Believe (5 page)

“Lorenzo, what do you mean firing Del?” his father bellowed. He crashed the door shut and strode to the desk. Grabbing the photo, his father studied it before handing it back. His eyes glinted. Lorenzo shoved the photo into a drawer.

“He came to work drunk.” Lorenzo eased himself deeper into his chair. His father remained standing.

“Even drunk he’s a better bouncer than anyone else. You’re losing your edge.” He leaned over the desk, his face a foot away from Lorenzo’s. “You think moving into Sal’s and making up to some young woman is going to save you from yourself?” He chuckled.

Lorenzo crossed his arms and stared at his father.

“I know you better than you know yourself. You’re twenty-eight. Time to accept the fact that all you care about is having good food, fine wine, expensive toys, and beautiful women. Your mother tried to make you soft. Those damn DeGrazias. Think they’re better.” His father’s face reddened as his voice became louder. “Take what you want and make no apologies. You think they don’t? Ha. And that Enzo…no one is innocent. At least everyone knows where they stand with me.” He jabbed his finger at his chest then waved it at Lorenzo. “Your mother never loved me. But you knew that, didn’t you?” His father’s tone was tight with bitter distaste.

Lorenzo strained to regain an impassive expression. He’d never give his father the satisfaction of admitting that sometimes he was right. Lorenzo knew his mother didn’t love his father—not the way a wife should love a husband. “She should have left you.”

His father laughed. “She wouldn’t—for you. She wouldn’t let a son be without his father.”

Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk and stood. “Bastard.” His father patted his cheek, like Lorenzo’s mom used to. Lorenzo grabbed his hand.

His father wrenched away his hand. Sweat beaded across his forehead and dampened his upper lip. “You’re mine. Those DeGrazias tried to take you from me, but they can’t. You’ll never escape who you are. Ask Sal, Enzo—ask them the truth. They’re no better than we are.”

“I’m not you. I quit.” Pieces of his internal armor clattered away. His neck and shoulders loosened. He hadn’t realized they were tense.

His father’s laugh turned to a barking cough. “And live on what? Your mother was too weak to make sure to leave anything to you. And even when I’m gone, the things you’ve done won’t disappear.”

Lorenzo strode to the door. “I quit. I know what I need. Whatever you have on me would implicate you too.” He could get a job somewhere. He had a business degree, years of managerial experience. Once he proved himself worthy of her…

“You need this!” His father shouted, waving his arm before he clutched it to his side. He crumpled against the desk. Another ploy. Lorenzo scowled.

“Go to hell, old man.”

His father slid to the floor. His head thumped against the desk. Vincenzo Calabra lay prone and unmoving. This was no act. Lorenzo ran and knelt beside his father. His throat closed. His father still had a pulse. Pulling his cell from his pocket, he dialed 911. As he spoke to the dispatcher, he grasped his father’s hand. Vincenzo squeezed Lorenzo’s palm but didn’t open his eyes.

“You’ll never escape.” Vincenzo’s face paled, grey like the ash of a snuffed, smoldering fire.

Lorenzo dropped the phone. No breath. He checked again before starting CPR. As he compressed his father’s chest, he gritted his teeth.

“Not now. You won’t die now.” A chill numbed Lorenzo. Not now, when happiness had been in his arms. His father dying would leave a bigger mess, one he might not be able to get out from under.

He was still trying to resuscitate his father when the paramedics arrived. Dead. His father was dead.

Chapter Five

“I’m going to visit Celeste,” Lita called to Uncle Enzo, who was in his study. “I’ll be back to make dinner.”

“Vittorio will be here for dinner.” Uncle Enzo stood in the doorway. “We want to talk to you.”

Lita sighed. “Okay.” Uncle Enzo and his brother probably wanted to tell her how Lorenzo wasn’t good enough for her. Uncle Enzo and Lee had already tried, but Lita had managed to shut them down and go upstairs to shower and change. Lee had gone home, but Uncle Enzo was still upset. Lita hoped to get a break by visiting Celeste, and hopefully they could come back together.

“Promise you’re only going to see Celeste?”

“I promise. See you soon.” She’d see Lorenzo soon. She had faith.

Lita walked out. The day was still sunny, the city bright and full of life and possibilities. She walked down, letting her senses waken in the warm air, the scents changing from baking concrete into baking breads as she reached the square. Her step lightened, like when she was a girl, in her summery sandals, a breezy skirt and light tee shirt on. She ambled into D’Angelo’s.

“Hello,” Lita said to Frank D’Angelo, who stood behind the counter. Several customers sat at tables and browsed the narrow aisles of Italian grocery items displayed on metal shelves.

Frank nodded. “If you’ve come to see my mom, she’s in back baking with Gina. You can go in.” He motioned to a door just behind the end of the counter, marked “Staff Only.”

Lita smiled. “Thanks.”

“My mom told me what happened. For once, I agree with Enzo.”

Lita paused at the door. “Love might not be sensible, but it’s what makes us alive.”

Frank didn’t acknowledge her, but turned to a customer. Lita pushed the door open and let it shut behind her. A kind-looking man about Lita’s age, his light brown hair tumbled over his forehead, grabbed a tray of cookies. Lita opened the door for him.

“Thanks,” he said. He smiled, an open, warm expression.

“Oh, Lita, this is my grandson, Michael,” Celeste said as she hurried to greet Lita.

“Nice to meet you,” Michael said at the same time as Lita. They laughed.

“Grandma tells me you’ll be joining us at the food bank next week.” Michael’s muscles flexed as he shifted the tray. He was slight, but his biceps were strong, probably from all the lifting he did.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Lita wanted to be useful, and be a part of the community. Soon she’d find a school to volunteer in too—she loved working with children, especially reading and singing with them.

Michael smiled again and went out front.

Celeste patted Lita’s arm.
“How’s Enzo?”

“Okay,” Lita said. “Still insisting Lorenzo is wrong.”

Celeste frowned. “My husband. So stubborn.”

“You knew that when you married him,” a beautiful, twenty-something woman said. She radiated confidence and sex appeal, from her long hair to her long legs, like Sophia Loren or some other glamorous actress. The kind of woman Lorenzo had seemed to like, not like Lita, quieter, a little shy with men, girlish, short.

“Yes, Gina, I did.” Celeste turned. “Lita, this is my granddaughter, Gina. Gina, meet Lita, Enzo’s niece.”

Gina smiled and walked to Lita. “Glad to meet you. I just came down to help Grandma bake. Would you want to join us? You could just sit if you like.”

“No, I love baking.” Lita smiled. “Congratulations on your engagement. Lorenzo, and Uncle Enzo, think Vincente’s a good man.”

“He is, thanks.” Gina’s smile beamed, the love she must feel for Vincente radiating—she glowed. “Vincente thinks the same of Lorenzo.” Gina’s tone turned serious.

Celeste had probably told her family about the problem at Uncle Enzo’s earlier. Lita glanced away and rubbed her hands. “I wish he could convince Uncle Enzo.”

“We’ll work on him, don’t worry.” Gina gave her a half-hug. “How about some music?”

Lita smiled again and nodded. Celeste rubbed Lita’s arm, a comforting gesture. Lita’s worries pattered to the floor, like flour shaken from an apron. Gina turned on a Frank Sinatra CD. She twirled Celeste and then Lita.

“Regrets, I’ve had a few…” Gina sang.

“But then again, too few to mention,” Lita joined Gina.

They laughed and danced to the baking island.
La grazia dell’amore
would find a way. Love always did. Lita just had to be patient. Lorenzo had said he’d be back. So he would be.

***

Lita placed the last dinner dish in the dishwasher. She dampened a cloth, sprayed the counter with cleaner, and scrubbed. Uncle Enzo and his older brother, Vittorio, known to most of the family as Grandpop, were in Uncle Enzo’s sitting room playing chess. Their voices sometimes drifted from under the door. Celeste and Gina had stayed home—for today. Celeste thought it would have more impact on Uncle Enzo if she waited until he’d at least begun to soften his attitude about Lorenzo before she came home. And she and Gina had wedding planning to do, for Gina’s upcoming wedding.

Over dinner, Lita had tried to convince Uncle Enzo and Grandpop how wrong they were. But she’d only gotten their denials of her truth, and assurances that they knew Lorenzo better than she did. So she should trust them.

It was Lorenzo she trusted. She’d hoped to have heard from him by now. She checked her cell phone again. No calls, no texts. She scrubbed the counter over and over and over. The phone rang. She threw the cloth into the sink and answered.

“Can I talk to Mr. DeGrazia?” a rough male voice said.

“He’s busy right now.” Uncle Enzo didn’t like to be disturbed during a chess game. “May I take a message?”

“Yeah. This is Rudy, down at his nephew’s club. The old man—I mean Mr. Calabra, died this afternoon. Now Lorenzo’s acting crazy, tearing apart his father’s office. Maybe Mr. DeGrazia can talk some sense into him. Lorenzo’s scaring the girls. Who knows what he’ll do. But I can’t call the cops on my own boss, ya’ know?”

Lita gripped the phone so hard it made crackling noises. “Yes. Someone will be there. Where is it?”

The man recited the address and hung up.

Lita glanced toward the sitting room door. Uncle Enzo and Grandpop had pushed Lorenzo out, as if he was a hopeless case. Lorenzo needed help, needed her. She tugged the hem of her tee shirt. She had to help Lorenzo. She walked to the door and knocked.

“Yes,” Uncle Enzo’s voice answered.

“Celeste wants me to go and pick her up.”

Rustling and a thump came from under the door. Uncle Enzo swung open the door. “She called?” Lita nodded. “I’ll go.”

Lita put up her hands. “She wants me to pick her up. She wants to talk to me, so we might be awhile. Please, Uncle Enzo.”

He frowned but nodded. “Take my car, then.”

“Okay, thanks.” Lita blew out a breath and waited for Uncle Enzo to shut the door again. She raced for the front door. She grabbed her purse and Uncle Enzo’s keys.

She hopped in his car and sped down the hill. Unsure of where the club was, even with the address, she circled a few times before finding it. Then it took another twenty minutes to find a parking spot.

She breathed in the humid evening air. A storm was growing. She clutched her purse and ran to the club. She’d never been in a strip club before.

The doorman gave her an odd look as she showed him her ID and took her money. “Where’s Rudy? He called my uncle about Lorenzo.”

“Oh, yeah. Take this back, huh? He’s over there.” The man shoved Lita’s cash back into her hand and pointed to a long bar. Tables crowded the room. Lita averted her eyes from the stages and focused on the black-haired Latino man behind the bar. The dim lighting and loud music pulsed through her. She held her breath.

She reached the bar. Only a few men sat down its length—it was early still. “Rudy?” She practically shouted. “We just talked on the phone.”

“Uh, yeah.” Rudy leaned over the bar, evaluating her body. “I don’t think you should go up there, miss. I thought Mr. DeGrazia’d send one of Lorenzo’s cousins.”

Lorenzo’s cousins, except Janetta, were all men—Vincente, Pete, Gianni, and Joey—and all did, or had, worked in Uncle Enzo’s or Grandpop’s businesses. She didn’t know, or care at the moment, who was corrupt, innocent, or both. She only cared that Lorenzo needed her. Lita slung her purse onto her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. “I can handle this. Where is he?”

Rudy shrugged and said something to the other bartender. Rudy motioned to Lita and came out the end. Lita met him.

“Follow me.” He pointed to a door marked “Staff Only” at the end of a short hall.

As they approached, a loud banging echoed from above. It grew louder when Rudy opened the door, even over the music and women chattering from what Lita assumed were dressing rooms. Rudy led her up a narrow flight of stairs. Something metal slammed against the wall as they reached the landing. Rudy held out an arm, to stop Lita from going further.

A low, angry growl pitched from the office on the right. Lorenzo. Lita rubbed her arms.

“You better not, miss. Go call—”

“No. He won’t hurt me.” Lita pushed Rudy’s arm away and stepped up the final stair. “Lorenzo, it’s Lita. Can I come in?”

“Rudy, I told you not to call anyone!” Lorenzo muttered something else.

“Had to. Mr. Calabra would’ve—”

“He’s dead! I’m in charge.” Lorenzo appeared. His hair drooped onto his forehead. His shirt angled oddly, halfway untucked from his rumpled slacks. His hand bleed—a drop of blood stained a paper strewn on the floor. He noticed Lita. She stayed focused on him. He needed her.

He pushed his hair back. His glare disappeared. He turned and kicked papers out of his way.

“Go. I’ve got this,” Lita whispered to Rudy. He shrugged and jogged down the stairs.

Lita followed Lorenzo. The office was littered with papers, desk drawers on the floor, a safe open, couch cushions upended, a mirror shattered, glass shards sparkled among the papers.

“Lorenzo, please, come out of here. Let me bandage your hand.” Lita kept her voice quiet, as she’d talk to a skittish cat.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Lorenzo gripped the edge of the desk.

“Neither should you.” Lita glanced around. A door hung open—a bathroom. She hurried in and found a first aid kit in the cabinet. She walked back into the office and placed the kit near Lorenzo. She opened it and took out first aid cream and a large Band-Aid.

Lorenzo hadn’t moved. She grasped his fingers and turned his hand up. She leaned in and studied the wound to make sure there was no glass embedded in his skin. She found a gauze pad, cleaned the blood, dabbed on cream, and covered it with the bandage. Lorenzo’s strong hand was hot in hers, but he remained still, his face impassive.

Lita placed a hand on his back. His shirt was damp. “Lorenzo, please come with me. I’ll take you home, make you some dinner. Please.” Her words sounded choked, her throat had gone dry as stale bread.

“I have to find it.” His voice rasped. He pressed his hands back into the desk top.

“Find what?”

He shook his head. “He was right, I’ll never be free. Stay away from me, Lita.”

“No. I…” She loved him. But saying it would change everything.  She wanted it to be like a song in a musical, solving all the problems with one tune. But just as their kiss hadn’t changed circumstances, neither would declaring her love, not in this moment. “I won’t. Let me take you home. We can figure it out. I’ll help you find whatever you were looking for.”

“I’ve already found what I was looking for.” Lorenzo faced her. He pulled her into him with one hand and pressed his other hand to her cheek. His gaze intensified, his dark eyes and strong features clouded with pain and passion. Lita closed her eyes a moment. He leaned his forehead into hers. “Unless I find what my father had, I can’t have you.”

His words, his touch, breezed through her, a balmy summer wind—but then a quick thunderclap shook her momentary lift. She had to get them through this, help Lorenzo, even though she didn’t know what he needed help with.

“Come with me. You’ll think more clearly if you get out for a while.”