I smirk at Lorenzo defeated, like a young boy in front of this woman. She holds my hand in hers and raises her eyebrow.
“You are Italian,” she states.
“I just found out my family was from Catania,” I say, a thankful smile gracing my lips.
“Oh, how wonderful. Maybe I know them,” Maria says gleefully, dropping my hand and placing her hands in her lap.
“The Marcellis,” I say.
A look of shock crosses her face, but it quickly fades as she covers a look of familiarity. I glance over at Lorenzo to see him, effectively, looking away from me, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Marcelli?” She asks stoically.
“Si,” I agree.
“Carlotta Marcelli,” Maria recalls slowly.
“Carlotta Marcelli was my Nonna,” I say, tears welling in my eyes.
“Was?” She asks carefully.
I bent down onto my knees at her level. Her palm grazing the tear running down my cheek.
“She passed away about a year ago,” I whisper.
“You look just like her. Your eyes just as wide as her,” she says softly, lovingly caressing the curls of my hair.
She knew my Nonna.
“You knew my Nonna,” I whisper.
Lorenzo tightens his grasp around my forearm and pulls me up from the floor.
“She’s senile. Don’t listen to her,” he argues, pulling me to him defensively.
What in the holy fuck nuts is he doing?
“I am as senile as you, bambino,” she warns.
Her seething glare bore into Lorenzo as he drops his grasp on my arm, relaxing his posture next to me.
“Carlotta was beautiful, talented, kind, smart,” Maria continued.
“She was,” I whisper, my emotions overflowing.
“We have to go,” he says.
“It was nice to meet you. I would love to know more about her as a child if you have time,” I say.
“Nothing but time for you, Amelia,” she says affectionately.
As I turn around and ready to leave the room with Lorenzo next to me, her cracking voice stops me in my tracks.
“And Armando?” Maria asks.
“You knew my nonno,” I say, shock resonating in the very depths of my soul.
Tears swelled in her eyes that she quickly tried to hide with a forced smile.
“Is he alive?” She asks.
I looked down at my feet before slowly shaking my head in her direction.
“He passed away of a heart attack a few years ago. He’s with my nonna now,” I tell her.
Slowly nodding her head emotionally, “Si,” she agrees.
* * *
As we left the villa,we walked through the orchards. Our hands occasionally grazing against one another. The orange groves were fragrant and aromatic and offered the perfect icebreaker to start conversation with Lorenzo.
“You never would have thought oranges would smell so amazing,” I say.
He numbly nods as his jaw tenses in frustration. As we walk through the grass and through the large orange groves, my fingers graze across the low overhanging fruitful branches.
“You were adopted by Luis?” I ask.
“Not officially. He found me after his father died in a church service. I lost my mother when I was very young,” he says, his voice trailing off into a hushed whisper.
A deep breath escaping from my lips, “I’m sorry.”
“For some reason he took pity on some poor street kid.”
“Antonio is your brother,” I state.
“And business partner,” he replies.
“In finance,” I say pointedly.
He nods dolefully. His gaze straight ahead and unchanged. His eyes have become sullen in a flattened blue. I stop him from walking with my grip around his forearm.
“Maria seems wonderful,” I say.
“She is the glue of the family. The only one who can keep us all in line.”
“She knows my family, I can’t believe it,” I whisper.
He scoffs and crosses his arms in the air quickly, “She’s old and senile,” Lorenzo huffs.
He places his hands around a large orange hanging low on a branch in front of him. He smells the orange skin and exhales a deep breath from the aroma. He picks the orange quickly from its stem and turns around to face me. His stern gaze and facial expression softened.
A deep sigh escaping from my lips, “Enzo,” I say.
Handing me the orange slowly, “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier, at the club. I don’t know what got into me,” Lorenzo says.
“I know what got into you,” I say.