Regretfully Yours Read online

  “What do you think? It’s the third time Tracy’s been with us when you’ve drawn blood at a club. She’s not into violence, and I brought her with me because I didn’t think you’d come last night.”

  “Yeah? Well, judging by the way she eyed my ass this morning, I’d say you don’t give her enough credit.”

  I love the dark flash of jealousy in her eyes before she replies. “Ha, no way. Her boyfriends are up Patrick’s alley, peaceful guys who’d never consider sparring with anything but their mouths.”

  “Your sister’s little boyfriend?”

  “He’s not little.”

  “In spirit, he is.”

  She scoffs. “Just because he doesn’t fight doesn’t mean he’s got less spirit.”

  “Hmm. Maybe it’s just less feelings.”

  With one hand inside the cupboard, Silvina stops all movement and looks up. For the first time this morning, her molasses stare meets mine and remains there. I can’t even describe what that does to me. “Just because he doesn’t feel the need to clock people in the face at every turn doesn’t make him less anything.”

  “No? Gabi is pretty. Not fucking divine like you, but pretty.”

  She struggles with a pan inside the cupboard, but she can’t wrestle it out from behind the bigger ones. I drop to my haunches, my speed giving a bounce-back before I nudge her knee to give me room. For a second, her eyes flutter shut while she enjoys our connection. But then she shifts to the side, letting me take the three bigger pans out of the way so I can pull out the one she wants. It’s her egg-scrambler pan.

  “That has nothing to do with it, and you need to get that memo too,” she murmurs. “You need to stop beating guys up just because they like the way I look.”

  He tried to kiss you, goddammit. His hands were all over you! “You want Gioele’s Kick-Ass Scramble?” I ask.

  “I guess, since you’re here anyway.”

  “Get me a red bell pepper, a green onion, and the seasoning salt. I didn’t see any butter in the fridge. Do you only have margarine?”

  “It’s just as good with margarine.” She says it smirking, because she knows I’ll object. Fuck, I want to hug her.

  “It’s four grades below perfect with margarine, but I’ll make do if it’s all I have.” I angle my head high and play-glare down at her. “I’m about to cook for my favorite girl, and she can’t even provide me with the ingredients. Porca miseria.”

  My using her father’s favorite cussword makes her laugh. “Let’s borrow Tracy’s. I know she has butter in her drawer.”

  3. DEDICATION

  SILVINA

  “There’s nothing quite like the smell of fresh-baked bread. Am I right?” Professor Crespo lasers his stare through us, the deep wrinkle between his eyes making me want to salute him with a, “Yes, sir!”

  John nudges my side. “Answer the man.”

  I snort but cover my nose before all attention lands on me. It doesn’t help that John chuckles either. In my peripheral, he’s pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

  “And you can’t bake bread without yeast. In the project we’re about to embark on, we’ll make use of bread dough to measure yeast reproduction in three different ways.”

  I keep my stare on the teacher. With his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair slicked backward, indoor-grey skin, and a forward-stoop to his lab-coat stature, he’ll keep me from laughing out loud.

  “So what’re you up to this weekend?” John’s voice is a silky murmur that’s too intimate for how platonic we are. He’s a pretty boy. Great smile. White teeth. He’s way taller than me—almost Gioele’s height. Good catch for anyone, with his sense of humor and the attention he gives a girl. There’s no doubt he’s a bit infatuated with me, as la nonna would have said.

  “My sister wants me at this charity thing,” I whisper without turning my head. He’s too close, and I don’t really want him any closer.

  “The-e-en, we’ll investigate how well yeast grows with sugar substitutes as a food source. Charlie, pass the butter!” Professor Crespo demands, and our classmate scrambles to his feet. He hobble-scurries toward the teacher’s desk, grabs the tray, and starts to balance it between our desks.

  The butter is a cold, metallic slab in my hand. John puts another slab on top of it and playfully lowers them to our counter with both of our hands.

  “Is the charity thing on Sunday?” He leans closer, smelling clean. “I’m free most of Sunday if you need company.”

  I send him a quick look over my shoulder while I peel the silver wrapping off the butter. “My cousin will be there, so not sure that’s a good idea.”

  At the front of the classroom, Professor Crespo drones on. “Now, the purpose of this project is to see if yeast will reproduce using various sugar substitutes. We’ll use saccharine and sucralose, as well as acesulfame potassium, or Ace-K as it’s also called.” He inhales through his nose, emanating a slight whistling sound. On instinct, I rub my own nose.

  “Oh. Right.” John clears his throat uncomfortably. He picks up the wrapping I’ve left to the side and tosses it in the trash bin. “Your cousin.”

  “Again: I’m so sorry about Gioele. He’s a bit protective.” I only sound apologetic through the first part. The tenderness in the rest of it is obvious even to me.

  We prepare for the project. John’s hands have long, narrow fingers that flutter over our work as we go. In my mind, I force an objective step back, looking at those hands. Not all hands need to be square, muscular, and tanned, able to commit your body to ecstasy with a touch so gentle it belies their masculinity.

  John and I tend to spar good-naturedly during class. He’s here before I arrive on Mondays and Wednesdays, and waves in greeting before I’m even in the door. Getting things ready for us while I settle in at our desk, he’s my good-looking, nerdy pal. I said yes a few weeks ago when he asked me out. Thanks to Gioele, it ended in disaster.

  I lift my gaze, forcing myself to meet perfectly angelic eyes, perfectly high cheekbones, blond hair, and full lips. The man was made to be worshipped, no doubt about it, and here he is, wanting to date me. I wouldn’t be the first girl to settle for comfortable.

  “If you’re not busy on Saturday,” he says while Charlie drops off a few packets of yeast for us. “we could go to the Morrison on Saturday.”

  “The planetarium?”

  “Yeah. Romantic, right?” he huffs a laugh that trails off when I touch his hand.

  “I better think things through a little bit, John,” I say. “Just gotta straighten out my life, you know?”

  “Right. Of course.” He nods slowly in my peripheral, like he’s convincing us both that I’m making sense.

  “My family’s a bit touchy,” I over-explain. “Maybe some other time? It sounds great. Stars and all that.”

  “Lots of stars,” he agrees, and we share a smile.

  I look down at the mess of butter and yeast in front of us. Crap. They weren’t supposed to be mixed, were they? I’m off my game.

  “Silvina. John. What in the world?” Professor Crespo lets out an exasperated huff. “Charlie: please, get us another stick of butter over here. Another packet of yeast too.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor,” I say.

  While we clean up, I think of how I’m supposed to move on. Lord knows I try. I just can’t commit to anything. I do it in small spurts at a time. An hour here. A coffee date there. Ricky at the library. Sam at Starbucks. Winston from the gym.

  Not all girls jump into relationships just like that. I simply take a little longer than others to find someone I want to share hours and a bed with day after day. At least, I’m dedicated. That’s more than you can say about my bane.

  And here he is, knocking on the door and scooting it open without mercy. Gioele spends no time on my lab partner or the class as such. No, his stare homes in on me long before he ackno
wledges the teacher.

  “Professor, I’m here for Silvina di Nascimbeni? It’s a family emergency, if you don’t mind. It shouldn’t take long.”

  A curt nod from Professor Crespo, and my flaming face and I are out the door.

  “Gioele!” I hiss as he closes the door behind us, but when he turns, his shoulders are broad and familiar and his eyes so soft.

  He touches the side of my eye. “Did I stay too long last night?”

  I shake my head and press my finger to the slight swell that might turn into a sty. Last night, he only stayed for half an hour when he dropped me off. I was going to have tea, and he accepted. My bane doesn’t even like oolong tea.

  “It wasn’t your fault. This was all me.”

  Last night was just harder than usual. It was the knowledge that with my smallest acquiescence, verbal, instinctive, physical, he would have done it, enveloped me in that beautiful storm we used to own.

  “You almost gave in last night. That’s why, huh?”

  “You’re just full of yourself,” I say.

  He shrugs, knowing. He meets my gaze, and for a moment I’m entranced, soaking up silver shards I’ll never get tired of studying.

  “I’m going on a date tonight,” I blurt out.

  “Who with?”

  “Just for an hour. Maybe two.”

  “Where? I’ll be there.” He ransacks my face.

  “It’s nothing serious,” I say, and all of a sudden, I’m choking on the hopelessness of this whole thing. I don’t know why I told him. It’s a weeknight. He doesn’t hover close on weeknights unless there’s something special, and now there is. I’ve made it special. I don’t even remember the name of my dinner date.

  “Ina mia. Don’t cry!” He exhales his frustration, pulling me close and rocking me. “Don’t force this shit. Okay? You’re so stubborn.” He cradles my face, pulls me out so he can kiss my forehead. I close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

  “I have to,” I choke out. “We have to do our best. I’m just doing my part.”

  “No, you don’t have to do anything. As a matter of fact, don’t do something you don’t want to do. You hear me?” He rocks my shoulders and pulls me back in again. “I came with empanadas for you. Fuck all the idiots who think they have a right to ask you out. Let’s eat empanadas.”

  GIOELE

  I’ve stayed away for three days, and this is how she thanks me? My face goes warm with fury. It goes warm with worry too.

  “What do you mean, ‘She left?’”

  It’s Morpheus at the door, hands open like it wasn’t his decision. “Sorry, man. She left with that guy, the one who took her to the bar the other night.”

  “John something?” I cover my mouth so the name doesn’t explode out.

  “No, the other guy. Some— Shit. Sorry.”

  I have no idea who he’s talking about!

  “What if he takes fucking advantage of her and she’s got no one to save her?” My voice echoes off the concrete walls of the hallway.

  “Gioele, I know how protective you are of her,” he says quietly, “but it was a choice she made.”

  “Did she leave his number?”

  “No, you have hers, though, right?”

  “Yes, but she’s not picking up!”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. This can’t be happening. She’s off on a weekend getaway with some guy she doesn’t know. Do I have to call in the Nascimbeni forces? I will if I have to.

  On my way out of her building, I call my brother. He picks up on the second ring. “Gioele. All good?”

  “It’s Silvina. I don’t know where she is.”

  He’s quiet for a second, taking in the possible implications, and while he does, I’m considering the Santa Colombini, the Mobespierre Sanguine, all the fucking murderous organizations who have a beef with my father’s crowd. It’s freaking me the hell out.

  “What do you know?” he asks, voice dark.

  I scrunch my eyes shut, rubbing my forehead.

  “You think she’s in danger.”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s with a guy in her class, going somewhere.”

  “Outlaw?” Isaias’ question comes like a whip.

  Fuck. “No, probably not. But she could be raped for all I know.” That gets me. My pulse is hitting the upper range of healthy, because that can’t happen, not to my girl. I’ll be killing him if he as much as sniffs her underwear.

  “Gioele.” I don’t like the sound of my brother right now. He sounds soothing. Worried for me, not for my girl. “You have to let her go. You can’t always be there for her, you know. It’s like with Gabriela and me. I’ll be there for whatever she needs from me, but I can’t interfere with the way she lives her life.”

  “You did, though.”

  “Yes, when she was kidnapped. Has Silvina been kidnapped?”

  “She could be! Who knows if she wants to be wherever she is right now,” I snap. “He needs to let her go.”

  “Gioele, I get it. Gabriela is like a sister to me, and I know Silvina is that to you too.”

  “No, she isn’t!” I roar, and it’s the first time I’ve said that to anyone. I pull in a shaky breath. Then, I whisper, “She’s not, Isaias.”

  “What do you mean? You obviously care for her a whole fucking lot.”

  “It’s more than that, fratello. So much more.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore. It’s breaking and tumbling downward.

  “Gioele. You don’t mean…?”

  “Yeah, brother. She’s my— Fuck.”

  “She’s what, now?” He doesn’t want to believe it.

  “Ma never mentioned to you how they had us separated? That was five years ago, and it’s not getting any better.”

  “You’re kidding.” He breathes, charging up before he continues. “Gioele, there are so many gorgeous, sweet ladies out there.”

  “I love her. There’s no one in the entire damn world like her.”

  4. TRUTH SERUM

  GIOELE

  My father didn’t like the thought of me moving to San Francisco. I’m twenty-two, so obviously, he has no say, but once mafia, always mafia, and when you’re in constant danger due to warring famiglie?

  The Nascimbeni and the Santa Colombini stick to separate territories for the most part, but with both families strong, we look at it as ceasefire more than peace. It was my father’s reason for wanting me to remain in the Valley.

  “Silvina? Hey.” I’m still on edge after her disappearing act last weekend and relieved to have her on the phone; a quick text message doesn’t cut it when you need to know that someone’s all right. “Classes today?”

  “It’s Wednesday, so yes.” Said in the right tone, she could have sounded insolent. Instead, she sounds like she’s touching me. I let out a slow exhale.

  “Cool, so you’re done at four, then? Have you eaten anything?”

  “I’ve had my cappuccino.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It had milk in it.”

  I look at my watch. It’s two twenty-five, and she’s going into class in five minutes. “Goddammit, baby.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Goddammit, Ina mia. You’re going to get a sugar crash in class.”

  “I won’t. I’ll be fine. Plus, all it does is make me a little weak.”

  “Which you hate. Did you bring a protein bar?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “I’ve told you so many times.”

  “Gioele. I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re in the Sundown Building, correct? Still two-oh-four?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just come out when I text you.”

  I’m not mad at her. There couldn’t be a better reason to get out of my seat, having Professor Farkwool send me a harsh stare
from the front of the auditorium. I wave. Tack on my most charming smile. “My dog got out of the yard. I’m so sorry, Professor. He’s going on fifteen and rheumatic. The humidity would get him even if the traffic didn’t.” I bat my eyes too, and a few girls giggle.

  “We’ll be going through the most important sections for the test tomorrow,” she warns me, and I bob my head, turn, and give Marla a tender look.

  “Professor, I’ll take down notes for him,” Marla says, hand lifted and everything. It’s like we’re in elementary school. I pout out a silent thank you.

  “Okay. Get your dog indoors.” By the way Professor Farkwool arches her brows, she doubts my emergency.

  I knock on two-oh-four instead of texting Silvina. I do it because I like the hushed come-in from the teacher and the way everyone stares when I open the door. A few dozen faces turn to me, wondering what I need. Some of the girls freeze and let their cheeks go rosy.

  “Sir, I have an important message for Silvina di Nascimbeni?” Teachers find me less imposing if I add a question mark to my statements.

  Silvina is the most beautiful woman in the room. Long, dark, straight hair falls over her shoulders and fans down her sweater. The perfect oval of her face, high cheekbones tingeing bright with embarrassment, and her eyes glinting with suppressed fury.

  I devour her mouth with my eyes. If raspberries faded without going bad, that would be the color of Silvina’s lips. The center of her upper lip curves in the most insolent way. It’s as if she was made by some artist in a far-away country. He kept her in his studio, painting, erasing, painting again, not giving up until her doll’s mouth was perfectly stubborn, until it shone with eternal moisture. She wouldn’t be Silvina without that mountain peak dipping in rushed avalanches on each side of the pinnacle.

  “Miss di Nascimbeni.” The professor nods to her, letting her escape with me. I close the door behind us and take her hand. She’s hesitant, as she always is, but then she forms her fingers in my hold and allows me to take her away.

  “Hey, you.” I sigh out my relief at seeing her again. Yesterday, I left when she started to look uncomfortable. I wanted her happy, even if that meant without me. I stop by the panorama windows giving toward the parking lot.