Page 54 of Veil of the Past
I nod, understanding. “So, it’s more than just a restaurant.”
She smiles, a touch of nostalgia in her eyes. “Yeah. It’s more. It’s home.”
I feel a pang in my chest, an unfamiliar ache that I can’t quite place. I’ve never really had a place like that. A home that feels like it’s more than just walls and a roof. The closest I’ve come is here, in this diner, sitting across from her.
I take a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth seep through me. “Alright,” I say again, more firmly this time. “I’ll come. For you. For… us.”
Her smile widens, and she leans over the table, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. It’s quick, just a brush of warmth, but it sends a jolt of something electric through me. “Thank you,” she murmurs against my mouth.
I chuckle. “You’re welcome. Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Promise me there’ll be good food.”
She laughs, a light, joyous sound that makes the corners of my mouth lift. “Always,” she promises. “You’ll love it. Just wait and see.”
We finish our lunch, the conversation drifting to lighter topics, the ease between us returning like it never left. The worry still lingers in the back of my mind, but with Alessia’s hand in mine and her laughter filling the air, it feels manageable, almost insignificant.
As we step back out onto the street, the sun high in the sky, I feel a strange sense of anticipation. Maybe this is the next step. Maybe this is what we need.
Alessia slips her arm through mine, resting her head on my shoulder. “You know,” she says softly, “you’re braver than you think, Romiro.”
I glance down at her, my brow furrowing. “What makes you say that?”
She smiles up at me, her eyes warm and bright. “Because you keep choosing me, even when it scares you.”
I feel a lump form in my throat, her words settling deep in my chest. I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll always choose you,” I whisper, the words coming out rough, and honest.
She leans into me, her grip tightening around my arm. We walk down the street, the city buzzing around us, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… settled. Like maybe, just maybe, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. As I glance down at Alessia, her hair shining like fire in the sunlight, her smile soft and true, I realize that, yeah, I am.
27
ALESSIA
We step inside Vito’s, the heavy glass door closing behind us with a quiet thud. The familiar sounds and scents of the restaurant greet us, but today they feel distant, like echoes from another world. The low murmur of voices, theclinkof silverware, the soft strains of Italian music—all of it feels muted, almost drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Romiro’s hand is at the small of my back, guiding me forward with a gentle pressure that is both comforting and firm. His touch usually calms me, but today even his presence feels overshadowed by the weight of what we’re walking into. My family is waiting for us.
We weave through the restaurant, past the dark wood booths and tables where other diners are seated, laughing and talking over their meals. The air is thick with the scent of garlic, fresh herbs, and tomato sauce, all of which are usually a comfort to me. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as we approach the terrace.
The outdoor seating area is bathed in warm sunlight, a stark contrast to the dim interior. Vines hang from the pergola overhead, their green leaves casting dancing shadows on the cobblestone floor. The alleyway, with its narrow tables and terracotta pots filled with blooming flowers, feels like a slice of Italy tucked away in the heart of the city. Usually, it brings me comfort. Today, it feels like a stage set for something I can’t quite predict.
I see them immediately—my father sitting at the head of the table, his posture straight, his expression calm but serious. He’s the underboss of Rhode Island, a role he fills with a natural authority that he carries like a second skin. Beside him is my brother, his expression focused and calm. He’s been involved with the Camorra since birth, just like my father, and even though he can’t speak, his presence always makes itself known.
Mamma sits across from them, her fingers lightly tapping against the tablecloth, her expression carefully composed but with a hint of curiosity that’s hard to miss. She knows this life intimately, having been born into it, and she knows the stakes of today’s meeting as well as anyone. Next to her is Nonna, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet ours as we approach.
There are two empty seats at the table. One between Mamma and Nonna, and the other between Tristan and my father. I glance at Romiro, who gives me a slight nod, understanding instantly. He moves to take the seat beside Tristan and my father, while I slip into the chair between Mamma and Nonna. The tension in the air is thick, almost palpable, and I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on us as we sit.
“Romiro,” my father begins, his voice calm but carrying that unmistakable edge of authority. “I’m glad you could make it.” He gives me a pointed look before he continues, “We were just discussing your position within the Camorra here in New York.”
My heart starts to race, and I force myself to breathe evenly, keeping my face neutral. Romiro, as always, remains calm and composed. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, alert.
“As you’re aware, Mr. Visconti, I have been loyal to the Camorra since my initiation, and even before then,” Romiro replies evenly, his voice steady. “This city is my home. I know every street, every corner. Familiarity with our territory is essential in our line of work.”
Mamma leans forward slightly, her smile polite but probing. “And what exactly is your line of work?” she asks, her voice soft but firm. “Alessia hasn’t given us many details.”
Romiro’s lips twitch in a faint smile, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. “I’m an enforcer,” he says calmly. “I ensure that the family’s business is conducted smoothly, that our interests are protected, and that order is maintained.”
