Chapter Four
Marcello
The Talk
My morning routine was always the same: a quick shower, a glance at my phone, and then heading downstairs to join my father for breakfast. When I entered the kitchen, he was already at the table, sipping his espresso and scanning through a stack of newspapers.
”Morning, Marcello,” he greeted me without looking up from his papers.
”Morning,” I replied, grabbing a slice of toast and some fruit. I took a seat across from him, waiting for him to finish whatever he was reading.
“So…” He lifted his mug to his lips and took another sip of expresso. He glanced at me over the edge of his newspaper. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Romeo, E-Smooth, and Altoni,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “You know they’re not the best company. None of them have any kind of plan for their future, except what you come up with.”
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “They’re my friends, and they have their own plans.”
He folded the paper and placed it on the table, giving me his full attention. He was an imposing figure, with sharp features and a presence that commanded respect.
“Well, let’s see,” he began. “Romeo’s father gets his money by scamming people. E-Smooth’s people are crooked, and someone is always after them for one thing or another. Altoni, I suppose he’s a good kid, but his father is disgraced from his family because he was stealing from them. Not the best circle to have.”
I let out a long-exasperated sigh. “For crying out loud, those are all things their families have done. Can’t people be different than their family? Or should they be judged by their bloodline?”
He gave me a pensive stare. “People can be different than their bloodline, sure,” he continued. “But most people are not too far from the tree they fall from. Those boys are petty street thugs, and you already know my feelings on the matter. You don’t need to be caught up in anything petty when decisions are being made as to the leadership in our family’s ranks.”
“I won’t get caught up in anything petty,” I assured, feeling a mix of frustration and respect. “You should always trust that I won’t get involved in any of that stuff. I will never do anything to dishonor the DeLuca name. I’m just hanging with my friends.”
My father leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I know that you think I’m being hard on you, not trusting you. But I want you to run my empire and be ready to step up should the family needs you. To do that, you have to prepare yourself. Part of preparation is knowing who you can trust.”
As far as I knew, I could trust the guys in my circle. They had never given me a reason not to. We met when my preparatory school took us on a field trip to a nature trail five years ago. Erik, now known as E-Smooth, Romeo, and Altoni’s public school was also doing the trail.
I assured my father, “I understand that I have to be able to trust those around me, so I will keep everything you’ve told me in mind.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. “Good. Then, I will see you at the office this afternoon?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” he questioned.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So…” My father lifted his mug to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his espresso. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, never left mine. “Who’s the girl?” he asked, his voice carrying authority.
“What girl?” I feigned ignorance, knowing full well there was no point in trying to hide anything from him.
He set his cup down gently, the ceramic making a soft clink on the table. “Marcello, you know better than to play dumb with me.” His tone was measured but firm, a clear indication that he wasn’t buying my act.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. There was no getting around it. “Alright, alright. Her name’s Lanay Sanders,” I admitted, watching for his reaction.
“Lanay,” he repeated, rolling the name around as if testing its worth. “Tell me about her. How did you meet?”
I hesitated, swallowing hard. Lying to my father wasn’t an option. He could see through me like glass. “I met her at the Handover Street Theater. That’s why I go over there every evening,” I admitted. “And I like her. She’s… different. Not like anyone I’ve met before.”
For a moment, his expression softened, the stern lines of his face relaxing into something almost tender. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said quietly, his eyes searching mine. “She has to be someone special to make you smile like that.”
I felt a smile tug at my lips, unbidden but genuine. “She is… and I don’t even know her that well yet. It’s just something about her,” I continued, my voice gaining a bit of confidence. “From the first time I saw her, I knew I would have to be on Handover every evening to try to catch a glimpse of her again. She goes to the theater there. So, while you may think I’m trying to hang out with my friends everyday, it’s really her that has had my attention for the past few weeks.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing my words. “It sounds like she’s got a way of making you feel alive, something you can’t ignore,” he said, a hint of wistfulness creeping into his tone. “Those kinds of feelings don’t come around often.”
I watched him carefully, sensing a shift in the conversation. “You sound like you know what I’m talking about,” I said, probing gently.
He sighed. “There was someone, a long time ago.” His voice dropped to a more contemplative tone. “She made me feel things I didn’t think were possible. But life had other plans.”
I was taken aback. I had been told my mother was a one-night stand who left me at the hospital after childbirth. Beyond that, I rarely heard the great Ramiri DeLuca speak of his past, especially matters of the heart.
“What happened?” I asked, leaning in, eager to understand this new layer of the man I thought I knew.
He stared into his espresso, his thoughts far away. “Our worlds were too different. Choices had to be made. Sacrifices chosen. It was the right thing to do, but it left a mark. One I carry to this day.”
The silence between us stretched through time and space, connecting his past with my present.
“Do you ever regret it?” I asked.
His eyes and tone grew somber. “Regret? Perhaps. But more than that, there’s a sense of what might have been. It’s not something I dwell on. The life we chose doesn’t allow for what-ifs.”
His words struck a chord deep within me, making me realize Lanay was more than a passing interest. She represented a possibility, a chance to feel something real. She also represented a risk of the kind of heartbreak my father experienced.
“So, Marcello,” his resolute tone cut into my thoughts. “Be sure about what you want. Our world doesn’t forgive mistakes, and it doesn’t always accommodate matters of the heart.”
I nodded. “I’ll be careful,” I promised, though I had no idea of how to shield my heart from Lanay when just the thought of her beautiful smile had me feeling like giving her the world.
He offered a slight smile. “Good luck with her, son. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
With that, he picked up his newspaper, signaling the end of our conversation. But as he settled back into his chair, I saw a shadow of something flicker across his face—a trace of longing, perhaps, or a memory of someone who had once made him feel the way Lanay made me feel. It was a rare glimpse into the heart of a man who had built his life around strength and control, and it reminded me that even the hardest hearts have their tender spots.
I stood up to leave the kitchen, taking my father’s words with me.
Later that evening, I arrived at the theater about the time Lanay practice ends. My heart was racing. I scanned the area, and there she was, walking out of the building with her gym bag slung over her shoulder. Her uncle wasn’t there this time, so I seized the moment.
“Hey, Lanay,” I called out, and she turned to look at me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Hi, Marcello,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips.
“You have a minute?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Maybe we could get a coffee or something?”
“We got out of practice thirty minutes early today, so I have a little time, but I don’t think I sh...” She hesitated, glancing around before shrugging. “Sure, why not?”
As we walked to a nearby café, her scent lingered in the air, a delicate, floral fragrance that was intoxicating, making me want to lean in closer, to breathe her in completely. She was wearing a simple but elegant dress that hugged her figure just right, accentuating her natural curves without being overly revealing. It was a deep shade of blue, the color of midnight skies. The dress complemented her skin tone perfectly and made her look even more striking.
We talked about everything and nothing as we walked. She told me about her role in the school play, how much she loved acting. I listened, captivated by her passion and the way her eyes lit up when she spoke.
As we settled into our seats with our drinks, I couldn”t help but notice the way she glanced around the café, as if checking for familiar faces. There was a tension about her, a nervous energy.
I decided to address the elephant in the room. “So, I assume your dad doesn’t like me.”
Her expression shifted instantly, a flicker of pain crossing her face. “It’s... complicated,” she began, her voice soft and guarded. “He’s my uncle, actually. I live with him because my parents... they’re not around.”
My heart sank. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, feeling like an idiot for bringing up painful memories. The last thing I wanted was to cause her discomfort.
“It’s okay,” she replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just the way things are.”
I nodded, sensing that there was much more to her story but knowing better than to press for details. We slipped into easier conversation, and gradually, the tension eased. Her laughter, soft and melodic, filled the space between us, and I found myself captivated by everything about her—the way she moved, the subtle scent of her perfume, the warmth in her eyes.
As we talked, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. She was, without a doubt, different from anyone I’d ever met. There was a depth to her that drew me in, made me want to understand her, to protect her.
“Maybe we could grab a coffee again sometime?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too eager.
She smiled, a soft, warm smile that sent my heart into overdrive. “I’m pushing it with my uncle already, Marcello,” she said, her tone regretful.
“He doesn’t want you talking to me?” I asked, already suspecting the answer but wanting to hear it from her.
“Not one word,” she admitted, shaking her head slightly.
“Damn, that cuts deep,” I said, placing my hand over my heart. “Maybe I can talk to him, get him to see that I’m not as bad as he thinks I am.”
She gave a small, sad laugh. “He’s not easily swayed, and since he thinks you’re a corner boy, it’s going to be nearly impossible to convince him otherwise.”
“I have to do something to win him over because I have to see you again,” I insisted.
Lanay looked down at her drink, her fingers tracing the edge of the cup. After a moment, she looked up at me, her brown eyes shining. “I think we’re getting out early again tomorrow.”
“Great,” I said, grinning widely. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, and with that simple word, all was right in my world again.
We finished our drinks and left the cafe. As we stepped outside, the evening air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. The streets were quieter now, the buzz of the city softened into a gentle hum.
We were less than a block away from the theater when Lanay glanced at me with a playful grin and asked, ”Have you ever wondered why actors break a leg in auditions?”
I raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. ”No, why?”
Lanay grinned, ”Because they want to be in the cast!”
”Well, let”s hope no one actually needs a cast in your cast!” I responded with a hearty chuckle. “But that definitely was a good one.”
She laughed, taking a small bow. “Why thank you. When I’m not on stage I double as Katt Williams.”
“You’re much prettier than Katt. But it’s good to know you’re both beautiful and funny. You’re making it hard to say goodbye,” I said with a warm smile.
Lanay chuckled, ready with her comeback. “That’s only because you’re turning from a Boy to a Man. Get it, ‘Hard to say goodbye’ and Boyz to Men?” she jousted.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Got it, my little actress and comedian extraordinaire.”
She smirked. “You have to admit, you dropped that one into my lap.”
Nodding, I replied. “I did and you hit it right out of the park.”
We had reached the theater, and I hated our impromptu date was coming to an end. “Thank you for having coffee with me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights. “Thank you for the invitation,” she replied softly.
“Do you want me to wait here with you?” I asked.
“No need. He just texted me and said he’s less than five minutes away. So, it’d probably be best if we aren’t together when he pulls up.”
“Okay. Thanks again for spending time with me.”
Impulsively, I reached out and took her hand, bringing it to my lips. The touch of her skin was like velvet, soft and warm. I pressed a gentle kiss to her hand, inhaling the subtle fragrance that lingered there—floral, sweet, and utterly intoxicating.
She looked away, a shy smile playing on her lips. “Goodnight, Marcello,” she said, her voice a soft melody.
“Goodnight, Lanay,” I replied, reluctantly letting go of her hand.
As I walked away, the touch of her skin, the softness, the scent—everything about her lingered in my mind, leaving me aching for more. I knew then that I would do whatever it took to see her again, to keep feeling this way. She was worth the risk.