Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (74 page)

“Thank you, Sir. This is just what I needed.”

Marc gave her a mysterious smile. “Am I not supposed to anticipate my girl’s needs? Now, let’s walk.”

He took her hand in his, and they left the restaurant. The brightness of the day surprised her until she remembered where she was. When Angelina stumbled on the uneven brick sidewalk, Marc grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling face forward. He kept his arm there and pulled her closer, just where she wanted to be.

“Tell me where you are,
bella
.”

Knowing he wasn’t asking her to ground herself in the moment for a scene, she glanced at the mostly two-story stucco buildings painted in yellows and tans and trimmed in stone. She still wasn’t certain if they were in Tuscany or Lombardy, until she spied a traffic sign ahead.
Milano, 82 Km
. Angelina halted.

“Lombardy?”

He grinned broadly.
“Sì.
Welcome to the
comune
of Brescia,
amore
, my homeland.”

Marc had brought her to his hometown to show her where he’d grown up? Now this was significant. That he’d trust her enough to share the experience meant a lot to her.

“Tell me, when did you really figure out you were in Italy at least?”

“Well, that was a very long flight, but when you had me speaking to someone in Italian…”

Marc sighed. “I hated that he spoiled my surprise but figured that would tip you off.”

“Why did you…I mean, I love that you did…but how did you…?” Would she ever be able to string together a lucid question?

“I needed to explore more of my past after the interrogation. I needed some answers. This time, I wanted you beside me. I regretted so many times you weren’t with me in February, even though your voice often coached me to breathe and relax. But I’d much rather have you here in the flesh this time.”

Angelina wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. “Thank you, Sir, for including me. I told you before I didn’t want an Italian vacation, but only to be with you and help you deal with whatever you found.”

“Well, this time, you’ll get a bit of both. Our pilots have taken a few days off—Gunnar said something about a delivery he needed to make in Pakistan for some Afghan region near the border.”

“Gunnar! I
knew
I recognized that voice!” Her jaw dropped in a delayed response. “You mean the border with Afghanistan?”

“I had the same reaction, but apparently he does regular drops for some humanitarian organization he keeps supplied. He hooked up with them while deployed with the Army a few years back.”

Marc reached out and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Anyway, we have almost four days before we fly home, and I have every intention of giving you the two-cent tour of my homeland.”

His eyes grew shuttered. “I must warn you, though, I’m also here to uncover more of my past, perhaps even reveal more secrets.”

She wrapped her arm around his neck and drew him closer to her face before planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’m here. We can face whatever it is together.”

“Come. There’s a place I want to explore with you.” His
‘with you’
won her over. They walked on, hand in hand, until he paused at a corner and glanced around. “This way,” he decided, and they turned toward the left. She wondered what he was searching for.

“Wait!” She halted him. “I need to call Mama! She’ll wonder where I’ve disappeared to if I don’t show up for that long.”

“No worries. I spoke with Rafe. He will inform her of your whereabouts.”

Her eyes opened wider. “You and Rafe are talking again?” Her brothers had pitched a fit when she moved back in with Marc, blaming him for nearly breaking her heart and letting her know in no uncertain terms they would take care of him if he hurt her again. “How’d that come about?”

“I just called and asked to speak with him about a matter of great importance.”

When he didn’t elaborate but continued to walk down the residential street, she was left wondering what it might be. Marc probably just wanted to smooth the waters with her brothers before moving into her house next week. They’d be seeing a lot of him in the future so having them at least on speaking terms would ease some of the tension—and testosterone posturing.

A block later, he made another turn. The farther they walked, the tighter he gripped her hand. His steps became more sure, and then he halted. She noticed his puzzled expression and then followed his gaze to a small house with a tiny porch.

“It’s not as I remember it.”

“What is this place?”

He took a deep breath. “This is where Gino and I took refuge many, many times. In my mind, it was such an enormous house.”

Angelina remembered the slideshow at the anniversary party for his parents. This was the house Mama’s friend lived in.

Before she could say anything, he walked inside the open gate and guided her up the stairs to the door. He knocked and waited.

Angelina whispered, “Are you sure we won’t be bothering them?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure whoever lives here will understand. I need to see something.”

“Surely nothing inside will be familiar after all these years.”

“I just have this feeling there’s something in this house that holds a key for me.”

Dio
, she hoped so. This seemed important to him. She didn’t want to see him disappointed. Angelina gave his hand a comforting squeeze, which he returned. She forced herself to relax against him hoping he would take comfort from her.

The door opened to reveal a wizened old woman dressed in a black dress with a white shawl. The old woman ignored Angelina but scrutinized Marc more closely. “Marco?”

Marc seemed to take forever to respond, but he spoke in her language when he did.

“How did you know, Mrs. Milanesi?”

Angelina gasped, remembering the name from the interrogation scene as someone he’d expressed guilt over injuring by leaving his toys on the floor.

She stepped back and motioned them inside. “Come in out of the cold. We’ll talk.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

M
arc remembered her instantly, whether it was the delicious aromas emanating from her kitchen or the sound of her voice. Her toothless smile transformed her into a much younger-looking woman, more like the face he remembered. She had always smiled, well almost always. He hadn’t expected her to be alive, much less living in the same house.

With tears shimmering in her already rheumy eyes, Mrs. Milanesi reached up with both hands. Marc bent to kiss her on both cheeks. When she motioned them to enter again, Marc hesitated, unable to take that first step. Angelina squeezed his arm and whispered, “I’m here, Marc. We can do this together.”

He glanced down at the woman he’d grown to love more than life itself and breathed deeply. Patting the hand on his forearm, he smiled.
“Grazie.”

Going from bright sunlight into the darkened room, he blinked while waiting for the past to slowly come into focus. He introduced Mrs. Milanesi to Angelina and they kissed European style as Marc scanned the room for anything he might recognize.

Like so much of his past, what he remembered of Mrs. Milanesi came from what Gino had told him about his childhood rather than actual memories, except for those bubbling up since the interrogation scene. Gino often referred to her as Mrs. M or their babysitter. She had been the subject of many a tale from Gino as he tried to paint a picture of a happy childhood for the brothers amidst all the drama and pain surrounding them during those early years. By the time they’d emigrated, though, Gino spoke of her rarely.

Angelina made small talk in her formal Italian while the older woman used her Brescian dialect, but they seemed to understand each other. Trying to regroup, Marc glanced around the room. Surprisingly, not a lot had changed. Yes, the furnishings had been modernized, but the religious pictures on the walls were familiar in some strange way. He somehow knew he and Gino hadn’t spent a lot of time in the parlor.

Then his gaze lit on her tea table filled with photos of her husband and children at various ages over the years. Two photos dominated the surface—the ones of Marc and Gino in their military portraits. Puzzled, he turned to Mrs. Milanesi. “How…?” He couldn’t speak past the frog in his throat and pointed to the photos.

“Sit. We talk.”

Had Gino kept in touch with her before he was killed? No, he couldn’t have sent Marc’s portrait. Once they were seated, he and Angelina on the divan and Mrs. Milanesi in an armchair closer to Marc, the woman began.

“Natalia sent me a long letter with the photos.”

So it had been
Mama
. He’d have to thank her, once again, for opening doors and paving the way for him to gain access to this place. He needed to make peace with Gino and this place held secrets they’d shared. Marc was certain of it.

“I hadn’t heard from her in so long.” She extended her hands, joints swollen with arthritis. “It is hard for me to hold a pen…” She shrugged and smiled wistfully. “Truthfully, it was painful for me to think of you boys being so far away.” Her gaze strayed to Gino’s photo. “So sorry to hear…”

Marc glanced down at his lap, and Angelina reached over to squeeze the tops of his clasped hands, giving him the strength to face her. “He was a fine U.S. Marine.” He cleared his throat which had suddenly grown tight.

A tear meander through the wrinkles on her cheek. An uncomfortable tightness filled his chest. His eyes burned, but he fought to regain control before he pulled away from Angelina to go to the woman’s side. He wrapped her in his arms and comforted her but soon felt Angelina’s arms around him, as well.

“Scusa.
I thought I had cried all my tears after receiving Natalia’s letter.”

Marc and Angelina resumed their seats on the divan. “What did Mama say?”

An enigmatic smile crossed her lips. “She told me that you were just learning about…what happened back then. That you might show up here asking questions.” Mama knew him so well. He hadn’t told her about his intention to come here, and he thought he’d been discreet a few weeks ago when he’d asked about this house. Mama had recalled the street name instantly, probably from having rediscovered the address so recently.

Marc had wanted to see if his memories coincided with reality, though. The butcher shop had been next door to the restaurant where they’d just dined. Young Marc and Gino had helped the woman carry packages home so many times. He’d had no trouble finding this house.

Needing some distance from talk of Gino for a moment, he asked about her husband.

“Mr. Milanesi passed seven years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” Marc truly had no memory of the man but knew this woman had spent her life loving and caring for him and so many others, including Gino and Marc. Marc surmised she’d been so taken by the boys because she and her husband hadn’t been blessed with any children of their own. She had taken in the boys and their first mother when they had nowhere else to go after Solari deserted them. She’d also provided refuge for Mama when pregnant with Marc.

But the photos surrounding the ones of Marc and Gino told otherwise about her life after the D’Alessios moved to America. “Tell me about your children.”

The next quarter hour was spent with her picking up each photo and telling of her two daughters, a son-in-law, and her one granddaughter.

She cleared her throat. “Let me show you a room you will be more familiar with.”

The house was a tiny bungalow, much like Angelina’s. Was this why he felt so comfortable in Angelina’s house, as if he’d come home at last?

Marc expected her to take them to the bedroom, the room he needed to see most, but she led them to her kitchen instead.

Walking into the room, the smells that had been faint at the front door now bombarded him with memories. Anise cookies cooling on an oven rack and garlic from a pot of rich stew bubbling on the stove.

Marc’s chest tightened.

Angelina squeezed his hand and whispered, “Breathe.”

He smiled down at her, knowing he had made the right decision bringing his angel here to help him confront the ghosts from the past, especially the wizened woman who wasn’t a ghost after all.