All I Believe (9 page)

She and the DJ chatted for a few more minutes, and when we were back outside I asked, “What are you going to do if a thousand people show up, Nana? The bar’s not all that big.”

“Do you think that could happen? I’d be happy if we got fifty.”

“You never know.”

“Well, I guess we could spill onto the beach, there’s plenty of room out there. I’ll tell the hotel staff to be prepared with lots of booze, just in case,” she said.

“Isn’t this going to get expensive, Nana?” Jessie asked.

She waved her hand and said, “It’ll be worth every penny if it helps even one couple find love. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for that.” I put my arm around her slender shoulders as we made our way back to the town square.

We went straight to the bar when we reached the hotel, and Jessie bought a round of drinks. Nana tossed hers back, then went to speak to the kitchen staff about snacks for the party. Jessie turned to me and said, “I’ve been dying to ask you about Luca, but I kind of figured you didn’t want to talk about your sex life in front of your grandmother.”

“Good call.”

“How was last night?”

I grinned and said, “It was the best night of my life, and you want to hear something crazy? It turns out Luca was the boy I told you about, the one I met at the fountain when I was fourteen.”

Jessie’s eyes went wide and he grasped my hand. “Oh my God, your first kiss, and now you two have found each other again! It’s so romantic that I’d die of jealousy if I didn’t like you so much!”

“It’s a wild coincidence.”

“It’s fate!”

“That’s what he said, too. I can’t quite get on board with that idea, but I am pretty blown away by the fact that we were drawn to each other twice, more than a decade apart.”

“It was meant to be.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I admitted. “I feel like a giddy high school kid, which is kind of funny, since that’s exactly what I was the first time I met him.”

Nana soon rejoined us, and we brainstormed some ideas for her singles mixer as we had a few more cocktails. After a while, I glanced up and saw Luca across the lobby, near the front desk. I jumped up and went to say hello, intercepting him as he headed toward the door. “Hey,” I said, “you’re back! Want to join us in the bar? My family and I seem to keep gravitating there.”

I could tell something was wrong the instant he turned to face me. Luca stared at me for a long moment, some sort of strong emotion churning in the depths of his green eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he finally managed.

I reached for him, and when he took a step back from me, it hurt more than it should have. I tried to downplay it as I said, “Okay. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“I can’t,” he said again, backing toward the door. “Please tell your grandmother I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Luca, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he turned and left the hotel, walking quickly, never looking back. I stood rooted to the spot, staring after him, wondering what the hell happened. Part of me wanted to run after him, but the ‘stay away’ message had been loud and clear.

I walked slowly back to the bar and sank onto my chair. “Wasn’t that Luca?” Jessie asked.

“It was. He, um, he had to go. He can’t make it to dinner, so we’re on our own.” I picked up my drink and finished it in two swallows.

“Is everything okay?” Nana asked.

“Yeah, fine. He was just distracted by something.” I changed the subject by saying, “If you want, maybe we can get a car and drive up to Catania for dinner. Afterwards, we can visit a few of those clubs and hand out flyers.” They agreed to that readily and began talking animatedly about the night ahead. I just stared into the lobby, wishing for Luca’s return.

*****

That night, I went with Nana and Jessie to the biggest, loudest gay nightclub in Catania, but my heart wasn’t in it. While they got drunk, danced and chatted with the locals, I sat by myself with a diet soda (since I’d appointed myself designated driver). I turned down every invitation to dance, and shut down everyone who tried to start a conversation with me, even though I was approached by a lot of good-looking men. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Luca. No one else held my interest.

Finally, I went outside where it was quieter and called the hotel. When someone at the front desk answered, I said,
“Buona sera. Corallo suite, per favore.”

I was asked to wait a moment, and then the desk clerk came back on the line and told me in Italian, “Mr. Caruso is not answering. Would you care to leave a message?”

I left my name and cell number with the message to please call me, and once we disconnected, I lingered outside for a while with the phone in my hand, hoping he’d call right back. Of course that didn’t happen, so eventually I put my phone away and returned to the club.

I tried to cut across one corner of the crowded dance floor, but was stopped short when the crowd parted to make room for a couple who thought they were on the set of Saturday Night Fever. As I stood there trying to be patient, another couple sat down at my relatively quiet table in the corner. I stifled a sigh.

A pair of hands grasped my hips from behind, and someone leaned against me and said in Italian in my ear, somewhat loudly to be heard over the pulsing music, “Hi handsome, want to dance?”

I turned around to deliver a polite thanks but no thanks, but then I exclaimed, “Matteo?”

My cousin let go of me like he was holding a rattlesnake and cursed vividly in Italian. Then he said in English with a fairly thick accent, “What are you doing here, Nico?”

“I’m on vacation with my grandmother, as you know because we’re supposed to meet for lunch later in the week.”

“I know that part. What are you doing in Catania?”

“We wanted to visit a few gay nightclubs, which of course meant getting out of Viladembursa.”

“I can’t believe I was checking out my own cousin’s ass. Please never tell anyone I did that.” He lowered his head embarrassedly, his somewhat curly dark brown hair falling into his light eyes. At twenty-seven, he was a year older than me but looked barely twenty-one. He was about five-foot-eleven with a lean build, and was currently wearing tight jeans and a form-fitting bright blue t-shirt with the logo for an Italian bicycle manufacturer on it. I’d last seen him three years ago, when he was traveling through the western U.S. and had spent a weekend with Erik and me.

“I always wondered if you were gay,” I told him. “Why didn’t you come out to me when you were in L.A.? The fact that I was living with a guy should have told you I’d be a pretty safe person to open up to.”

“But if I told you, what was I going to do, swear you to secrecy? This side of the family’s not as accepting as the U.S. side. They pretend they are when they’re in public. They act progressive and say the right things about the current social climate and the changes happening in our society. But behind closed doors it’s another matter. You should have heard them when our cousin Dante came out a few years ago. It was right around the time he took over the Dombruso family business, and some people were actually questioning his ability to do the job because he was gay. Is that not the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“I get why you don’t tell them, but what are you going to do if you fall for someone? Will you keep him a secret from your family?”

“I have no intention of settling down. I’ve moved to Catania for work, I don’t remember if I told you. I’m a cameraman at the local news station now, and it keeps me busy. When I lived in Viladembursa, I constantly had to dodge the family’s efforts to set me up with every single woman in town. I’d tell them I was too busy training with no time for love. It’s actually the truth.” In his free time, he trained as a competitive cyclist. “I think they’ve given up to some extent and written me off as a workaholic. Little do they know, I still find time for fun.” He gestured at our surroundings.

A good-looking guy with short, light brown hair and a muscular build came up to us and said in Italian, “Sorry to interrupt. Matteo, I’m headed home but I’m going to walk because I drank too much. Will you bring my car back if you’re sober enough?” He turned to me and said, “We’re just roommates, nothing more. Don’t worry.”

“Matteo and I are cousins,” I told him, also in Italian, “so no worries at all.”

“Allessandro Girardi, this is Nicolo Dombruso, my cousin from America. Nico, Allesso,” Matteo said, “my friend, roommate, and, as he annoyingly refers to himself, the ‘on-air talent’ at my news station. I spend all day pointing a camera at that ugly mug.”

We shook hands and he said in slightly stilted English, “It is a pleasure to meet you. Where in the U.S. do you live?”

“California.”

His dark eyes lit up at that. “I’ve always wanted to go to California to live with the movie stars and get into show business. It is my dream. That’s why I studied English.”

“You speak the language very well,” I told him.

“Thank you. Your Italian is excellent too, for an American.”

“I grew up speaking it right along with English. My family might have left Viladembursa, but they certainly didn’t forget the old ways.”

I’d been referring to the language, but suddenly Allessandro’s eyes went wide and he exclaimed, “Hang on!
The
Dombrusos?” He turned to Matteo and asked, “How did I never know you were connected to them?”

“Because it’s not something I talk about.”

“But your cousin is in the mafia?”

That made several people glance in our direction, and Matteo said quickly, “No, of course not. Nico’s not involved in organized crime. Some of our family is…or was, I’m not sure which. But my cousin’s not a part of that.”

“Right,” I said. “I go to law school. None of that has anything to do with me.”

Allessandro grinned. “Your family’s in the mafia and you’re studying to be a lawyer. Is that so you can defend them if the feds round them up?”

“I doubt anyone’s getting arrested any time soon. As far as I know, my family’s business dealings are legitimate now,” I said.

“Are they?” Matteo asked. “I heard your cousin Jerry began running things once Dante retired. He always struck me as a thug, not a businessman.”

“I guess he’s both. In addition to handling the family’s business interests, he makes sure we continue to present a strong, unified face to the world. The Dombrusos made a lot of enemies over the years. There are still some families who’d love to lash out at us if they saw the opportunity,” I told him.

“This is fascinating,” Allessandro said. “I’d love to interview you and get your perspective on the modern mafia. Normally, poking around and asking these questions in Sicily could get you in trouble, even to this day, so you might be my one chance to do that safely.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything,” I said. “I’ve never been involved with the family business. Besides, I’m trying not to attract attention while I’m here, so interviews are a bad idea. Like I said, there are still people who hold a grudge against my family.”

“The Dombrusos had one major rival if I remember correctly, the Natori family,” Allessandro said. “I grew up in Syracuse, but even there we heard stories about the great, bloody feud between the families.”

I nodded. “That’s true, but the Natoris moved out of Viladembursa years ago, just like the Dombrusos did, so there’s no longer that constant rivalry.”

“But you do still have family here,” Allessandro said, gesturing at Matteo.

“By marriage. My grandmother married into the Dombruso family, and some of her relatives still live locally. Matteo’s grandmother and mine are sisters, but he and his side of the family have nothing to do with the Dombrusos.”

Allesandro thought about it for a moment, then said, “What if I interview you anonymously and don’t air it until after you leave town?”

I shook my head. “The past is best left buried.”

“But it’s not buried,” he insisted. “The Dombrusos are still alive and well in the states. The Natoris are out there somewhere, too. In fact, I remember hearing just a couple years ago that Sal Natori, the leader of that family, got taken out in a bloody shootout in Rome. It was hushed up, I assume a lot of officials got paid off so only the sketchiest details made it into the paper. But the story still filtered down here, since he had ties to Viladembursa. Everyone said a member of the Dombruso family killed him in an act of revenge. Do you know anything about that?”

I did, actually. Everyone in my family knew my cousin Dante had tracked down Sal Natori and settled the score with the man who’d gunned down his parents and baby sister in their home. But I kept my voice and my expression neutral as I said, “They’re just rumors.”

Matteo chimed in, “Let it go, Allesso. You’re not going to get a juicy story out of my cousin. Even if you did, that wouldn’t make them take you seriously at the station. Just accept it.” To me he said, “My friend always gets the, what do you call them? Fluff pieces? We just did a story on a bake sale at one of the churches.”

“They’re human interest stories,” his friend said, looking a little annoyed. “I can’t help it if the producer has it out for me.”

Matteo told me, “He gets the stories about cats stuck in trees because everyone knows he’s not serious about his job and wants to run off to Hollywood. The station’s not willing to invest much in him.” Then he pointed and said, “
Dio mio
, is that your grandmother?”