Page 582 of Not Over You

Instead of doing an altar, every March 19, Giovi opened his doors and offered the first five hundred customers a free loaf of bread in numerous shapes, along with dried fava beans and two Zeppole di San Giuseppe—Italian cream-filled pastries made for the Feast of St. Joseph.

The bread was such a hit, though, that Valentino’s started offering it regularly in a loaf. It was especially popular for Sunday dinners.

Sunday…

It was Friday. The next day Saturday. I was dreading dressing up in that costume and working for Mo.

“Lucila?”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “I’ll go grab some. I’m sure Michele has some fresh.”

She continued to search the counter, probably mentally adding more items to her order, while I rushed to grab more bread.

There were three sections of Valentino’s: the store where all the goods were displayed and sold; the bakery where all the sweets were made; and below, where Michele spent most of his time baking the bread. It was all brick, even the ovens. It was filled to the brim with sacks of flour, sugar, salt, and yeast.

As soon as I was in, the heat engulfed me. I went straight to the bin the St. Joseph’s bread was in and grabbed an armful. I’d have to put them in the paper sleeves with the Valentino’s mark on them. But the sight of Michele stopped me.

His son was so different from him. Michele looked like he stepped off the boat yesterday. He wore a white t-shirt tucked into tan pants. His arms were defined from years and years of hauling sacks and moving bread in and out of ovens with a metal tool longer than his arms. His skin was tan and slick. His dark brown hair was always covered in a flat cap that had belonged to his grandfather.

Even though he and Lilo never got along, I hoped he didn’t give the hat to Sebastiano. It was mixed up in the blood, sweat, and tears of this place, and something tugged on my heart when I thought about it going to anyone but Lilo.

Sebastiano would snap it up, along with this place, in a heartbeat. He tried to act like the son Michele never had. When Michele had one.

Years ago, I had a hard time putting my finger on the pulse of Michele and Lilo’s relationship. I couldn’t understand why they always pulled in different directions. But it became clear to me that, in so many ways, they were alike, but in one major way, they were different.

Michele refused to condone or accept anyone who ran with men like Paul Gallo. He was all for people immigrating to America for the dream. And those kinds of men? They profited off other people’s hard work. When they came into a family-owned store and told the owners they would be taking a percentage of their earnings, simply because they wanted to—it was something Michele wouldn’t stand for.

My gut told me he, or his father or grandfather, had been pressed about it before. But they refused to be taken.

Lilo…he had darkness in him. He was capable of things better left to the night. Michele knew it. But sometimes I wondered why Michele hadn’t tried to direct Lilo’s anger in a different direction. Lilo hadn’t started out in that life. He went to it because, I honestly thought, he refused to be rejected.

Carine tried to change his course with music. Which was why she always wanted to help “troubled” children with it. Lilo was a brilliant pianist, but it didn’t do anything for all the shit he bottled up inside. He needed a different kind of outlet. One that gave him a physical release.

That was never good enough for Michele, though. It was Valentino’s or nothing.

Maybe it could have been both for Lilo. But he felt shunned, and so he did something that was always expected of him.

He ran to the streets.

To someone who nurtured the beast in him instead of trying to keep it tamed behind bars. Paul Gallo.

Let it out occasionally, during controlled fights, and it could still live in the darkness. But deny it totally? It went wild with hunger. Gallo knew this and played on it.

Sometimes I resented Michele for not trying to go a different way with his son. I knew Carine did, too. We’d talked about it. It was one way or no way for Michele. But again, Michele and Lilo were a lot alike.

Even though Michele’s eyes softened when he noticed me standing there, in the depth of those glistening dark eyes was defiance.

What was even more crazy, for me? I found the same safety in Michele’s eyes that I did in Lilo’s. Which made the situation so sad. They were the same country, made up of the same people, but separated by a battle line.

Michele swiped his arm across his sweaty brow. “Out of St. Joseph’s bread?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Mrs. Camerota wanted some for Sunday.”

“Always.” He grinned and went back to the fires.

He stopped me right before I walked out.

“You doin’ all right, kid?”

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