5. Diana

5

DIANA

I carry a tray with napkins and utensils to the dining room to help Maria set the table for dinner. Raised voices filter through the walls, muffled yet urgent. The tension in the D'Amato household, always simmering beneath the surface, has reached a boiling point.

I inch closer to the door, straining to catch snippets of conversation. Elio's deep baritone mingles with Matteo's smoother tones and Lana's sharp retorts.

"I told you not to push him," Lana hisses. "He's not ready."

"How was I supposed to know the bastard would pull a gun?" Elio fires back.

My heart leaps into my throat. A gun? What happened?

As they continue, the story unfolds. The warehouse. The confrontation. Lazaro losing control, beating a man to a bloody pulp. I feel the blood drain from my face, my mind struggling to reconcile the brooding, lost soul I've come to know with this violent outburst.

But what chills me most is the realization that Lazaro has vanished. No one knows where he's gone or what state of mind he's in.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop,” Maria comments.

“It’s hard not to hear.”

“You’ll learn to not hear if you’re smart.”

“You need to send men to find him,” Lana demands of Elio.

“I’m already on it,” he responds, telling her the area of town he has his men looking.

“We’re heading out again. We thought you’d want to come too,” Matteo adds.

“I’ll let the staff know to hold off dinner,” Lana says.

I duck back into the kitchen as their footsteps approach.

Lana bursts through the door, her eyes scanning the room until they land on me. “Where’s Anna?”

“I believe she’s in the pantry. Can I help you?”

"We need to postpone dinner. There's been a… situation."

I nod, trying to keep my face neutral. "Of course, Miss D'Amato. Is everything alright?"

Lana shakes her head. "Just keep things running here. We'll be back as soon as we can."

Anna emerges. “Miss D’Amato?”

“We need to push back dinner. Plate it and keep it warm if necessary, and we’ll grab it when we get back. Other staff can leave at their regular time.”

“Of course,” Anna says with a nod.

Lana leaves in a rush, and I help Anna wrap up dinner to keep it warm. As I work, I worry about Lazaro. What if they can't find him? What if he's hurt, or worse? The Lazaro I've come to know seems so lost, so vulnerable beneath his gruff exterior. The thought of him out there alone, perhaps not remembering how to get home, makes my chest ache.

We wait for an hour, and Anna decides to plate the meals and put them in the warmer. When we finish, she dismisses the staff, including me. She says she’ll take care of the family when they return since she’s one of a few of the staff who live in the house.

I busy myself wiping down counters hoping that Lazaro will return before I have to leave.

“You can head home now,” Anna says.

I hesitate, not wanting to leave. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying…"

"I'm sure. You've done more than enough. Go on, get some rest."

Reluctantly, I nod. "Okay. But if anything happens, if they need anything?—”

"I'll handle it," Anna assures me with a gentle smile. "Now go on, scoot."

I gather my things, casting one last glance around the kitchen. Everything's in order, but it feels wrong to leave with Lazaro still out there somewhere.

The night air is cool as I step outside and make my way to my beat-up old car. The engine sputters to life on the second try, and I pull out of the driveway, my thoughts still swirling with worry for Lazaro.

I head toward my apartment but find I can’t go home without looking for Lazaro. I recall the area where Elio said they were looking for Lazaro. I drive to the industrial area he mentioned, noting how dark and eerie it is this time of night. I grip the steering wheel tightly, fighting my unease. I’ve been traveling around the country on my own for a long time, so sketchy neighborhoods aren’t new to me.

The area is deserted, no signs of life. Just as I'm about to give up and head home, I see a bright light emanating from a garage. It's a mechanic's shop that appears to still be open. That’s good to know since I’ll need repairs on my car soon.

Then it hits me that maybe Lazaro found this place too. He loves working on cars. Could he have sought refuge here?

I pull into the small parking lot and cut the engine. I head into the garage, hoping beyond hope that Lazaro is here.

Before I can take more than a few steps, a skinny, scowling man in grease-stained coveralls blocks my path. His eyes narrow suspiciously as he looks me up and down.

"We're closed," he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm actually looking for someone. Lazaro D'Amato. Is he here?"

The man's eyes widen, and a flicker of fear crosses his face. "Yeah, he's here. Showed up a couple hours ago. Do you know him?”

I nod, although it’s not like I’m friends with him. He’s my boss’s brother.

“I’d like to go home,” he grumbles.

“I’ll talk to him.”

The mechanic nods eagerly, clearly relieved. "He's in the back bay, working on a sedan."

I thank him and make my way deeper into the garage, my heart pounding. The rhythmic clanking of tools grows louder as I approach the last bay. And there he is.

I approach the sedan cautiously, my eyes fixed on Lazaro's form. He's working on the wheel of a car lifted high above him, his movements sure and precise. For a moment, I just watch him, mesmerized by the play of his muscles under his oil-stained shirt.

A smear of dark grease stretches across his cheekbone, contrasting sharply with his tanned skin. It should make him look disheveled, but instead, it only enhances his rugged appeal. He’s dangerously attractive like this. I chastise myself for thinking such things about my boss’s brother.

What strikes me most is the change in his demeanor. The tension that's been a constant presence since his return has melted away. His brow, usually furrowed in frustration or confusion, is smooth and relaxed. His jaw, often clenched tight, moves slightly as he concentrates on his task.

This is where Lazaro truly finds peace. Surrounded by the smell of oil and the clink of metal on metal, he seems more at ease than I've ever seen him. The storm that usually rages behind his eyes has calmed.

I pause, unsure how to announce my presence without startling him. But before I can speak, Lazaro's head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for his reaction.

“What are you doing here?” The calm demeanor slides away, replaced by annoyance.

"I was worried about you," I say softly, taking a step closer. "Everyone is."

Lazaro's scowl deepens, his hands tightening on the wrench he's holding. "How’d you find me?”

"I… I remembered what you said about liking to work on cars. When I saw this place open… I took a chance.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I fight the urge to give him a hug.

"Why?" he finally asks, his voice low and rough.

"Why what?"

"Why did you bother looking for me?" There's a hint of genuine confusion in his tone, as if he can't fathom why anyone would care enough to search for him.

“Like I said, I was worried about you.”

He turns away abruptly, focusing back on the car. "You shouldn't waste your time caring about me. I'm not worth it."

A part of me wants to hold him and tell him he is worth it. Another part of me wants to slug him for being such a whiny baby. The man has a family worried sick about him. People who love him. Lana spent three years searching for him when everyone else thought he was dead.

I shake my head. “Poor, poor Lazaro D’Amato.”

His head snaps to me, clearly not liking my patronizing tone. There’s a darkness in his eyes that has me wondering if I’ve overstepped. Have I triggered Lazaro’s anger? And if so, what is he going to do to me?