Shadow Rider
Page 28
“They lost their only son. Cencio was murdered coming out of a theater across town with his fiancée. Lucia was so devastated she nearly died. Amo wasn’t himself for a couple of years, either. I grew up with Cencio. He was a good man. Always laughing. Sweet, like his parents. We served together in Marine Recon. He was someone you could count on. We’d only been out two months before he was murdered.”
Her face softened. The lashes swept down and back up, but the softness didn’t leave her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for all of you. He was their only child?”
Stefano shook his head. “They had a little girl. She died of cancer when she was three.”
Francesca stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk, her free hand covering her mouth. She looked as if she might cry. “Those poor people. To lose both children like that. I can’t imagine anything worse.”
He nodded, pulling her a little closer to him, keeping her under his shoulder. “They’re both very brave. Sometimes tragedy tears people apart, but they seemed to grow stronger together.” He started them moving again. The entrance to the pizza parlor was only a few feet away.
“They’re actually my favorite customers,” she admitted. “Not that I’ve met all that many people yet, although the store is very busy all the time. Was the murderer ever caught?”
He glanced at her sharply. There was something in her voice that caught at him. She was looking at the ground, not at him and not trying to see where they were going. She sounded skeptical, as if she didn’t believe Cencio’s killer would ever be brought to justice. She also sounded very, very sad. That tore him up inside. He didn’t want her ever to be sad.
He reached around her to open the door of the pizza parlor, automatically stepping back to allow her to precede him. At the last moment, he pulled her out of harm’s way, and then pushed her behind him as a little boy with dark wavy hair barreled right into him with full force. His body rocked back, but he caught the child in his arms, preventing the boy from falling. He heard Francesca’s breath catch in her throat as if she feared for the child.
He set the boy back on his feet and ruffled his hair. “Tonio, are you chasing after Signora Moretti again?”
The boy nodded, holding up a pink handbag.
“Good man. Get to it then, but don’t run into the street. Come by my table when you get back.”
Tonio grinned at him and took off running. Stefano held the door open for Francesca and waved her inside.
“He’s a good boy, that one,” he observed. “Signora Moretti will eventually come into the deli. She’ll give you a very hard time. She’ll insist on watching you make her sandwich and everything you do will be wrong because she’ll change it as she goes along.” There was humor in his voice. Affection. He couldn’t help it. “Agnese Moretti is a holy terror. Never call her anything but Signora Moretti or you’ll get your ears boxed.” He rubbed his right ear, remembering the woman clobbering him when he’d called her by her first name.
“She hit you?” Francesca’s blue eyes went wide with shock—and humor.
“Signore Ferraro, we have your table,” the girl at the desk said, menus in her hand. She sounded breathless, gazing up at him with a dazed, flirty look.
He smiled at her. “Grazie, Berta.” He put his hand on Francesca’s lower back to guide her. To make certain everyone in the restaurant knew just who she belonged to. “How are your parents?” He had to acknowledge Berta before she tripped over her own feet. She wasn’t watching where she was going, only watching him.
“They’re both good, Signore Ferraro. Tito said to put you at this table.” Still staring at him, she indicated a booth at the back, in the corner where the low lights cast shadows and allowed for privacy. His family always requested that booth, and he was grateful that Tito remembered. “The antipasto and breadsticks will be right up. Wine? Beer?” she asked.
Francesca slipped into the inside of the booth because he didn’t give her much choice. He kept his attention on Berta even as his body crowded Francesca’s until she gave in and slid onto the cool leather bench seat. Stefano slid in right beside her. Close. His thigh pressed tight against hers. He inhaled her scent. She was beautiful, there in the shadows where he lived his life. So beautiful and innocent looking. He was going to take that innocence away and the thought made him sad. He resisted reaching for her hand, but he knew he would have to touch her soon.
“What would you like, bella? Wine? Beer? Something else?”
Her face softened. The lashes swept down and back up, but the softness didn’t leave her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for all of you. He was their only child?”
Stefano shook his head. “They had a little girl. She died of cancer when she was three.”
Francesca stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk, her free hand covering her mouth. She looked as if she might cry. “Those poor people. To lose both children like that. I can’t imagine anything worse.”
He nodded, pulling her a little closer to him, keeping her under his shoulder. “They’re both very brave. Sometimes tragedy tears people apart, but they seemed to grow stronger together.” He started them moving again. The entrance to the pizza parlor was only a few feet away.
“They’re actually my favorite customers,” she admitted. “Not that I’ve met all that many people yet, although the store is very busy all the time. Was the murderer ever caught?”
He glanced at her sharply. There was something in her voice that caught at him. She was looking at the ground, not at him and not trying to see where they were going. She sounded skeptical, as if she didn’t believe Cencio’s killer would ever be brought to justice. She also sounded very, very sad. That tore him up inside. He didn’t want her ever to be sad.
He reached around her to open the door of the pizza parlor, automatically stepping back to allow her to precede him. At the last moment, he pulled her out of harm’s way, and then pushed her behind him as a little boy with dark wavy hair barreled right into him with full force. His body rocked back, but he caught the child in his arms, preventing the boy from falling. He heard Francesca’s breath catch in her throat as if she feared for the child.
He set the boy back on his feet and ruffled his hair. “Tonio, are you chasing after Signora Moretti again?”
The boy nodded, holding up a pink handbag.
“Good man. Get to it then, but don’t run into the street. Come by my table when you get back.”
Tonio grinned at him and took off running. Stefano held the door open for Francesca and waved her inside.
“He’s a good boy, that one,” he observed. “Signora Moretti will eventually come into the deli. She’ll give you a very hard time. She’ll insist on watching you make her sandwich and everything you do will be wrong because she’ll change it as she goes along.” There was humor in his voice. Affection. He couldn’t help it. “Agnese Moretti is a holy terror. Never call her anything but Signora Moretti or you’ll get your ears boxed.” He rubbed his right ear, remembering the woman clobbering him when he’d called her by her first name.
“She hit you?” Francesca’s blue eyes went wide with shock—and humor.
“Signore Ferraro, we have your table,” the girl at the desk said, menus in her hand. She sounded breathless, gazing up at him with a dazed, flirty look.
He smiled at her. “Grazie, Berta.” He put his hand on Francesca’s lower back to guide her. To make certain everyone in the restaurant knew just who she belonged to. “How are your parents?” He had to acknowledge Berta before she tripped over her own feet. She wasn’t watching where she was going, only watching him.
“They’re both good, Signore Ferraro. Tito said to put you at this table.” Still staring at him, she indicated a booth at the back, in the corner where the low lights cast shadows and allowed for privacy. His family always requested that booth, and he was grateful that Tito remembered. “The antipasto and breadsticks will be right up. Wine? Beer?” she asked.
Francesca slipped into the inside of the booth because he didn’t give her much choice. He kept his attention on Berta even as his body crowded Francesca’s until she gave in and slid onto the cool leather bench seat. Stefano slid in right beside her. Close. His thigh pressed tight against hers. He inhaled her scent. She was beautiful, there in the shadows where he lived his life. So beautiful and innocent looking. He was going to take that innocence away and the thought made him sad. He resisted reaching for her hand, but he knew he would have to touch her soon.
“What would you like, bella? Wine? Beer? Something else?”
