Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“He is.”
“I fucked up the dough this morning, but he didn’t give me shit about it.”
“He knows I’ll kill him if he does.”
She smirked slightly.
“How are you liking it?”
“It’s stressful and I don’t love having to be there so early in the morning, and you’re right, my hair smells like tomatoes all day, but I do like it. I like being a part of the . . . tribe. Plus, all the free food.”
I smiled. “You’ll get over that pretty quickly.”
“I don’t know. Fresh pizza right out of the oven . . . can’t beat that.”
“I used to go out for lunch every day because I got so tired of it.” I grabbed the bottle of wine and filled my glass before I moved to hers.
“Oh, none for me, thanks,” she said quickly. “Antonio and I shared a bottle over lunch.”
“At the restaurant?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, we ate together at the restaurant, and he said the wine was free, so . . .” She grabbed her fork and scooped it through the rice before she placed it in her mouth, her eyes on her plate.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Antonio usually hates wine.”
She sliced her fork into her fish and took a bite. “Said it went with the food,” she said with a shrug.
Or maybe he was just trying to be polite around Aurelia. He’d always been a gentleman, ever since we were young men. Always accommodating to others, especially women. She must have said how much she liked it, and he sucked it up so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
“How was it with your mom?” she asked quickly as she continued to eat.
I didn’t confide my feelings to Aurelia. Not because she’d done anything wrong or I didn’t trust her. I just didn’t want her to feel guilty, to make her wonder if I wished I’d made a different decision. If she knew just how deep this depression went, it would break her heart. And I didn’t want that either. So I told the one person I knew could handle it—my mother. “Good. We discussed my options.”
“Your options?”
“Whether I should return to Cosa Nostra or keep my focus here in Taormina.”
“Oh.” Her plate was clean, but she continued to scrape up every grain of rice like she was starving. “What do you want to do?”
“Not sure, honestly.” I couldn’t deny that my mother was right, that Aurelia was my priority now and I needed to revolve my life around her. Cosa Nostra didn’t fit the bill. But I wasn’t sure if I’d be fulfilled running a restaurant.
“Well, you know I support whatever you decide.”
“I know, sweetheart.” I finished my plate and focused on my wine, a white wine from Mount Etna. The wineries at that elevation were some of the best on the island.
“So . . . how have you been feeling . . . in general?” There was so much hesitancy in her voice, like she knew she wouldn’t get an answer even as she asked the question. But she probably asked it anyway just so I’d know she cared.
I couldn’t share any of it with her. Couldn’t burden her with that. “Fine.”
“You can always talk to me about it. I’m here.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Maybe one day, all this guilt would drain out of my body, but I suspected it was a permanent part of me now. I used to be proud of who I was, and now I was mostly ashamed.
She looked at me for a moment, still holding her fork even though her plate was empty at that point. The plates were blue and yellow, striking colors from a local artist in a traditional Sicilian style. There wasn’t a single aspect of this house that reminded me of my home in Rome, and maybe that was a good thing. “Have you . . . talked to Rocco?”
The sound of his name nearly made me spiral in a mixture of rage and sorrow. I used to not dream because my sleep schedule was so unpredictable and I was too exhausted to dream, but now, I experienced them. And Rocco was in my dreams most of the time. It was either an alternate version of our final argument or distorted memories. Three weeks had passed since I’d been exiled from Rome, and his name never appeared on my phone—and mine never appeared on his.
She continued to stare at me as she waited for an answer.
“No.”
The disappointment was heavy in her gaze, and she curled her fingers underneath her chin. “Maybe you should—”
“That friendship is over.” I didn’t want her to mention him again. Didn’t want to talk about a friendship that couldn’t be resurrected. He was the closest thing I’d had to a brother after Edric died, but now he was dead to me too.
“Why?” she asked gently. “What happened?”