Chapter 13 – Cristiano
“You missed Midnight Mass,” my father barked from the doorway.
I reared up from where I’d been dragging the box from under my bed. It was still dark outside, way too early for his old ass to be up, especially if he’d been out worshiping with the famiglia in the middle of the night.
“Sorry.” I bent over the wooden chest, inserting the slim key and twisting open the lock. The lid sprang up, and I caught it before it smacked into the bed.
“Don Morelli wasn’t pleased,” my father grunted.
I winced. Shooting a quick look at the capo, I gave my father a nod. “Again, sorry.”
He pointed a gnarled finger at me. “Don’t you dare miss the don’s Christmas dinner. Suit and tie, mind you.”
“I won’t.” Then, with a deep breath, I added one of the bravest things I’d ever said to my old man. “I’ll be bringing a plus one.”
My father narrowed his eyes at me. “Is it a nice Italian girl? A good woman from the neighborhood?”
“Not Italian.” I gulped. “But she’s a good woman. And she’s mine.”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered. “One o’clock. Don’t be late.”
With that, he turned on his heel and trudged back to his room. He didn’t bother being quiet, slamming the door closed behind him.
I winced again. If he was cranky after the interruption to his beauty sleep, Vincenzo was twice as bad.
Turning back to the task at hand, I pawed through the box. I had many gifts for Nicky wrapped in the trunk of my car. But they weren’t right. They weren’t perfect. I needed something to show her, to prove to her that we were meant to be together.
That was what my other gifts failed to say.
It’d dawned on me while I lay in bed with her that I hadn’t found the perfect way to show her this relationship had a future.
But this plan would.
I refused to fail.
The contents of my childhood stared up at me.
There was the baptismal gown my grandmother—who’d died before I was born—had made.
It was preserved in tissue, sealed in a vacuumed bag.
There was the letter from my mother that she’d written when she was first diagnosed with cancer.
The edges were worn, the paper stained with the tears a teen only shed in the dark.
A few other treasures nested in the three-by-three chest. But it was the one at the bottom that I plucked out.
The sheet of canvas was feather-light in my palm. Turning it over, the word paradiso scrawled across the back. I clutched it to my chest, slammed the lid of the chest, and kicked it back under the bed, not bothering to lock it.
There were two more stops to make before dawn. If I hurried, I would make it in plenty of time.
***
Thanks to Mother Nature’s fit of PMS, the roads were shit, and I did not make it back in good time. The sun was dancing over the horizon, having risen an hour ago to mock my slow progress. Her light had shimmered over the sloppy, badly plowed roads with a glittering mockery.
Speeding nearly landed me in a stoplight pole—twice.
Cranking the hand brake, I looked to the dark bay window of the living room. The tree stood glumly in the frame. Merda. The lights had been on when I left. Which could only mean one thing.
Nicky had woken up alone…on Christmas.
Cavolo! No!
I tore out of the car, racing to the back gate, and thanking the heavens that I’d had the foresight to shovel this morning before I left.
That delay wouldn’t have sped up the process.
My errands took this long because the specialty store was closed, and I’d had to rob the place.
I hoped the stack of unmarked bills I left on the counter would prevent them calling the cops.
Balancing the drink tray in the crook of my arm, I winced as hot coffee splashed on my sleeve. Drive-through sticky rolls and burritos were a poor feast, but it was the only place open on Christmas Morning. And since I was running late, I knew I didn’t have time to cook something from scratch.
Maybe we can cook together.
That made me smile as I pushed inside. The somber energy was a slap in the face, and it made the grin fall from my lips. All thoughts of setting everything up fled.
I needed to find my angel—now!
I dumped the contents of my busy morning on the island, didn’t bother to take off my boots, and rushed into the living room.
Nicky sat in an armchair, staring at the unlit tree. A laptop, with a sleeping black screen, rested on her knees, and her cheeks were red, eyes puffy from the salt water.
My angel had been crying. And I knew it was my fault.
I crossed the distance and fell to my knees beside her. She was so lost in her tangle of thoughts that she jumped when I placed the glove on her knee.
“Tino?” She blinked down at me.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” I closed the laptop, slid it under the chair, and then pulled off my gloves to rest them on her blanket-covered legs. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”
“You came back.” Those words sounded like a question.
I drew her hands in mine. “Of course I did. Where else would I spend Christmas?” Except with the one I love?
Since neither of us had used the L word, I didn’t want to in this moment. That was a confession for another time. Preferably when we were naked, shaking, and tangled up under the sheets.
She smiled sadly. “You have a whole other life, Cristiano. I don’t blame you for wanting to go back to it.”
“Nicky,” I groaned. “You don’t get it.”
“Get what?” she snapped. “That I’m a failed art student, while you’re destined to be a world-famous fighter?”
I opened my mouth, but she had something else to add.
“Or how about the fact that your family has strong mob ties, while my father is known for putting criminals away in his free time? Hmm? You know that, right? That his pro-bono work is public justice? He’s not just a fancy corporate lawyer.
He tries to make amends for his less-than-savory start by punishing criminals. ”
Gripping her hands, I pulled her out of the chair and into my lap. When she struggled, I swatted her bottom.
“Tino! I’m not in the mood for games,” she sniped.
“Then how about a gift?” I wrestled her into a one-arm bar hold and reached into the pocket of my jacket. “I’m sorry you woke up alone. That was not the plan. But I had a feeling that sharp mind of yours would panic, so I needed to give you this.”
I placed the poorly wrapped gift in her hand. She had panicked. It was scrawled on her face. She doubted herself; her family only fueled that terrible self-image.
Fuck them all, I was going to show her. Every day. Even if it took a long time to undo the damage, I would make her see she was perfect in every way.
Especially perfect for me.
She frowned at it, but curiosity won, and she tore off the paper. Her gasp of surprise was music to my ears.
“Merry Christmas, angel,” I said again, kissing her head. “I hope this lays to rest any doubts in your beautiful mind.”
“You kept it?” she whispered, turning the small painting over and over in her fingers. “I can’t believe you kept this! It’s so ugly!”
I snorted. “Don’t insult my favorite painting.”
Her eye roll was tangible. If she wasn’t so comfortable sitting on my lap, I would have lifted her and swatted her backside again.
“Why would you keep this?” she insisted, waving the five-by-seven rendering of a house in the mountains with both a palm tree and a pine tree stationed on either side. “It’s ridiculous!”
“Because,” I said simply, “you’ve always been mine.”
“Tino,” she murmured, and a sob choked her a moment later.
I found her lips, kissing her deeply. I drank in her emotions and became the rock she had yet to learn to lean on. The moment she relaxed, when her arms entwined around my neck, I pulled back to look at her.
“I doubted I would see you again. But that little picture has stayed with me, a silent wish to reconnect with my old friend.” I nuzzled her nose against mine. “Now that I found you, I’m not letting you go. Okay?”
“Okay,” she repeated, voice still wobbly.
If it took a thousand times, I would say those words to her again. Ten times that if it made her believe.
“There’s something else.” Lifting her in my arms, I carried her to the kitchen.
“You can’t keep the painting, but I think it will go nicely in our new place,” I explained, setting her down on the island.
“You can use these to decorate the walls—murals or portraits, I don’t care which, so long as you make them. ”
I handed her the bag of paints that I hadn’t had time to wrap.
She stared at them. Her fingers traced the colors.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I bent down and pressed my lips to hers. This time, the kiss turned hot. Steaming. Unlike the store-bought coffee, which was cold by the time we were done, the sizzling didn’t leave our veins.