Page 43 of Luca
Mr. DiMauro shook his head passionately. “Mai,” he answered with firm conviction. “Never. They have my daughter in them. Luca more than Cassio. My little Luca has a soft heart underneath all that charm.” I scoffed softly but didn’t correct him. “He does, Margaret. Luca suffered the most from his father’s cruelty. His father tried to beat it out of him, but he failed. You know why?” he asked and I shook my head. It never even occurred to me to ask him why he’d tell me all this. “Because he is stubborn like his mother. It was her stubborn pride that stopped her from seeking help from me.”
Luca and Cassio King had their own ghosts and crosses to bear. I had just met this man, but I believed him. For whatever reason, I believed him.
For the next ten minutes we sat in silence, watching the beautiful blue sea shimmer with sunlight and crash softly against the shoreline.
He broke the silence. “So you want a job, Margaret Callahan?”
I tilted my head his way, watching the wrinkles on his face.
“What do you want in return?” I asked suspiciously.
He chuckled. “Your safety, bella mia.”
I studied him. He kind of reminded me of Da. My father could be ruthless but he was also protective and fair. The best father anyone could wish for.
“I’ll be grateful for anything,” I answered with a smile. “Anything decent,” I added quickly.
“Then help me to my feet, bella, and let’s go get you a decent job,” he retorted amused.
* * *
It tookus a while to get back to the tavern.
We both walked slowly and wobbled, for different reasons, but we made it back.
Once we entered the establishment, it became clear that Pascale was very well known. He was greeted with respect and unlike what I had always seen in movies, people actually liked him. As if he was their protector.
Pictures of old Sicily hung on the walls. The round tables were covered in black and white checkered tablecloths. The sound of old Italian songs drifted through the air, along with the scent of good old-fashioned Italian cooking.
My stomach promptly growled and I groaned. At this rate, I’d be as big as a house when it was time to give birth.
“This baby had to be Italian,” I grumbled under my breath. “She always wants to eat.”
Mr. DiMauro chuckled.
“That’s not such a bad thing,” he mused. “We, Italians, can eat and drink.”
I grinned, looking at him amused. “We Irish can certainly drink.”
“Signore DiMauro,” the owner of the tavern greeted.
“Buon giorno, Paolo.” Mr. DiMauro’s eyes turned my way. “This is Miss Margaret, my new friend. Can we have a table,per favore?” Please. The man was charming and used manners.
Paolo’s eyes lit up and he immediately ushered us to his best table.
He seated us, speaking in a rushed Italian as he snapped his fingers at a waitress to hurry up and bring us drinks.
She showed up with two glasses and wine. I glanced at my large belly, that obviously screamed pregnancy, then her.
“Umm, maybe juice for me? Or just water, please,” I asked, giving her an apologetic smile.
The woman gave me a blank look and Mr. DiMauro must have repeated it in Italian because she turned on her heel and went to fetch a non-alcoholic beverage. At least, I hoped.
“Sit down, Paolo,” Mr. DiMauro said. “I have a proposition for you.”
Ten minutes later, I had a job and my room was rented to me. Indefinitely.
ChapterNineteen
