Chapter 25
Clara
The moment the subway car doors opened, I grabbed Michele’s hand and yanked him out, not bothering to ensure that he was okay as we rushed through the station and up the concrete steps.
He’d done well to keep up with me all afternoon as we toured the city.
He was a good sport, and I found I enjoyed my time with him.
Far more than I ever had with Chloe and Sadie.
Once at street level, we slowed, laughing as we both tried to catch our breath. I leaned against the side of a building, resting my head on the brick, only to be startled by a soft squeeze of my hand. I looked down, as if my hand was some foreign creature that had risen from my side.
Holding Michele’s outstretched hand.
He gave me a crooked, open-mouthed grin that was too adorable for a man his age. “So, umm.”
“Right.” I let go of my grip on his hand, wiping my palms on my shorts. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He leaned against the wall beside me, staring out over the city. “You’re with Zeno?”
He didn’t look at me when he said it, but if he had, he might have found me floating a foot off the ground. The reminder made me feel weightless, like I needed Mic to hold my hand just to keep me from drifting away.
“I am.” It was nothing but a breathless confession.
“You love him.”
Nodding, I caught his gaze. “I do. And I’m sorry if—”
“Don’t—”
“—if I led you on.”
“It’s okay, Clara.” He bumped the back of his hand against my arm. “As much as I hope to find what you two have someday, right now, I have so many other things that need my focus. Honestly, I felt bad, like I was the one leading you on. It’s almost a relief.”
I looked him over, from his black-as-night hair to his long, long legs. There were secrets inside him, and I’d never been good at leaving secrets alone. “Why do you say it like that?”
He turned his dark gaze toward me. “Back in Italy, there was nothing but pressure. I had to be the best, excel in school, make the family proud. They wanted me to become a doctor and get married and start a family—”
“But you’re so young!”
Mic smiled. “Can I be honest with you?”
I scoffed, then rolled my eyes. With a smile, I said, “You better!”
“You’re the first girl I’ve actually wanted to spend time with since my younger cousin was forced to marry and moved away from home.”
“Oh, I…”
“Silvia was my best friend growing up.” He shrugged and looked down the street behind me. “You remind me of her. Like, I feel like I can be myself around you, rather than be who my family expects me to be.”
“Not your mother?”
“No. No, not her. Or Mario and my uncle, Piero. They want what I want.”
Mic grabbed my hand, lowering it to my side. Without realizing it, I’d started scratching at my throat. As if that scratching could somehow relieve the scritching in the back of my head.
“What?”
My face pulled into a grimace. “I shouldn’t say it.”
“Say what?” Michele was on my heels as I dashed away, finally grabbing my hand and yanking me back to face him. “I want you to be honest with me too, Clara. That’s how friendships work.”
A smile tilted my lips as a warm sensation swirled in my chest. “I like you.” Mic let go of my hand so he could thrust his fingers through his hair.
“No, I mean… I don’t get along with people my age very well.
I can’t relate to what they find important.
I’d rather hang out with people who are older. ”
“I am a few years older than you.”
“Much older.”
“Like Zeno?”
That warm sensation spread for other reasons. “Kind of. Or Arik David’s wife. She’s ten years older than me.”
“Are you saying I’m too young to be your friend?”
“No!”
“Or are you trying to cover so you don’t have to tell me what had you running away?”
And there was that grimace again, doing absolutely nothing to keep the monster in my head from clawing its way right out of my mouth.
“Do you find it strange that Piero and Mario support you when the rest of your family doesn’t? Like their older brother, Raoul?”
Mic’s face fell, and he brushed past me on the sidewalk. I stayed beside him, trying to figure out how to dig myself out of this mess. When we got to the corner, he turned to look down at me.
“Why do I get the feeling you know something you shouldn’t?”
I lifted my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I made Zeno make me a family tree, of sorts. I wanted a way to keep track of the Syndicate families and who belonged to whom. Can you imagine, mixing up old Vinicio Tedesco with Giraldo Pasternelo? What would the families think?”
“You’re a sneaky girl, Clara Vinci.”
“What? It was a perfectly innocent request.”
“But what really made you ask?”
Across the street, the light turned green. I grabbed Mic’s arm and tugged him along. “I don’t like secrets.” My gaze darted to him. “At least, I don’t like them kept from me.”
“So you know my family’s secret?”
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “It’s a big secret.”
“I wouldn’t have known myself if I hadn’t gotten Mario drunk on my twentieth birthday.”
“Ooo!” Laughter tumbled free and Mic shrugged.
“You and I have more in common than you’d think.”
“Do tell.”
“Mario realized Benito D’Angelo was his father after seeing Paulo, back when he came to the house when Mamma was pregnant with me.
Paulo called him brother. He said it in a way that felt different than when guys say the same to their good friends nowadays.
Mario started digging, and he eventually got Zia Ida to confess to a long-running affair. ”
“She didn’t!”
His lips pinched into a flat line. “She made him swear to never tell unless he wanted to see her in an early grave.”
“And then he told you.” I tightened my grip on his arm, using it as leverage to jump from the street onto the curb. “Unbelievable.”
He fell silent beside me, letting me guide him down the street, past shops selling crummy souvenirs to tourists, convenience stores, and restaurants selling cheap food that wasn’t fit to eat.
“What do you think of Paulo?” I asked as we rounded a corner onto a less busy street.
“He’s terrifying.”
“What? No!” I pulled him to a stop. “Paulo’s a giant teddy bear.”
“There are two people I’m afraid of in this world: Paulo D’Angelo and Cosimo Provenza.”
“Pshh. You’re afraid of a teddy bear and a big baby.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Shrugging, I gripped his arm again and pulled him toward my favorite coffee shop. “Maybe I am. But it doesn’t serve me to be afraid of people who can’t hurt me. I—”
I stopped short, though somewhere in the back of my head, something kept working. Something recognized danger before I could even process what I was seeing. I spun Michele around, shoving him behind me, behind the open door to a store selling designer clothes.
My father sat at one of the tables on the coffee shop’s patio. Whether it was the quick movement of Mic spinning away, or my father’s guilty conscience that had him looking around, I couldn’t know. All I knew was that recognition hit the moment his eyes locked on mine.
“Clara?”
As he stood, I gave Mic a shove and told him, “Run!” Then I spun on my heel, chasing after. But not before the man seated at my father’s table turned and looked my way.
“What are we running from?” Mic asked after we’d run for blocks, slowing his pace enough to guide me around a puddle filled with what could have been rainwater or vomit or piss.
I gasped for breath, grabbing his arm and slowing him down, but not before glancing over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. “I can’t breathe.”
He looked down at me with worried eyes. “What are we running from, Clara?”
“My father.” I sucked in a sharp breath, then held my hand up to keep him from interrupting. “And Raoul Provenza.”
“Zio Raoul?”
“I had to get you out of there.”
“You don’t think he’d—”
“Did you or your mother tell anyone from your family you were coming home?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
Mic’s face pinched. “To keep us safe, so they wouldn’t send us back.”
“Raoul isn’t the uncle who supported you, Mic. I couldn’t let him see you so he could go run to his daddy and ruin your lives again. The old man already sent Nadia away twice. I can’t let them do it again. You and your mom and Paulo deserve happiness.”
He gave me that adorable smile again. “You’re a good friend, Clara.”
My throat clenched and my eyes started to burn. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”
“It’s the truth. Now, come on.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me down the sidewalk. “Let’s go back to Paulo’s. I’ll just make you an espresso on his machine.”
We weren’t far from the penthouse. I hadn’t realized it after our mad dash to get away from my father and Raoul. When we rounded the corner of Paulo’s street, it felt like history was repeating itself.
Once again, I swung Mic around, shoving him around the corner of the building. But this time, I followed after.
“What now?”
I held my finger to my lips. “Shhh.”
We both glanced carefully around the side of the building. Paulo was there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets.
And in front of him was Cosimo Provenza.
“Merda.” Mic pulled his head back around the corner, but I kept watching as the two men spoke. Paulo was his usual calm and collected self, but there was a fury radiating from Cosimo I wouldn’t have wanted to be subjected to.
Luckily, I didn’t have to. Within minutes, Cosimo was seated in the back of the car at the curb, then the man was driven away. Paulo looked right, then left, and his eyes caught on me.
“Clara?” He started my way.
I grabbed Mic by the hand and dragged him toward Paulo, wanting to run to the safety of his arms.