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Salvatore knew the answers I sought. After all, he was the last person I saw my mother speak to before she died. And during that day and the following, my mother was present, but her mind was too far for me to call her back to me.
“Please sit.”
I stared at him struggling with the emotions that threatened the corners of my eyes with memories and the possibility of speaking to him as an adult. Afraid of the answers.
The rough touch against my fingers drew my gaze to it, finding Lucca’s calloused hand. He was confused by my reaction, but his demanding spirit didn’t ease. It tugged at me to sit, to eat.
I composed my fluttering heart and sat with eyes that were fixed on Salvatore’s short footfalls. When he stopped and lowered, our gaze connected across the table.
“You are just as beautiful as your mother was.” He coughed.
“Were you in love with her?”
The question flew without barriers. It was the first of many, but by its answer it was possible to determine the correct order.
He smiled but shook his head. “No, not the way you think.”
“Then in what way?” I quickly asked.
“I knew her from a young age and cared for her as a sister.”
“How?” I fired.
“Lucca, are you intending to explain to her your soup situation?”
I didn’t even glance at Lucca, his answer could wait. Salvatore’s couldn’t.
“How?” I asked again.
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. Gone was the kindness. He didn’t like my spirit. Welcome to the Moretti club, Mr. Mancini.
His gaze searched below, and he picked up the spoon. His wool-checkered vest shifted as his other hand removed the tubes from his nose.
“She was my sister’s best friend. Practically lived with us when we were young.”
Lucca’s fork returned to the table forcefully.
“That’s enough,” he hushed.
But I hardly learned anything!
I faced Lucca and asked uncaringly, “Could I have a moment alone with Salvatore?”
“No,” he cut.
“Fine,” I spat, and asked Salvatore instead. “Who’s Andrea?”
Lucca lost it.
I should’ve calmed the cruelty he’d walked in with, instead I let it loose.
I flinched as the glass cup shattered into the mantle as loose glass glitters rained down the fireplace. He stood so quickly in wrath that I froze. I’d seen him angry, I’d seen him lose control, but I’d never seen him fucking lost and taken by anger.
This demon, I feared.
His body rushed toward me, and in one swift move, his hand replaced the faint bruises that marked my neck. Gripping tightly, his face lowered with wicked evil.
“Don’t ever speak her name in my presence.”
