. Carluccio had kept his word and not told my parents, but it was probably only a matter of time before they heard about it. In fact, I was surprised it hadn’t made the local news.

But then, it wasn’t in the shop’s interest to be plastered all over the front page. In any case, I’d tell Mamma I was in the backroom or something if she ever found out. She didn’t need to know any details. I was fine, and Mr. Carluccio had installed cameras and hired a security guard for a few months. It was all good. By the time the doorbell rang, I was composed and ready for my date.

Lorenzo stood outside the house, his back towards the building. His tan suit stretched across his wide shoulders, and the way his pants hugged his butt made me swallow hard. I guiltily forced my gaze upwards as he turned around. No need for him to know how I’d objectified him for just a moment.

His face lit up with a smile so wide, I couldn’t help grinning back. He stepped closer, holding both my upper arms lightly, and kissed me three times in quick succession on each check. As his smooth-shaven skin brushed against mine, a familiar scent settled my nerves. He smelled just as good as last time we’d met.

Stepping back, he looked me up and down approvingly. “Guarda que bella. You look beautiful, Renata.”

My smile grew broader. He certainly knew how to sweet-talk a girl. This was going to be fun. I pushed the misgivings aside. I didn’t have to trust him to have a good time. What was he going to do in a public place? Or hopefully after dinner at my place? This wasn’t nineteenth century Sicily. I wasn’t a fragile flower to be crushed by a brute male.

Mamma always said, “Why buy a cow if the milk is free?”

Well, I wasn’t a cow. And tonight, I was happy to let him have all the milk.

Chapter ELEVEN

Lorenzo stopped in front of ‘Le Bijou Langouste.’

“Wow.” I stared at the elegant facade of the most expensive restaurant in town. I’d read reviews and dreamed of one day having enough money to eat here. But now I was about to enter, my throat closed up as if my stomach was reaching up and squeezing.

Heavy curtains blocked the view into the dining room, but the glow of candles peaked through gaps in the brocade.

“Vieni, Renata.” Lorenzo held out his hand. His skin was warm and smooth, and the touch sparked along my arm like a caterpillar’s many legs. Unexpected, vaguely unpleasant, and again Beck’s warning flashed through my mind.

Yet the man next to me was real and not a figment of my imagination. Why would I pay heed to a dream warning? Resolutely, I pushed Beck’s image out of my mind and smiled at Lorenzo.

“Let’s eat.” I inhaled as much courage as I could filter from the night air before following the tall man into the packed restaurant.

The hostess walked us towards the back of the room. Lorenzo hadn’t let go of my hand when we entered the dining room. It forced me to walk sideways which made me feel like a little girl. Not the state of mind I was aiming for.

But when I pulled away from him, his hand squeezed hard before releasing my fingers. He never turned around. When we arrived at the booth, Lorenzo’s expression morphed from neutral to something darker.

“Don’t you have another table?” he asked, his Italian accent getting stronger.

The hostess shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but we’re fully booked.”

Lorenzo’s lips pressed together, and he muscles around his eyes tightened. The girl took a step back, her professionalism melting under Lorenzo’s anger.

But as quickly as his temper had risen, he plastered on a smile. “Va bene, non importa. Grazie.”

“Thank you,” he added a moment later. “It’s fine.”

He ushered me onto my seat before taking his own. I sat down, relieved without knowing why. My stomach hadn’t unclenched yet after the brief scene with the hostess, and I couldn’t bring myself to sit back on my seat. Instead, I perched on the edge, my body ready to act on a fight-or-flight instinct I didn’t fully understand.

The waiter arrived, and Lorenzo ordered in French for both of us. I told myself it was fine, that I wouldn’t have known what the dishes were anyway. Take me to a trattoria, and I could order with the best. Here at ‘Le Bijou Langouste,’ I was lost.

Still, he could have asked me. Was this how Italian men behaved? I’d heard all the stories about machismo but never witnessed it myself.

Papà was firmly under my mother’s loving thumb. So were my brothers. The closest I’d ever come to experiencing this casual male superiority was in my fotoromanzi from the seventies. I sat up straighter, prepared to beat back the next chauvinistic remark.

“I’m so happy to be here with you. You’re beautiful, cara.” Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled mischievously, waiting for my reaction.

Well. That took the wind right out of my sails. Nobody had ever called me beautiful. Nobody that mattered anyway. Hard to be cold when being paid compliments. Heat was rising in my cheeks.

His smile broadened which made my skin feel even hotter. My face had to look like a tomato by now. Not the most attractive look. Even staring at the empty plate in front of me, I felt his eyes on me. Embarrassment battled with my growing irritation.

When the waiter placed two small plates in front of us, I took a deep breath. I was in a fancy restaurant I couldn’t afford in a month of Sundays, on a date with a good-looking man every girl in town would be envious of. I was going to enjoy this evening, no matter what.

“Compliments from the chef.” Our waiter withdrew discreetly, and I stared at the cracker on my plate, heaped with an unappetizing mass. What the hell was that?

Lorenzo heaped some of it on his fork. My gaze followed the tines as they slipped between his lips. His eyes closed, and I froze, a coil of heat unfurling in my lower tummy, at the sound of pure animal satisfaction he made as he chewed. Forgotten were my misgivings.

His moan shifted my imagination to what he would do to me after dinner. Would he make me sound like that? While he was busy with his morsel, I ran imaginary fingers over his wide shoulders in the light-blue button down shirt.

He had the build of a fighter, muscular but lithe. Would I enjoy being held down by him? Because he’d take control in bed as much as he did in every other aspect of his life.

“Are you not hungry?” His voice sounded different, deeper and growly. I started—had he noticed how affected I was by his physique? His amused, yet heated expression left no doubt. Caught again.

Quickly, I lowered my gaze and answered, “Yeah, but I’m not sure about this.”

“You should try new things. You never know how delicious something is until you do.” There he went with the growl again. My core clenched, and more heat rushed to my head. Was he still talking about food?

I kept my eyes lowered and poked at the mass with my fork. “Yes, but what is it?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “We have a saying in Italy, “La fortuna aiuta gli audaci.”

I hadn’t heard the saying before but got some of it. Fortuna meant luck. Audaci maybe had something to do with audacious.

“Luck favors the brave. Go on, live a little. Try something you haven’t tasted before.”

Lorenzo’s grin grew wider. He picked up his fork, eased some of the grayish mass onto it, and lifted it towards my mouth.

He was baiting me, the smug bastard. It still looked gross, but if there was one thing Renata Calemme wouldn’t back down from, it was challenge.

I forced myself to open up, and he placed the whatever-it-was onto my tongue. My eyes opened wide at the unexpected flavor. Sweet onion, the fresh pine scent of sage, and something deeper, richer, exploded in my mouth. I chewed, closing my eyes, savoring the flavors.

“What is that?” Please, don’t say something gross like liver.

“Chicken liver.”

Aw, crap. I coughed, my stomach battling with my tastebuds. I’d never eaten liver before. I’d never wanted it, either. But now that I’d tried it, I had to admit it was delicious. So I shrugged, grabbed the cracker, and shoved it into my mouth.

Lorenzo laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Soon our dinner was served, and I enjoyed everything Lorenzo had ordered for me. Most of the dishes I couldn’t pronounce and had no idea what they were, but each bite was more delicious than the next.

By the time our table was cleared, I was afraid my top button would pop into the next table’s soup bowls. Lorenzo leaned back into his chair and lifted his wine glass.

During dinner, he’d kept the conversation light, explaining what the food was and refilling my glass of wine every so often. I’d been content to listen while concentrating on the unusual flavors on my tongue. French cuisine was very different from Italian—heavier, creamier, but no less delicious.

As he sipped, his eyes were trained on me over the rim of his glass. While we waited for the check, his gaze burned my skin while at the same time churning my stomach. I couldn’t bring myself to hold his stare, afraid of what I might see.

He never wavered as I grew increasingly uncomfortable. The silence hung between us like a giant anvil, ready to drop on whoever flinched first. The waiter brought the bill, and I didn’t know whether I should be relieved or saddened the evening was nearly over.

“Thanks for the lovely dinner,” I said, smiling weakly. I couldn’t believe how off kilter I felt, how far removed from the confident image I wanted to portray tonight.

He responded with a lazy, crooked grin and squeezed my hand. He bit his lower lip, and I caught a glimpse of the tip of his tongue. A shot of lust hit between my legs, and my pussy clenched. My ears must have looked like break lights on either side of my head.

Lorenzo half closed his eyes and his nostrils flared as his chest filled with air. His gaze glittered dangerously under his eyelids as he watched me. What was he doing? It looked like he was smelling me.

My heart rate sped up as I felt myself get wet. His thumb caressed the back of my hand, and I melted like caramel under his heated attention.

He got up abruptly. His chair squeaked in protest at the sudden movement, but he ignored the glances of the other diners. Still holding on to my hand, he pulled me through the restaurant toward the exit. This time, I didn’t protest.

My nipples were so tight, I was sure everybody could see my arousal. As the hostess held the door for us, he turned around. My knees turned into taffy, and he grabbed my arm to stop me from tumbling into the warm night.

Because his eyes? When the warm light streaming out of the restaurant lit them up, they were no longer olive-green. They shone with the honeyed hue of whiskey.

Chapter TWELVE

Lorenzo closed the hotel door and turned on the light.

“It’s not much, but the service is great. I admit I enjoy having my bed made every day and the room tidied.”

His self-deprecating words were in stark contrast to the opulence of the room. I’d never been in such an expensive place before. Lorenzo said it wasn’t much, but to me, it looked like the height of luxury.

I stood in a living room like out of an upmarket interior design magazine. Ankle-deep white fluffy carpets stretched wall to wall, inviting us to throw off our shoes and walk barefoot.

Lorenzo took my hand and pulled me to the side. There was a door opening into a second room, dominated by a huge bed made up with crisp cotton sheets. As my gaze wandered from the floor-length red brocade curtains to the hardwood desk past original modern oil paintings, it dawned on me that Lorenzo was wealthier than I’d imagined.

Two hands landed on my shoulders, and he turned me towards him. Before I could say anything, his mouth landed on mine. In reflex, my lips opened, and his tongue slipped into my mouth. I groaned at the wet, slippery sensation. Arousal flushed through me, my nipples tightened, and my knees weakened.

When he pulled back, my eyes opened slowly as I were drugged. He lifted my chin and smiled at my dazed expression.

“That good?” he asked with a husky growl.

Staring into his eyes, I was struck by how beautiful they were. The low light must have played a trick on me, because they were definitely green, not golden. But the olive-green had darkened to the color of a forest pond. I could drown in him if given a chance.

His fingers followed the line of my jaw and my collar bone before alighting on my necklace. I looked down as he lifted the metal off my chest.

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured. Turning the amulet over, his thumb ran along the jagged edge. “Is it broken?”

I nodded, fighting back the familiar sadness. “My grandmother gave it to me, but she never said how it got damaged.”

Lorenzo was transfixed by the ornament, turning it so the gold caught the light. “It’s very unusual. Do you know what it is?”

I shrugged. “Nonna called it a cimaruta. Apparently people in Sicily made necklaces like these to give to their babies to protect them.”

I didn’t want to talk about the amulet anymore. As if he felt how keen I was to get the evening back on track, he bent down, slipped one arm behind my knees, and one behind my back. A tiny squeak escaped me when he straightened effortlessly while picking me up in a bridal carry.

I wasn’t exactly a light-weight, but he didn’t strain or puff. He just held me against his chest, carrying me until next he flung me on to the bed.

I bounced once, but by then he’d already crawled on top of me. I opened my mouth to protest when his lips slotted over mine again. Oh wow, that guy could kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my tongue against his. He groaned and rolled his pelvis against mine.

I opened my legs to give him more space. I’d known how this would end when I followed him to his hotel. And judging by the bulge pressing against me, he was just as keen to get the show on the road as I was.

When his fingers found my right nipple and circled it, I bowed my back and pushed my chest towards him. His fingertips plucked the little nub, pulling on it, rubbing across it. Each movement made arousal zing through me. I couldn’t believe the noises he was drawing from me, just by playing with my nipple.

I had no space to do anything other than lie there and take it. His weight pushed me into the mattress, and his arousal pushed against my crotch, allowing me to rub against him. But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long stretch. When he felt me push against his shoulders, he lifted his mouth from mine.

The amused expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. The bastard was well aware of the effect he had on me. I was so wet, my panties were sticking to me.

“Ready for more?”

I nodded eagerly. The boys I’d been with before had always made me feel like they were doing me a favor. Like, since I wasn’t a size zero, I should be grateful for whatever ‘wham-bam-thank-you-mam’ they were willing to give me.

Lorenzo was different. His pupils were blown with lust, and his erection hadn’t wavered once since he started kissing me. If anything, it’d gotten bigger. I couldn’t wait to see what else he would do.

He didn’t disappoint. He slipped off me to give himself space and opened my slacks. When his hand made its way into my panties, I forgot to be embarrassed about how my stomach wasn’t totally flat and my waist could be slimmer. His finger moved in my wetness, rubbing at the right speed and pressure to send me higher and higher. Soon the sweet ache between my thighs built to a crescendo, and Lorenzo swallowed my moans and cries of ecstasy as his tongue rubbed against mine.

When he finally entered me, he filled me completely. I lost count of how often he brought me to climax after the fourth time. He fucked like a god, knowing exactly when I needed a break, and when I was ready to come again.

When we fell asleep, the rose light of an early sunrise peeped through the curtains. Just before I nodded off, satiated and exhausted, I whispered, “Hey, wanna come to a barbecue at my folks’ place?”

I regretted the invitation immediately. Because nothing said, “Thanks for an awesome night,” like taking your lover to a family event, right?

Lorenzo nuzzled against my cheek, before pulling me tighter. “Sure, cara. I’d love to,” he mumbled, before his breath evened out and his body relaxed.

Chapter THIRTEEN

The buzzing of my phone alarm threw me into action. I had a quick shower before putting on my clothes from the night before.

Before leaving, I checked the weather to see if a convenient rain storm might save me today. No such luck. The blue sky outside the hotel room window had the hazy quality that promised a spectacular sunset later on.

Lorenzo watched me rush around before offering to drive me back to my flat. My place was only a few blocks from the hotel, though. The walk would do me good, and on the way, I’d pick up the iced dessert cake I’d ordered for the barbecue.

“I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?”

Lorenzo nodded. “It’ll give me time to shower and get something for your mother.”

It took me a little longer than planned, but in the end I settled on a cute cotton dress. The white fabric with printed blue flowers accentuated my eyes and dark hair. It was a little tight across the middle, but a white knitted cardigan took care of that. I twirled in front of my mirror and grimaced. It would have to do.

On the way to my parents’ house, I gave Lorenzo the rundown on my extended family. He listened intently, occasionally nodding. Just as we pulled up in front of the suburban bungalow I’d grown up in, I remembered something.

“They don’t know about the robbery. Please, don’t mention it. I don’t want to scare them.”

Lorenzo’s head tilted to the side, his gaze serious. “Of course. As you wish.”

I got out of the car and locked it. Then I took a deep breath before taking Lorenzo’s hand and walking around the side of my parents’ house.

Mamma had threatened to drag me to the barbecue by my ear after I’d missed so many get-togethers. There was no way I could have gotten out of today’s event. And to be honest, I missed my family. Sure, they butted in constantly where they weren’t wanted, but they always had my back. Eventually. I just needed to give them time.

I shifted the parcel of zucotto I’d picked up fifteen minutes ago from Civitello’s. My mouth watered at the thought of frozen bitter orange and dark chocolate, mixed with ricotta. By the time lunch was finished, the dessert would have melted to a semi-frozen cake.

I cleared the corner of the large house, and the backyard opened in front of me. Mamma and my sisters, Sofia and Chiara, were reclining in sun loungers, each holding a champagne flute. Their husbands and my brothers were standing around a massive gas barbecue range. The acrid smell of burning protein added another layer of complexity to the summer scents of freshly mown grass and cigarette smoke drifting from the neighbor’s yard.

I stopped and inhaled deeply, at peace for the first time in what seemed like weeks. That didn’t last long. Not when the kids spotted me.

“Auntie Nattie!”

Behind me, Lorenzo snickered. Great. Now he knew what my family called me, no matter how often I asked them not to.

“Who is that man? Is he your boyfriend?”

At my niece’s words, the whole tableau froze. Every head swiveled towards me, my mom’s eyebrows rising comically to her hairline. While I was still trying to remember my rehearsed introduction, mamma rose from her lounger.

“Welcome to our home. Renata didn’t tell me she’d bring a guest.”

The frown she flashed me made it clear she would be speaking to me about this. Lorenzo stepped forward and took her offered hand.

“Grazie, signora. I am honored to meet you again.”

My mother beamed. “Oh, you are the gentleman we met a few weeks ago. You are Italian, yes?”

Lorenzo nodded. “I come from a small village in Sicily.”

“How wonderful. So does our family from both sides.” Mamma hooked her arm into the crook of his elbow and led him off to be introduced.

My parcel was getting heavy, and it was hot enough that the Zucotto was going to melt if I didn’t get it into the fridge. Lorenzo seemed well looked after. My brother Alessandro had pressed a cold beer into his hand, and papà was pumping his hand as if he was already a part of my family.

I had to admit, Lorenzo cut a dashing figure with a light-blue button-down shirt and a pair of khaki pants that accentuated his long legs. My sisters stared at him as if they wanted to lick him like vanilla ice-cream on a hot day.

He could be mine. The thought shot through my mind. I never had anybody I could have called mine, but I knew. Lorenzo wanted me. The thought made me smile, especially when Chiara turned towards me, shaking her head in disbelief, and giving me the thumbs up.

I walked into the kitchen through the back door and made a beeline towards the fridge, keen to deposit the melting cake inside. As usual, mamma had prepared enough food for an army. The giant fridge was stuffed to the top with marinated meats, salads, and bottles of beer and wine.

Shoving some items out of the way, I managed to wedge my package inside.

“He’s gorgeous, little sis. How did you manage to snag him?”

I turned around. Chiara’s eyes sparkled with amusement, holding out her empty glass. I refilled her flute from the refrigerated champagne bottle. Even though she was the eldest, sixteen years older than me, I got on best with her. Chiara was calmer than mamma or Sofia. She didn’t fly off the handle as much, and it made it easier to confide in her.

“I met him at Carluccio’s.”

“Oh? See, I told mamma it would do you good getting out of that stuffy office.”

“Did you now?” Maybe that was the reason I hadn’t gotten any more pressure over the last few weeks. Chiara was mamma’s favorite. Maybe because she was the first-born. Or maybe because she looked like a model, very different from mamma and me. I could have been jealous of her elegant figure, but she was such a nice person, I didn’t hold it against her.

Chiara nodded. “Yes. Mamma heard some rumor about trouble at Carluccio’s, but I told her it was gossip. Besides, you’re only working there on the weekends. We can’t put our lives on hold because of something that might happen.”

I nodded while filling a glass for myself. I agreed with her whole-heartedly, although the robbery still threw a long shadow over my life. I didn’t know what I’d do after the summer when the days got shorter. Right now, walking home in daylight was fine. But would I be comfortable in the dark? Only time would tell. By fall, I might be in Italy anyway, far away from what had happened at Carluccio’s.

“Anyway, tell your older sister. Is he good in bed?”

Chapter FOURTEEN

I choked on the champagne. Bubbles shot up my nose, and I coughed. Chiara took my glass, then slapped my back while laughing.

“That good, yeah?”

She had no idea how good. And I would never tell. I glared at her in mock outrage as she handed me a paper towel.

“Here, wipe your face. Let’s go back outside—Mamma is waving at us.”

Arm in arm, we joined the affray in the garden. Aunty Rosa’s kid Mattia was chasing Alessandro’s dog in circles. The canine didn’t seem to mind, but the noise of squealing and barking was ear-splitting. Rosa’s pleading voice fell on deaf ears until Alessandro grabbed the kid and lifted him off the ground. If anything, the squeals grew louder as Alessandro added airplane noises to the mix before setting Mattia back down on the ground.

“Biscotti, shut up!” The dog predictably ignored his owner’s command. And why shouldn’t he? There was enough noise from the kids to deafen the neighborhood.

I was used to the melee, but what about Lorenzo? He stood with his back to the group, listening attentively to one of Mamma’s stories. Her hands fluttered like birds as she spoke. Her trilling laugh accentuated the punchline, and Lorenzo threw his head back, his mouth wide open in laughter.

Just then, with the dog in hot pursuit, Mattia ran up to them. He spread his arms like an airplane and circled the two adults. My eyes narrowed as I watched the dog and the child.

Mattia hadn’t noticed, but the dog had come to a halt within a few feet of the group. His ears were pressed flat to his skull, and his tail was quivering with excitement. I’d never seen the little Jack Russell as intense as this.

Just as I was about to say something, Alessandro picked up Biscotti. “Come on, guys. Dad says the burgers are done. I’m starving.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course he was. When wasn’t he? And because he was my big brother, he pinched my side as he passed me. Biscotti sat on his arm, tongue lolling, relaxed once again.

“Ffangul,” I hissed at Alessandro.

He laughed, not offended in the slightest. “Yeah, yeah, afanabola to you, too. Now let’s eat.”

Grinning, I followed him to where Papà and my sisters had set up bowls of potato salad, plates of burger trimmings, and a pile of delicious, hot meat patties. Definitely no vegetarians in this family.

Once everybody had piled their plates high, we squeezed around the large folding table from the shed. Setting his plate down first, Lorenzo had to climb over the wooden bench to sit between me and Sofia.

“Another carnivore, I see,” Sofia commented dryly, eying Lorenzo’s plate. I stared with complete envy. He’d piled three quarter-pounders on top of each other, sandwiched with ketchup and pickles. How the hell he managed to eat that much and stay as lean and fit as he was, was beyond me. I would kill for the secret, though.

“Don’t you want some salad?” my mother asked.

“No, signora Giulia. Meat is all I need.”

“That’s what she said,” Alessandro muttered. Chiara elbowed him hard, and he scowled, rubbing the sore spot. I shook my head, amused at their antics.

“Are they always like that?” Lorenzo whispered.

“Always,” I whispered back. His smile broadened. Before he could say anything else, my mom’s voice sounded loud and clear.

“Since you’re dating my daughter, maybe you can convince her to stop with that stupid idea to travel to Europe by herself.”

My shoulders pulled up around my ears. My contentment slipped away as I stared at the table. Why did she have to raise this in front of literally the entire family? And Lorenzo? I hadn’t told him yet about my plans. I had barely thought about traveling to Sicily over the last few weeks. Thanks, Mom.

“Natty, is that true?” my father chimed in. Seriously? They wanted to do this now? My family’s eyes were fixed on me while my mouth was busy breaking down the juicy burger that suddenly tasted of sawdust.

Finally, I couldn’t delay answering any longer. I swallowed and said, “It is, and it isn’t.”

“It isn’t true you want to travel to Europe?” My father’s voice was dangerously calm. I knew that tone. It was his “don’t mess with me, young lady” voice I’d dreaded since I’d been a teenager.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to hold his gaze. If he wanted a fight, he’d get one. It was time, once and for all, to make it clear I wasn’t a kid anymore.

“No. I want to travel to Europe. In fact, I’m saving up for it. That’s why I took a second job at Carluccio’s—”

He interrupted me. “And who will go with you?”

“Dad, I’m an adult. I don’t need a chaperone.”

He interrupted me again, bringing his hand down on the table in a loud slap.

“I won’t allow it.” With a final glare, he took a swig from his beer bottle and set it down as if the matter was settled.

That did it.

I stood up, crossed my arms in front of my chest and glared at my parents.

“You know why I moved out? This is why. Because you’re treating me like a child. Well, let me tell you something. I’ve got my own life and can make my own decisions. I’m going to Italy, and that’s that.”

Before my father could say anything else, I turned around and marched off. Except I got caught on the back of an empty chair. I stumbled and nearly went down if Lorenzo hadn’t grabbed my upper arm and steadied me.

My ears hot with embarrassment, I nodded my thanks and made my way to the car. My family was a total disaster. But it was best he found out now rather than later how old-fashioned and annoying my parents were.

It was a miracle a guy so far out of my league wanted to spend time with me in the first place. I wouldn’t blame Lorenzo if he didn’t want to take this any further.

Chapter FIFTEEN

As I was about to get into my car, Sofia ran after me. I hadn’t exchanged more than a few polite words with her, because sister or no sister, she’d ratted me out to my parents. But close up, there was a discoloration under her thick layer of makeup. A greenish-tint around her eyes socket that even the greasepaint couldn’t cover completely.

“What happened to your eye?”

Something flashed across Sofia’s face so quickly, I couldn’t identify the emotion. Fear? Anger? Regret?

“It’s nothing. I bent down to pick up some books in the classroom. One of the kids had the same idea, and our heads banged together.”

I might have believed her if her eyes hadn’t resembled flat pebbles, and her smile hadn’t slipped off her face immediately. Something didn’t add up.

Then I remembered the way she’d flinched when I hit her arm in the store. I narrowed my eyes, about to ask her. But before I got the chance, she said, “You mustn’t be upset with Papà. He worries.”

Really. I wouldn’t have known with the way he’d been acting just now. Seemed to me all he’d wanted was his youngest daughter to obey. Like that was going to happen.

“He’s got a strange way of showing it.”

Sofia took my hand. “No, really. Every morning he watches the news, and every time there’s another horrific story about some young girl getting murdered. You can’t blame him for thinking the worst and wanting to protect you.”

“What does he want from me? Move back in until he can palm me off to some old dude he picks for me?”

Sofia was visibly shocked. “Oh, come on. That’s crap, and you know it. He wants the best for you. He’s old-fashioned, but he loves you.”

She was right. My shoulders dropped in defeat. “I’m sorry. Of course he does. And I love him and Mamma. It’s just so hard to talk to them sometimes. I can’t make them understand I’m not their little girl anymore.”

Sofia rubbed my arm in sympathy. “I know, ‘tina. But you gotta realize, rushing off like that wasn’t exactly a mature thing to do, either.”

I nodded. She was right. If I wanted to be taken seriously, I needed to act like a grown-up. And keep my temper under control. I hadn’t realized I’d been playing with my amulet until Sofia took it from my fingers.

“You’re still wearing Nonna’s chain. That’s so sweet. You miss her?”

“Every day,” I replied quietly.

Sofia’s eyes welled up. “I remember when I fell over as a little girl. Both my knees were bleeding, and she cleaned it up with oxygenated water. I was so amazed at the white bubbles, I forgot about the pain. She said the bubbles were made by fairies to pull the nasties out of the wound.”

Sofia grinned, her mirth overriding the sadness. “Course then I dreamed of black monsters I called ‘the nasties’ for weeks. Mamma wasn’t happy with Nonna.”

I burst out laughing. That sounded like something Nonna Francesca would have done. She didn’t always think through the effect her stories had on us kids. I’d only known Nonna as an old woman whereas Sofia had experienced her in her prime.

But even in her eighties, she’d clashed with Mamma. Both were hot-blooded Italian women with the temper to boot. So maybe it wasn’t that surprising my parents and I butted heads.

I’d forgotten all about Lorenzo until he walked up to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

I scoffed. He must have seen Sofia follow me and decided to give us some space to talk. Smiling at my sister, he stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Lorenzo. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you earlier. So nice to meet another sister of Renata’s.”

Sofia’s smile brightened. She ignored his outstretched hand and moved in for a kiss on either cheek.

“Welcome to the famiglia,” she said.

Lorenzo seemed a little surprised, but submitted to the gesture with a huge grin of his own.

“Grazie. I wasn’t sure if Renata’s family would welcome me. Her parents seem very protective.”

Sofia gave her patented what-can-you-do-shrug. “Of course they are, particularly Papà. Renata is the baby of the family, and the only one who hasn’t settled down yet.”

She tilted her head to the side. “When did you meet Natty?”

I scowled. She knew I hated that nickname, so I elbowed her. My arm had barely made contact, yet Sofia flinched away and rubbed her side. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. My tough sister who I’d wrestled with more than once, kept her gaze lowered instead of mouthing off. Something was very wrong.

I nearly missed Lorenzo’s answer. “I first saw her at my accountant’s office. I liked her immediately. I’m so happy she introduced me to her family. I hope to see much more of you all.”

That got my attention. We’d literally had one official date, and today had been pretty much a disaster.

“Are you sure?” The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” The tone of Sofia’s voice was challenging. Why not indeed? Because he was gorgeous, and I was mediocre? Because he was a sophisticated businessman, and I was a receptionist with no higher education?

Sofia read the mix of emotions playing across my face. Stepping in close, she pulled me into a hug, twisting a little, sparing the side where I’d elbowed her before.

“Cucciola, stop putting yourself down. You’ve been doing this for far too long. You’re an amazing girl, and any guy would be happy to have you,” she whispered quietly enough that only I could hear her. It made me feel better to know she had my back after all.

Of course, that was when disaster struck. I was just about to open the car door when Lorenzo said to my sister, “And I’ll promise to look after her. Renata is still a little shaky after the robbery.”

I froze, my hand stuck to the door handle. Surely I’d misheard. He hadn’t just said that. Slowly I turned around. Sofia’s eyes were wide, her mouth dropped open. She closed it, opened it, closed it again. I prepared myself for the explosion. It didn’t take long.

“Renata Maria Calemme!” Her voice rose until I was sure the entire neighborhood knew I was in trouble.

Chapter SIXTEEN

Biscotti’s high-pitched barking announced the arrival of my family.

Mamma was clutching her champagne flute as she rounded the house corner. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I tried to deflect weakly.

“Nothing, my ass,” Sofia responded, her eyes blazing. “Natty failed to tell us she was robbed. That’s all.”

A gasp followed her declaration. Mamma’s face reddened as she turned towards me. “Robbed? Are you okay?”

I nodded, still trying to look like there was nothing wrong.

“Seems like Lorenzo was holding out on us,” Sofia said, turning her anger at the man beside me. Like one, the heads of my family members swiveled, waiting for his reply.

“Ah,” he said.

They waited while I prayed that he’d downplay the attack. No such luck. The moment he opened his mouth, I knew he would make himself look the hero.

While my parents’ and siblings’ eyes grew larger, he told them what had happened. To be fair, he didn’t exaggerate, but he didn’t have to. When he was finished, there was silence while they digested his words.

Papà was the first to speak. “So the rumor is true. Somebody robbed Carluccio’s. Worse, he pointed a gun at my daughter.”

His voice grew louder as he addressed me. “Why the hell did you not tell us?”

I gulped. “Because I didn’t want to scare you. Besides, it wasn’t even a real gun-”

Papà interrupted me with an impervious gesture. “Basta. It’s too dangerous, you working in a convenience store. You hear every day about robberies gone wrong.”

I stood up straighter. I wasn’t going to quit my job, even if I didn’t like walking home by myself after a late shift. I’d speak to my boss to make sure I’d finish while it was still light outside. But I needed the money if I ever wanted to get out of here.

“Mr. Carluccio has never been robbed before. And he’s installed new security cameras—”

“No. You’re my daughter. You’ll do as I say. You’re not going back there. I will call Mr. Carluccio and tell him—”

“No, you won’t. Stop interfering, Papà.”

I took a deep breath before I said something I’d regret. Then I continued as calmly as I could. “This is the reason I don’t tell you things. I’m an adult, and this is my life.”

Satisfied I’d had the last word, I quickly opened the car door and slipped behind the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, I started the engine and waited for Lorenzo to walk around the car and get in.

From the corners of my eyes, I saw my mother trying to placate my father whose face was red enough to make me fear for his blood pressure. Time to get out of here.

The drive back to my place seemed to take forever. I clutched the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles were white. Every time I glanced at Lorenzo, my anger ratcheted up another notch.

He lounged in the passenger seat, his elbow outside the window without a care in the world. As if he hadn’t held the match to the pile of resentment between myself and my parents. I had told him specifically not to mention the robbery that had scared the crap out of me.

If he’d shown any hint of remorse for getting me into trouble, I wouldn’t have felt anger rising like steam building up in a pressure cooker. I pressed my lips together to not shout at him, but when he reached across and ran a finger down my cheek, I had enough.

Flinching away from him, I took my eyes off the road long enough to throw him a glare. “What was that back there?”

He pulled his hand back. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Lorenzo sat up straighter. When I glanced over again, his expression had folded into a confused frown.

“Cara, I don’t know why you’re so angry. Your parents mean well. They want to protect you.”

I huffed. “Control me, you mean.”

Lorenzo shook his head. “No. It’s bad enough one daughter is in trouble. They don’t want to see you hurt as well.”

Every time I thought about Sofia lately, I felt a pressure in my stomach, as if my body was trying to tell me something my mind refused to acknowledge. Lorenzo had put his finger on something that had been eating away at me for a while.

I didn’t respond to his words until I’d parked my car outside his place. He waited patiently while I stared through the windscreen. My thoughts were in turmoil, but I had to know what he’d meant. Whether his assessment would confirm my ugly suspicion.

“Tell me what you mean. Who’s in trouble?”

Lorenzo unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. Before getting out, he said, “Ask Sofia why her husband is so angry with her.”

As he slammed the door harder than necessary, I sat there, my mouth open as splintered images, memories, things my sister had said over the last few months, were spinning in my head and arranging themselves into a disturbing pattern.