A tension settles in the air between us, and I glanceout the window as a couple passes by. His arm is around her shoulders, resting below the fur of her parka.
Tourists.
I can tell by their attire. It is still summer, and yet she is cold.
I hear Enzo sigh, but don’t look at him. It’s what he wants—to talk. And I’m not sure I’m ready, but I know it’s time.
Although he is still one of my closest friends, our relationship has been strained for many years. I’d like to say it happened when I left, but truly, it happened many years before, when Mamma pushed me into medical school. She tried her antics on Enzo as well, but instead, he chose a different path.
Enzo is incredibly intelligent, so much so that he began investing small amounts of money as a teenager and was able to grow it into a substantial savings that he used to purchase a failing hedge fund company, turning it into one of the fastest scaling businesses New York has seen in decades.
Still, he fears this isn’t good enough. He looks up to Papà after he stepped into a father-figure role when Uncle Gabriele passed, and he thinks because he did not become a doctor, he has failed mia mamma e mio papà.
And that is simply untrue.
When I left the country and took Sully with me, it created a larger rift between us. Looking back, I can see he felt abandoned. We were his best friends, and we lefttogether, and though Enzo knowswhyI left, I know now that it still hurt him deeply.
But I don’t know how to apologize to him for something I do not regret doing. My time away shaped me into the man I am now, and for that, I am grateful.
“It was no easy choice, Lorenzo.”
Turning, our eyes meet, and behind his I can see the pain of the boy he has all but buried deep within. The boy that’s still healing.
“There was a monster within that was clawing his way out. He sought vengeance and blood, and though I worked to keep him hidden, I was failing. My choices were black and white. Stay and risk our family, or remove myself.”
“You ran,” he accuses, his voice low and gravelly.
“I left to protect our family.” Raising my wine to my lips, I take a sip and let the flavors settle on my tongue.
Enzo scoffs and looks out the window to avoid my stare. “You took the coward's way out and left me here to figure it out on my own.”
His words enrage me, but I don’t let it show. I bite my tongue, swallowing the words I long to say to my cousin. Instead, I give him the watered-down version. “I would have killed him, Lorenzo. Joseph Paladino would have died by my hand and we both know it. It was only a matter of time.”
“And now?”
“And now my monster lies dormant. While I was in my country, and throughout my travels, I learned everything there was to know about myself. Who I am. WhoI want to be. How to control my emotions and turn them from negative to positive. How to let go of myrage. I was able to use my schooling in a way that allowed me to help others in a meaningful way. I do not regret leaving, Enzo. It created me, and the man who shares this meal with you tonight is not the same man who left. And that is a good thing.”
As I finish my statement and exhale a shaky breath, the waiter arrives with our dinners and sets them down in front of us. He takes his time grating parmesan over both plates and ensures everything is to our satisfaction.
Once he is gone, we both begin to eat. The spaghetti is everything I hoped it’d be, and after a few bites, I set my fork down and reach for my wine.
After sipping it, I stare at its rich burgundy shade and give it a small swirl for good measure before placing it down. When I look back up at my cousin, my eyes wander behind him to a table where three women sit. There’s a blonde with her back to me and as she shifts slightly, I catch sight of the most beautiful face I can never admit to enjoying the sight of.
With a mass of curled dark-brown hair and a wide smile, she shines radiantly, lighting up the whole restaurant with her effervescence.
Vincenza.
The joy she exudes puts a scowl on my face. What a waste it is that all that beauty would be bestowed on a Paladino.
Immediately, I look out the window, trying not toremember her sweet scent of cherry blossoms, or the way her eyes sparkled when she looked up at me.
It has been less than twenty-four hours since I’ve seen her, yet it feels like all the wonders of the first time.
I hate it.
Hate that her beauty captivates me, and thatsomethingabout her calls to me. I need to squash the feeling and banish her back to the depths of my mind, where she is nothing.
No one.
