Page 47 of Shadowed Loyalty

And the money. One couldn’t forget the money.

Yes, Lorenzo understood it. He’d seen it, watched it change the face of his neighborhood, his family. He had prayed that they would turn away from those temptations. He prayed it every day, with every candle, at every mass since he was thirteen years old and first tasted the communion wafer, since he first felt that surge of something beyond the natural come over him. He prayed that they would see the destruction they wrought.

Ten years of prayers hadn’t been enough, apparently. He drew in a long breath and turned to Manny. He’d follow the example of St. Monica and pray for another sixteen, or another sixty. However long it took. “The senator said not to worry. He’ll take care of it. I expect him to call back in a day or two.”

“Excellent. I knew he’d come through. Grazii, Enzo.”

Lorenzo jerked his head in a nod and spun back toward the door. Let his brothers find their own way back to wherever they’d stashed their beer-laden car.

“Enzo?” At Manny’s soft word, Lorenzo turned back around. Worry lined the elder’s face—worry that he reserved for family. “Be sure to speak with Sabina before you go, will you? She’s seemed down these last two days. She won’t talk to me or her mother, so we don’t know what’s wrong. She seemed happy enough when you left the other night, so we know you didn’t fight again but…”

Lorenzo nodded as his stomach clenched. Figuring she’d be in the parlor with her mother, he headed that direction. When he poked his head in, though, he saw only Mama Rosa. “Hi. Is Sabina around?”

Mama Rosa looked up with a strained smile. “Oh, Enzo. Good. Maybe you can drag her out of that kitchen.”

Lorenzo’s brows stretched upward. “Kitchen? Since when does Cook let anyone in the kitchen?”

Rosa sighed. “They reached a truce, somehow. She’s been in there almost nonstop since yesterday. Said something about practicing for when you get married and taking a few meals to the Bennatos, but it’s getting ridiculous. She’s hiding in there, but she won’t tell me why.” Rosa sighed, her face weary. “See if you can get her out of the house, will you? Go for a walk, a drive, something. The girl hasn’t tasted fresh air since she got back from Mary and Isadora’s yesterday.”

Lorenzo nodded again, pushing his hand into his pocket and jingling his change as he tried to think of what might be bothering her. When he realized he had borrowed his boss’s habit, he quickly drew his hand out again with a crooked smile. He soon stood in the kitchen doorway, watching silently for a long moment as Sabina drew a perfect loaf of bread from the oven and then turned to a bowl filled with flour. “Bean?”

She jumped, spraying fine white powder all over the table and floor as she spun around. She pressed a floured hand to her already dusty navy housedress. “Enzo! Don’t scare me like that!”

He looked around the room and noted the considerable pile of bread, pastries, and a few items he couldn’t readily identify. “Bean, what are you doing?”

She waved him off and turned back to her bowl. “Just practicing some of the recipes I hadn’t perfected. I have to be able to feed us, you know.”

“Us or all of Little Italy?”

Rather than laughing or even smiling at his joke, she ignored him and carefully measured a spoonful of salt into her bowl. Lorenzo allowed the silence and studied her. Her dress was smeared with flour and dough, her feet were encased in slippers rather than her usual heeled pumps. Her hair, though neat, was unwaved and even had a few streaks of flour turning it gray. He moved over to the table, mainly so that he could lean around it to look at her face. As he had suspected, dark shadows circled her eyes, and her usual golden skin was pale.

“Bean? Are you okay?”

She flicked an irritated glance his way. “Do you mind? You’re in my way.”

“Good. I intend to stay in it until you answer me.”

Sighing, Sabina rested her palms on the table. “Did Mama and Papa tell you to talk to me? Because there’s nothing wrong. Really. I’m fine.”

“Then you won’t mind taking a walk with me.” He tilted his head to measure her reaction, pleased at the self-awareness that flashed in her eyes.

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t go out in public like this!”

He let himself smile as he reached up to rub a smear of crusted dough off her cheek. “So go change. But make it snappy—we’ve only got so much daylight left out there.”

She opened her mouth, eyes aglint at the command, but then pressed her lips together and nodded. “Give me five minutes.”

While she was gone, Lorenzo poked through the mountain of baked goods, helping himself to a calzone that he found cooling by the oven. And a cassatelle, when he spotted the plate of them—his favorite.

He was licking ricotta and chocolate from his fingers when Sabina came back into the kitchen with lifted brows. “Helped yourself, I see.”

He grinned. “I think you’ve perfected those, Bean.”

Her lips twitched up into an indulgent smile, but her eyes remained flat and dark. “Good to know I can cook to your liking, anyway.”

The words could have been light, jesting. Or they could have hinted at someone else’s disregard, had she emphasized the “your.” But her tone instead implied that cooking might be the only thing she had to her advantage, which made a frown crease his brow. After wiping his fingers on a napkin, he held out his hand and nodded toward the back door. “Come on. You’re going to have to explain that one once we’re outside.”

Her fingers laced through his, and she drew in a long breath. Once they gained the back stoop and the fragrant June evening, she let it out again, and it seemed like her whole being sagged on the exhale. “Enzo, why do you love me?”

---