The Chocolatier Page 16

  “Stop!”

  Never before had he attacked his brother, but even the sound of his father’s voice couldn’t restrain his frenzied fists now.

  Grappling for handholds, Carmine and two of his father’s brothers, Guiseppe and Vito, tugged them apart and pulled him off Nino.

  Lauro fell back onto the gravel, panting and sweating, wailing with outrage, his knuckles smeared with blood.

  “How dare you do this?” Carmine held them apart, enraged at the sight of his bloodied sons. “And on Christmas, the holiest of days. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nino ruined everything,” Lauro shouted.

  “How could he? Nino just arrived.” Carmine stood between them. “He called me this morning, insisting I give you his position at la fabbrica di cioccolato. This is how you thank him?”

  Their uncle Guiseppe pulled Nino to a seated position and pressed a handkerchief against his split nose and chin. Wincing with pain, Nino pushed him away. “It’s my fault, Papa. I tried to explain.”

  The front door swung open and Isabella’s imposing father, Signore Guardino, stepped out. His face was reddened with anger, though his venomous stare was ice cold. “Who are you, and what did you do to upset my daughter?”

  Lauro groaned and covered his eyes. An anguished cry erupted from somewhere deep in his gut as searing pains of distress shot through him. His beloved Isabella…

  Carmine hurried toward her father. Putting an arm around his shoulder, he conferred with him in a hushed tone.

  Lauro would never know what his father had said to make Signore Guardino turn around, but he knew his father would pay for it. And so would he.

  The door clicked shut, and Carmine spun around to face his sons. “You have about thirty seconds. One of you had better explain.”

  Nino coughed into his hand. Hanging his head, his voice was barely audible. “I dated Isabella in Rome.”

  Lauro’s reaction was swift, but his uncle Vito held him back. “Why did she look so shocked to see you here?”

  A sheepish expression filled Nino’s face. “We met at a club. We agreed, no real names. It sounds crazy, I know…I called myself Riccardo.”

  Carmine dragged his hands over his face and cursed to himself.

  Lauro’s temper soared. Struggling to keep his voice down to a hoarse whisper in case Isabella’s father could hear them, he gripped his father’s shoulder, crying with pain. “He ruined her. He admitted it.”

  Carmine swung around to Nino. “Is this true?”

  With regret etching his face, Nino nodded.

  Lauro shot back at him. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Does it matter? You’re the one marrying her.”

  “It’s you she loves. Why couldn’t you have stayed away?”

  A commotion sounded behind them, and Lauro turned to see Isabella and Adele rounding the corner of the villa.

  Isabella’s face was white with anguish and fury, and Adele was trying to calm her. Isabella yanked away from her and stalked toward them.

  Nino struggled to his feet. “I never meant to hurt you—”

  Isabella grasped his collar and pulled his face to hers. “I loved you.” She spat into his face and finished with a slap that resounded through the still night air.

  “Isabella,” Lauro cried, scrambling to her.

  She whirled around, her face a tortured mask of grief. “I can’t marry you, Lauro, don’t you see? I can’t bear it. Anyone but him.”

  “No!” Lauro raced to her and enveloped her in his arms, shielding her from his brother with the force of his love. “We’ll move, we’ll go somewhere.”

  “I’ll go,” Nino interjected. “I’m leaving for America anyway.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Carmine said, gesturing at Nino. “No one is leaving. We’ll work this out.”

  With tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, Isabella clutched Lauro. She tore her hands through his hair and kissed him with such passionate fervor that Lauro felt his insides twist and melt to her will. God, he loved her!

  “I don’t care what happened, Issie, I love you.”

  She wailed and pressed her palms against her head. “But I don’t, I can’t, not with your brother so close. It’s good-bye, Lauro.”

  Extricating herself from his embrace, she rushed toward the cars that lined the gravel court, her mussed blond hair and scarlet dress streaming behind her.

  Stunned just long enough to let her get ahead of him, Lauro cried out and gave chase.

  Isabella spied keys in the ignition of a low slung, red Alfa Romeo sportscar. Swinging into the car, she turned the key, revved the engine, and spun out, spraying gravel behind her.

  Lauro and Nino raced behind her, but they were no match for the powerful coupe. Isabella sped out onto the road and quickly disappeared from view.

  Sinking to his knees, Lauro doubled over in the dusty court, weeping as his heart shattered. In the distance, he could hear Isabella shifting gears through turns, tires squealing.

  Winded, Nino knelt beside him, sharing his grief. “I’m sorry, Lauro.”

  “Don’t touch me,” he cried out, his nerves on fire. Only Isabella could comfort him now, and she was gone. Lauro spit dust from his mouth.

  Nino pushed up and turned away.

  Moments later, the sharp sound of grating machinery pierced the night silence. Tires squealed in a harrowing, hairpin curve beneath their perch and ended with a sickening crescendo of twisted metal and blood-curdling screams.

  Silence.

  Lauro scrambled himself to his feet and screamed into the night. “Isabella!”

  Moments later, an explosion rocked the night, and flames illuminated the narrow road beneath them.

  His heart leapt. He had to get to her.

  Dio mio, did she make it?

  Not this, Lauro prayed in desperation. Please, dear God, not this.

  Nino cranked the ignition of his car. Flinging open the door, he called out to Lauro. “Get in!”

  Chapter 16

  Naples, 1953

  After Lauro ushered Celina into his office, he took his call from London and quickly addressed the problem while Celina sat beside his desk, her heart still pounding from their stolen kisses in the chocolate test kitchen.

  “With pleasure, my friend,” Lauro said into the receiver, though he hardly took his eyes off Celina. “Your order should clear customs soon.” As he spoke, a smile for her played on his lips.

  While she waited, Celina glanced around the office, which was decorated with Italian antique furniture, framed awards, and old photos from the last century. A horse-drawn delivery carriage, a smaller building, a sign that read Savoia e Figli. Savoia and Sons.

  Lauro’s secretary, Mariela, had brought her an espresso and told her that Lauro’s parents and Marco would meet them at a café for lunch later.

  When Lauro had brought her into the executive suite, the young woman had been curious and excited to meet her. While Lauro took his call, Mariela had let it slip that she’d never seen Lauro with a girlfriend before. Celina guessed that Lauro kept his personal life separate from his work life.

  “Twenty gift boxes per carton, that’s right,” Lauro said into the phone. “Two hundred per week now, five hundred for Christmastime. Per store. Yes, of course we can.” He winked at Celina.

  When Lauro began quoting numbers, Celina did the mental arithmetic. She’d had no idea the volume that larger stores did. Or the sums of money involved. At La Petite Maison du Chocolat, Monsieur had never shared the finances, but she had a good idea of costs. Even a fraction of that sum could make a good living for her and Marco. The key would be to sell in the shop and distribute to larger stores, too. She wondered how much chocolate she could make in the kitchen beneath the shop. Busying herself with these thoughts, and watching Lauro on the telephone, she realized her future seemed brighter than it had in a long, long time.

  Lauro listened to his client, but his eyes swept across her, and a smile tug
ged at his lips.

  Celina blew him a kiss.

  Very bright.

  Lauro held up a finger, signaling that he was almost finished. “Excellent, grazie, my friend.”

  As she waited, Celina’s gaze rested on a photo on Lauro’s inlaid wood desk. Curious, she ran her fingers over the polished silver frame that held an old photograph of a dark-haired young woman staring defiantly into the camera, unflinching, unsmiling, as a wave crested behind her.

  “Mille grazie. Ciao.” Lauro concluded his call and placed the receiver in its cradle. “Thanks for waiting. That was a new account in England. Business has been excellent this year.”

  “Who’s this?” Celina asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer.

  “Isabella.” Lauro knelt beside her and smoothed his hands over hers. “We were both so young when the tragedy occurred, too young to know what’s truly important. Now, I do.”

  At his reassuring touch, her heartbeat quickened. She averted her eyes from Isabella’s unnerving stare. It felt as though the woman’s spirit was in the room, eavesdropping on their conversation. She had to learn more about this mysterious woman.

  A smooth wooden box was positioned in front of the photograph. Made of richly grained olive wood, the box was little larger than a deck of playing cards. Lauro reached for it and gave it to Celina.

  “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

  Celina drew in a breath. The lid was difficult to pry off as if it had not been opened in many years, or it was loathe to reveal its secrets.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s old. May I help?”

  “I’ve got it.” She found an indentation on the side. Sliding a fingernail over it, the lid clicked open.

  Inside was a platinum and diamond ring nestled in a curl of black hair.

  An engagement ring.

  Celina sucked in a breath and turned to him.

  “I never got the chance to give that to Isabella,” Lauro said, his voice thickening with emotion. “I thought you should know that whatever you might hear, my intentions with her were honorable.”

  As difficult as Celina knew this was for Lauro, this is what she needed to hear from him. Especially as it concerned Tony, and in turn, her and Marco. She touched his face to reassure him. “What happened, Lauro?”

  “It was Christmas Eve,” Lauro began. “We had a terrible…”

  “Argument?” Celina gently finished his thought.

  “No, not that, not really,” he said, seeming to search for the right words. “A terrible misunderstanding. When two people in love are not honest with each other, the results can be tragic. Profondamente tragico.” He stared past her at the photograph.

  “I understand,” she said, thinking about all that Tony had neglected to share with her. Or couldn’t share, for whatever reason. “The secrets that your brother kept would have been tragic had we never met. But we did. Whatever happened, we can overcome it.”

  “I hope so. After Isabella’s death, I couldn’t blame Nino for leaving. At first, I was glad he was gone, because I thought that I was the only one who had the right to grieve. But many loved her. I learned that I had to share her memory.”

  “We are no strangers to that thief in the night.” Celina circled the ring with her finger, then returned it to the box. Placing it on the desk, she turned back to him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I tried, I did my best, but I cannot change the situation.”

  She was sure he could feel her rapid pulse, now pounding in her ears and obliterating all sounds in the outside world past the confines of this masculine cocoon.

  Here, right now, was her chance to discover the truth she’d been searching for. What had caused the rift between her husband and his family?

  “Did Isabella’s accident affect your relationship with your brother?”

  “Her accident…” He stopped. “Her death became complicated. For both of us.” Lauro shook his head, then lifted a strand of hair caught in her eyelashes and tucked it behind her ear. Letting his hand fall to her shoulder, he continued to trail it along her arm.

  Celina waited, silently willing him on.

  “I never thought I would meet another woman who made me feel like she did. Until you.”

  Celina closed her eyes. The moment she had felt his lips on hers, the scarred rift in her heart had cracked open just enough to let the pure light of love seep in, to remember what it had once felt like.

  But he was still her husband’s brother.

  A brother she had never known. First, she needed to know more. “Lauro…”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Please, let me speak first. Or I’ll lose my will.” He led her to a carved wooden bench and drew her beside him.

  Nodding toward the photograph, he said, “You and Isabella are very different. She was impetuous, and so damned alive then.” He let out a wry chuckle. “Life is ironic. Ah, how young I was. And now you—I can see why my brother fell in love with you. My brother and I…our taste in women… It was always exactly the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isabella was in love with Antonino first, long before I met her. And it didn’t end well.”

  She dreaded asking, but she had to know. “Why not?”

  Lauro didn’t answer. He only shook his head in sorrow.

  “Whatever happened won’t change the way I felt about Tony.” She hoped.

  Nodding, Lauro went on, measuring his words with care as if they were sharp, dangerous instruments. “Isabella and Nino conceived a child, though she lost it. Had he known, Nino would have married her.”

  Celina sucked in a breath. A child! She sat stunned as Lauro’s revelation washed over her like an icy downpour.

  He shook his head. “I’m so sorry to tell you. I know he must have loved you very much. How could he not? Look at you.”

  Tony and Isabella had conceived a child. She imagined the distress and dishonor this must have caused to their families—if it were known. She wondered, though it was becoming clear why he had left Italy. “You fought over Isabella?” she asked.

  “It was my fault. I didn’t know they had a relationship, or that they even knew each other. When he told me, I was jealous because I thought she loved him more than she did me.”

  “And did she? Did he love her?”

  He stroked her cheek. “I’m sure he never loved her as much he loved you.”

  Celina was stunned. Did this change her life with Tony, or anything else? Not really. It had all happened so long ago. Tony had loved her, of that she was certain. She could choose to be the better person and rise above this. She had to.

  What did it matter now anyway?

  “I’m glad you told me,” Celina said, and she meant it. At least she knew what had been plaguing Tony all these years and why he hadn’t returned to Italy. Surely he would have, given time. Knowing how devoted he was to her and Marco, she could just imagine the shame he must have lived with. Her eyes welled at the thought.

  “That’s all in the past.” Lauro dipped his head before her. “And you are the present. Your beauty, your essence, surrounds you like the most exquisite perfume and defies my mere mortal description, though I promise I will try.”

  Celina felt her face flush at his words. Even Tony, as aggressive and outspoken as he was, hadn’t been so straightforward about his feelings with her. Although her husband had often told her he loved her, he hadn’t had the poetic voice of his brother.

  “So much is new to me,” Celina said, her head swirling from the nearness of him and the secrets he’d revealed. “Have patience with me.”

  “Forgive me for speaking so boldly.” Lauro must have picked up on her discomfort, and he shifted back with a heavy sigh, as if he were facing the reality of their situation. “Especially as your cognato, your brother-in-law. It’s not entirely proper, and I know that. But I cannot hold this feeling inside any longer. I want you to know the truth about how I feel.”

  She stru
ggled to process Lauro’s revelations and her feelings for him. “When we first met, I thought you despised me.”

  “I had my doubts about who you were and what you wanted.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “It was my own awakening,” he said. “Any woman with your knowledge and talent doesn’t need us. You’re an American, you’re determined. You can make your way in the world without us, without our money. Everyone knows that in America anything is possible.” He ran a finger along her jawline. “If anything, we need you and Marco. The hope of tomorrow. That is where our family is impoverished.”

  Celina was surprised to hear him reveal such thoughts and feelings. “There was a time I didn’t think you wanted me to stay here.”

  “Frankly, I was afraid to believe you would.” He clasped her hand in his. “Will you stay? You would do me and my family the greatest honor. Marco is their treasure.”

  Her heart leapt at his words, and she was almost afraid to believe this was actually happening. But it was real. She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I could never give Marco the gift of growing up surrounded by grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles. And now this.”

  She paused and glanced down at their entwined hands, which now felt so right. Her heart was bursting with the possibility of love again. Trying to keep her voice from quavering, she asked, “Where do we go from here?”

  A grin spread across his face. “We still have much to learn about each other.”

  As enticing as he looked, something stirred in the back of her mind. “Of course, we have time.”

  Or do we? If she returned to San Francisco now, this relationship might never develop. If she stayed here, would they become as familiar as family and lose the spark they shared right now?

  “All the time you need, I promise. And my parents will be so pleased if you stay. You and Marco can live at the villa.”

  “I need to adjust to all of this, and so will Marco.” Suddenly, Celina realized this new version of reality could be much more complicated than she’d realized once they told his family what they meant to each other. It was more than that, though. They’d both lost their soulmates. As attracted as she was to Lauro, she still loved Tony, and Marco missed his father. Love couldn’t be turned off like a spigot, or tucked away in a drawer with a sprig of lavender as a keepsake. Feeling she could confide her innermost thoughts in him, she asked, “How long did you carry the pain of Isabella’s death?”