Page 28 of Broken Trust

He smiles and stamps the top sheet. “Then congratulations, Signora. It's filed. He'll be served within the month.”

I step into the square and stand in the thin spring sunshine with my empty purse, waiting for tears, or relief. Instead I look across the cobblestones at Benedetti's old corner unit with its dusty windows and faded green shutters, and all I want is to get started.

Weeks later, the place is a disaster.

The builders have ripped out the old counter and half the back wall, and there's plaster dust on every surface, including me. I'm on my knees on the floor in a pair of Nella's old overalls, scraping forty years of grease off the tiles by the window with a putty knife, when she comes through the door with two coffees and a paper bag of cornetti.

“Breakfast,” she announces. “Or lunch. What time is it?”

“No idea.” I sit back on my heels and push my hair out of my face with the back of my wrist. “What do you think?”

Nella turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, the exposed brick, the wires hanging from the ceiling, the pile of rubble in the corner.

“Honestly? Like a bomb went off,” she says. “A pretty one, though.”

“The tiles are original. Look.” I rub a clean patch with my thumb, and the pattern shows through, faded blue and white. “They go all the way to the kitchen. I'm keeping every single one.”

“Of course you are.” She gives me a coffee and sits down on an upturned bucket. “You've got your Nonna face on.”

“My what?”

“Determined look.” She bites into a cornetto and talks with her mouth full. “It suits you.”

I laugh and go back to scraping. We work like that for an hour, Nella sweeping the dust into piles while I do the tiles, the radio playing old Mina songs on the windowsill. My knees ache, and my hands are raw, and I don't think I've ever been happier.

The bell over the door jingles.

“We're not open yet,” I call without looking up. “Try again in June.”

Nobody answers. Nella's broom stops.

I look up.

Dante is standing in the doorway with a baby on his hip and a cardboard box tucked beneath his other arm.

For a second I forget how to breathe. He looks terrible. He's lost weight, a lot of it, and his coat hangs off his shoulders like it belongs to someone bigger. There are dark bags under his eyes, thick stubble on his jaw, and his hair has grown out past his collar. He's a man who's forgotten what a full night's sleep feels like.

And still my heart does that stupid little skip it's been doing since I was sixteen.

It infuriates me that my body is still lagging behind my head.

“Gia,” Dante says quietly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just show up. I went to the cabin first, and your neighbor said you'd be here.”

Nella sets her broom against the wall with a sharp clack. “You've got some nerve.”

“I know. I won't stay long.” He doesn't take his eyes off me. “I've sold the house. The movers come on Monday. I found some things of yours in the attic, and I didn't want them going to a stranger.” He holds up the box. “Your Nonna's recipe tin is in here. And her rolling pin. And the photos from the kitchen wall.”

I get to my feet slowly, wiping my hands on the overalls. My knees crack.

And then I make the mistake of looking at the baby.

She's a little over a year old, round and pink-cheeked, with a mop of dark curls sticking up at the back where she's slept on it. She's wearing a little yellow sweater with a duck on the front, and she has one fist wrapped tight around the collar of Dante's coat.

Something cracks open inside my chest.

All at once I'm back in that clinic, lying on the table with my feet in the stirrups, gazing up at the ceiling while the nurse told me, kindly, that it hadn't taken this time either. I'm in our spare room, painting the walls a soft green because it would work for a boy or a girl. I'm in the bathroom at three in the morning, sitting on the edge of the tub with another negative test in my hand, crying without making a sound so Dante wouldn't wake up. All those years of praying for this, for her, so badly I could taste it.

And here she is, in my ruined restaurant, in Dante's arms.