The Chocolatier, page 25
Chapter 27
Celina rushed outside, her head aching from the onslaught of indisputable facts. As she raced from the villa, her espadrilles slipped against the rocky exterior gravel, rendering her unsteady.
She was drowning; her life had just capsized on the open sea, and she had no life preserver, nothing to lash herself to against the crashing waves of truth.
She had no idea know who she’d been married to, or who Marco’s father was. Were there two men named Antonino Savoia? Possibly, but this Savoia family was not the family of her husband.
They were strangers.
Why had Tony told her they were relatives? To impress her? Or had he known that the real Antonino was missing? With her head throbbing in agony, she started down the hill, her shoes slapping against the pavement. Desperate for time to sort out her thoughts, she decided to walk to Marco’s school to wait for him.
Overhead, clouds blocked the sun, and Celina shivered, brushing her bare arms. She hadn’t taken the time to get a jacket, but she didn’t care. She only wanted to distance herself from this disaster. Maybe she’d wake up and discover this had been a nightmare.
But no, she recognized the truth deep in her being. Once she reflected on the clues that had been there all along, she knew that Sara spoke the truth. Perhaps she had been scared to examine the little discrepancies, too afraid to acknowledge facts that didn’t align in the dolce world she yearned to live in.
The chill air slapped her skin, awakening her nerves with a thousand excruciating pinpricks that heralded The Truth.
Had she been selfish? Perhaps, though not for the trimmings of wealth, but for the love and comfort of family. In the beginning, she had acted out of a sense of duty to Tony and his family. She had been motivated more for Marco than herself. Until Lauro had illuminated the dark wasteland of her heart.
Had love masked the persistence of facts right before her?
A whirlwind of questions, churning like autumn leaves, swirled through her mind. How would the truth affect the love Lauro professed for her? How would it affect every other person in the Savoia extended family, from Sara and Carmine to Adele, Werner, and Karin? Even the villagers of Amalfi, Marco’s teachers, and friends, and patrons of her cioccolateria.
She would be branded a liar.
An imposter.
An opportunist.
This wasn’t who she was.
Yet, a tiny, mean-spirited voice inside of her disagreed.
Had she been a willing accomplice in her husband’s deception by ignoring the signs for convenience and continued acceptance?
And could she be forgiven for that?
Maybe, but nothing in her life would be as it had been before. This realization lit a thin fuse of fury in her.
Staggering under the weight of this revelation, she stumbled to the edge of the lane under a gnarled olive tree and sank to her knees, broken and sobbing. Above her, even the sparrows chattered their reproach. She had worked tirelessly to make a life for her son and herself. Never had she consciously meant to harm anyone or set herself out to be anything she thought she wasn’t. How dare Adele or Carmine accuse her of such treachery?
The sputtering fuse of anger sizzled within her. She wiped her eyes.
Her husband had been a decent man, not a swindler or con artist, yet here she was, victimized by his actions. But she still had a choice. She could succumb to victimhood, or she could rise with strength and dignity, just as she had when he died, or when she decided to come to Italy, or open her shop. She curled her fingers and balled her fists.
Despite her misery, the fuse was lit, empowering her with fiery determination. She would follow it wherever it led.
Footsteps behind her, and she whirled around.
Lauro.
“Amore mio,” he murmured. He knelt beside her and swept her into his arms.
Under the silvery gray boughs of the ancient olive tree, they held each other. In his tender embrace, she felt strength emanating from him, though for all Celina knew, this was the last time she would hold Lauro in her arms. Finally, she lifted her face to his.
“I’m so sor—”
“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger against her lips. “You have nothing to apologize for. This doesn’t change my love for you. You honestly thought your husband was my brother. I believe you.”
At his words, relief coursed through her. He believed her. She was sure she could figure out everything else, but where to begin? “I never had a reason to doubt my husband’s identity. He had his military identification and his dog tags. How would he have gotten those?”
“Maybe he stole them or bought them on the black market. Or they were counterfeit.”
Celina bristled at this. “My husband wasn’t a criminal. He was a fine, educated man.” Even if he were a little rough around the edges.
“I didn’t say he was, cara.” He kissed her forehead. “During the war, many people had forged documents, for whatever reason. Often to protect themselves and their family.”
“He told me he was part of the Savoia chocolate family.” Or, had he only agreed when someone said it? She couldn’t even recall now.
“Did you ever meet any of his family?”
“Only once. When we visited Santa Monica, he said he needed to visit his uncle.” She pressed her temples, trying to recall the day. “He had just moved into a small bungalow not too far from the beach. Tony asked me to wait in the parlor while they spoke first. Then I met him.”
“What was his name?”
“He introduced himself only as Art.”
Lauro sighed. “That’s not much help.”
“But while I was waiting, the day’s post was delivered through the slot in the door. I picked it up and put it on the sideboard for him. The letters were addressed to Arturo Romani. I remembered because his surname was so similar to mine.”
He enveloped her in his arms. “We can start there.”
“No, we can’t. After Tony died, I tried to call him. His telephone number was listed in the telephone directory, but when I dialed the number, it had been disconnected. I mailed a letter, but I never received a reply.”
Arturo had been such an old man, she’d assumed the worst—that he had passed away, too.
“We only visited him once. After that, Tony never had anything else to do with him. He said something about a falling out. I didn’t press the issue.” She’d learned not to press her husband for answers. When she would ask about his family, he often exploded. As long as she didn’t broach the subject of family, Tony was generally happy.
Now, she knew better.
At that recollection, fresh tears burst through her new resolve. There had been earlier clues. And she’d ignored them to maintain a peaceful home life. But she’d had no idea that he wasn’t who he said he was. Her anger against Tony—and herself—rushed back and she gripped Lauro’s jacket lapels.
“Whatever happened in the past, I trust you,” he said, rubbing her back. “I know you’re not a fortune seeker out to defraud our family.”
Outraged, she looked up at him. “That you mention that at all is proof that you thought of it.”
“Those weren’t my words, or even my mother’s. But consider this, if your husband died, my brother could still be alive. Don’t you see? We haven’t lost anything. We’re back to where we were before you came. And with both of us, we can double our efforts.”
“I promise to do whatever it takes to help you find Nino.” Even as Celina uttered these words, another thought occurred to her. If her last name wasn’t Savoia, then what was it? Who had she been married to all these years? And who was Marco’s father?
She gazed into Lauro’s eyes and saw the commitment he had to her. Still, she had other issues to consider. “How will I ever explain this to Marco?”
“He’s young. Will a few days matter, or do you have to go into detail right now?” Lauro wrapped his arms around her and swayed. “When you’re ready to explain, I’ll be there with you. I don’t want him to feel abandoned. He’s part of us going forward. We’re going to be a family, Celina. I’m more determined than ever.”
“Those are the kindest words I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true. And the best news is that now my father can’t use some outdated Catholic canon to forbid our marriage.”
This thought eased Celina’s mind a little. But she had an unsettling feeling that Carmine might have another, even stronger reason now.
Chapter 28
San Francisco, 1945
As soon as Tony cleared the troop ship, he knelt and kissed the ground. After a long tour in the Pacific theater that included the Philippines, all he wanted was to feel terra firma under his feet and have an authentic Italian supper. But first, he craved a well-deserved libation to celebrate his homecoming.
Unlike some of the guys, he had no perfumed sweetheart throwing herself into his waiting arms, no family cheering as he disembarked. Antonio Baldini was nearly alone in the world.
Other buddies had crowded into the first cheesy dive bar they found on the docks, but Tony wanted his first celebratory drink back on American soil to be special. Although he was proud of his service, he’d waited a long, long time for this moment.
While the Iowa and Nebraska farm boys on the corner were trying to figure out where to go, Tony shot out his arm and whistled for a Yellow Cab. “Just like back home in New York.” He grinned and slid into the back seat. “Take me somewhere classy. Not the joints around here.”
The taxi driver glanced in his rearview mirror and then did a double take when he saw Tony’s scarred face. “Rough service, kid?”
“Don’t feel much like a kid anymore,” Tony said, drawing a hand over the ugly scars on his face. Sure, he was self-conscious sometimes. Who wouldn’t be? But he was damned lucky to be alive. Instead of turning into a wallflower—not that he’d ever been that—and hoping no one would notice him, he was determined to make the most of the life he had left.
He had plans. Big plans. For sure he had the moxie, but at this moment, he had no idea how to make his plans happen—or keep himself out of danger. He’d joined the army in ‘41 right after Pearl Harbor to escape a risky situation that wasn’t going to end well for him—one way or another.
Never again.
Before that, he’d poured his heart into going to college and making something of himself—what were the odds of anyone getting out of the tough neighborhood he’d been born in? But he’d done it.
For a while.
As the driver shifted into gear and eased into the dockside traffic, Tony stretched his legs in the back seat. “How about Nob Hill? I heard the Fairmont is pretty ritzy.”
“For a young guy like you?” The cabbie shrugged. “It’s had its day. Lot of old folks there now. Say, need some new threads? Got a cousin with a shop off Union Square. Fix you right up.”
“Maybe later. Any swell places to get a glass of champagne?” Yeah, that’s what he’d start with.
The driver pushed his flat wool driving cap back from his forehead. “Well, la-di-da,” he said, chuckling. “Bubbly’s pretty rare, what with the war in France. But we got good wines out of Napa and Sonoma valleys, just up the road. That or beer. I got a beer budget, know what I mean?”
Tony watched the city unfold before him, amazed at the gaily painted Victorian architecture and sparkling blue bays. The mighty Golden Gate Bridge soared above it all, connecting two rich bodies of land. What a city.
The cab driver turned onto Market Street. “How’s the St. Francis Hotel? Fancy bar there. Lots of classy dames.”
“That’ll do.” Tony eased back. That’s exactly what he had in mind.
He’d keep a low profile here on the west coast until he figured out if it was safe to return to New York.
He had tried to leave his old gang behind. He’d juggled three soul-destroying jobs while studying to be a pharmacist. After graduation, he’d scraped together the money to open a new pharmacy with a partner near his old neighborhood. However, that money came at a big cost and the well-organized gang had a long memory.
One night, when he had tried to resist his old gang buddies who had turned up demanding drugs and cash, they’d cleaned him out and left him reminders—his permanently droopy eye and a slashed eyebrow. Soon he discovered that if he wanted to stay alive, he had to do what they wanted and supply them with drugs.
Tony hated his duplicity. Worse, his partner confronted him. Volunteering for the war effort provided a quick way out of a hot mess.
He wasn’t anxious to return now. There had to be another way, another place, to build a life. He stared out the window. San Francisco looked pretty good.
After the taxi driver let him out, Tony strolled under the big clock at the St. Francis Hotel and into the lobby bar. Still wearing his officer’s uniform, Tony hadn’t even gotten to the bar when a man in a similar uniform offered to buy him a drink. Battle scars probably brought on pity. He’d gotten plenty more of those in his military service.
“What’re you drinking?”
“I’m celebrating,” Tony said. “Champagne.”
“I like your style.” The man spoke to the bartender.
Tony settled for a bubbly white wine from California, though he couldn’t tell the difference. Damn, this is good.
“Just returned two weeks ago myself,” the man said. Tall and well proportioned, he held himself with an aristocratic bearing and took a genuine interest in Tony.
Tony could tell this man had real class. “You’re Italian, too, right? Tony’s my name.”
The man smiled. “Friends call me Doc.”
“You a doctor?”
“I was in medical school when I decided to enlist and serve a greater, more pressing need. Were you in the Pacific?”
Tony nodded. “You?”
“Most recently. Do you have any plans for civilian life?”
“Besides a good Italian dinner tonight? Just the American Dream, my friend. Like every other guy coming home.”
Tony had big goals, but he needed a safe place to work. If he couldn’t make that happen back in New York, maybe he’d stay here. Meet a beautiful woman, get married, have some kids. Build a business, buy a home. A fresh start, that’s what he wanted. But he’d heard the gangs had west coast operations now. Would he be safe anywhere?
Tony sipped his drink. “So how about you? Staying here?”
Doc shook his head. “It’s time to move on.”
“Awfully nice here. Where you headed?”
“I like to travel. I’m leaving for South America.”
Tony let out a low whistle. “Brazil, Argentina? Beautiful women, I hear.”
“You seem to have good taste.” Doc chuckled and drained his glass. “I had something else in mind.”
“No kidding? What?”
Ignoring his question, Doc stroked his chin. “I know a good restaurant in North Beach, Fior D’Italia on Mason, if you like the food of northern Italy. Should be able to get in tonight.”
“As long as they serve osso buco and a good Barolo wine, count me in.”
“Indeed they do,” Doc said as he paid the bar tab. “On the way, I’ll introduce you to the best chocolate maker—a chocolatière—in San Francisco. I want to visit one last time before I leave.”
“So you’re serious.”
“Tomorrow morning. My passport’s ready.” He tapped his breast pocket. “I’ll share my plans with you over dinner.”
Chapter 29
Naples, 1953
When Celina entered the café, Lauro’s heart leapt at the sight of her. The thought that his father might banish her once he heard the truth had kept him up all night with worry.
Celina lifted her hand and smiled when she saw him. She wore a white cotton shirt with a navy skirt, and a wide red belt cinched around a waist so slim he could span it with his hands. Navy peep-toe shoes teased him, and all he wanted to do was slip those off. At her neck, she had twisted a silk scarf and flipped up her collar. With her dark sunglasses pushed up over her thick blond hair, she could pass for a film star.
But Celina meant more than that to him. He blew out a breath, recalling how beautiful she had looked under dappled sunlight in their hidden cove, where she came to him as naturally as if they had always been meant for each other. Now, he needed her in his life. Surely his father would relent once he heard the news. But he had to be sure. Celina had been through a great deal in her life; he couldn’t bear to see her hurt again.
Lauro stood to greet her and leaned in to kiss her. A light scent perfumed her hair and neck; he lingered beside her, a breath from her skin, inhaling her essence and aching with longing for her.
He felt his mother’s eyes on them. Quickly, he greeted her and pulled out chairs for the two women.
“I thought this was the best place to meet,” Lauro said, leaning across the table. He’d asked his mother and Celina to meet him in Naples for lunch to make sure they agreed on how to inform his father of Celina’s revelation. Most of the shops in Amalfi closed at midday, and shopkeepers joined friends in the cafés or climbed the steps to prepare lunch or have a nap.
“I left early,” Celina said. “Karin will take care of opening the shop after lunch. She’s extremely responsible.”
Sara nodded. “I told your father I was going shopping in Naples and joining my sister for lunch. The one he dislikes.” She removed her white gloves and slid them into her sturdy handbag.
After a waiter took their order, Lauro began. “Papa is already against us, so first we need to show him how this shocking news is actually to our family’s advantage. Because Nino might still be alive.”
“I pray he is,” Sara said. “We had lived with hope for such a long time that to finally mourn his death was a release. But if he might still be alive, then we have hope again.”
Lauro exchanged looks with Celina. He’d thought about how this news would reopen wounds.
“This paves the way for Celina to become a real part of the family.” Sara smoothed her hand across Celina’s. “I’m being selfish. I don’t want to lose you and Marco. You and Lauro love each other. You should be planning your future.” She shot a look at her son. “That idea should come from Carmine, though. He’s the head of the family, and he’ll want to think it was his idea.”
