“That is my favorite song,” I said. “It will always be special to me.”
He kissed my hand and then pressed a button on the dash. A second later the song came on. I understood then whymammacried when a song she had danced to withpapàcame on. I had always thought it made her sad because she missed those times, but the music gave her the power to relive them.
“Remind me to thank Bugsy,” he said.
“Per?”
“For teaching Dom the classics.” He turned it up some. “When we get back to New York, we’ll listen to it in my old Cadillac.”
There was so much about him that I did not know. “Tell me something about yourself that will shock me,” I said.
“You first.”
“That is not fair!”
“Agree or not.” He grinned. It was mischievous to its core.
“Let me think.” I tapped at my chin. “I am so boring. All I did before you was hide and make candles.”
“And touch yourself.”
“No!” I laughed. It sounded wild in the car. “I thought about it a few times, to find the release, but I did not go through with it. Not until the night of the moon—ah! That is it. I go a little…wild…when the moon is full. It does something to me.”
“That doesn’t shock me,” he said.
“That is all I’ve got. Now tell me yours.”
“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” He laughed. “I enjoy the opera.”
I thought about that for a moment. “I can see that about you,” I said. “The opera is…how do I want to say this?” I arranged the words in my mind for another moment. “It is refined, romantic, but there is something about the music that is…ruthless, at times. It is an emotional ride. You do not shy away from any of that.”
“You ever been?”
“No. I have not done much. But I remember watching it on the television with myziaonce.”
“My mother—” It was the first time I ever heard him hesitate, but he went over it so smoothly that, if I had not been paying attention, maybe I would have missed it. “Emilia, she’s the one who used to bring me. She said it was a date, and one day, I’d bring the girls there to make them fall in love with me.”
“Did it work?”
He shrugged. “I never brought a date.”
“Ah.” I smiled. “You did not need to bring them there. One look at you and…bang. Any girl would fall at your feet.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” I blinked at him, wondering if we were living in separate times when I had first set eyes on him.
“You didn’t fall at my feet, Alcina.” He kissed my hand again. “You stepped up to my side.”
“I can dodge a few bullets.” I grinned. “Tell me more about yourmamma.” The only thing I knew was her name and that she had died right before Corrado came to Italy.
“Emilia wasn’t my mother,” he said. “She was, but she was actually my aunt. My biological mother—Luna—died when I was just a few months old. Emilia stepped in and became my mother. I didn’t know until recently. Or who my father was.”
Did he think him enjoying the opera was more shocking than this?
“How did you find out?” The question came out as a whisper.
His jaw was tense. The muscles in his neck strained. “Emilia was murdered by the Scarpones. They were looking for my little sister, Marietta. They thought Emilia knew where she was, or was hiding her. Marietta and I share the same father—Corrado—but different mothers.
