Chapter 3

I crack through the hard cannoli shell before taking a single bite of dessert and setting my spoon down. Vince and I always shared a cannoli. I look at the rest of it, a sadness overcoming me. I'm still in shock that he's gone. It feels abrupt and unreal. This entire meal has been unreal. Rocco is polite and once in a while I see him start to relax and enjoy our conversation. It reminds me of his grandfather. I can see the familiarity in his eyes, dark brown orbs full of knowledge and secrets.

"Are you full?" Rocco asks.

I nod. "Yes." I bite my lip as I place my napkin on the table. "I'll be right back," I state as I get up and head to the bathroom.

I close the door and lean on the sink. My head is clearer in here, away from Rocco. My brain scours the recesses of my memories. Did Vince ever mention a grandson? No…he did mention a son once though, something about seeing a ball game with him? Shit, why can't I remember? Why did Vince have to die? It's so unfair! I feel like I knew him on a cellular level, and I didn't know him even a little bit all at the same time.

My lip trembles again as I think of the kind old man I knew. A funeral. Will there be a funeral? I should ask.

I knew Vince was older, but I didn't think of him dying anytime soon. I'm so stupid. Of course, he could die, anyone could die.

I go to the bathroom and wash my hands as regret penetrates every fiber of my being. It's as if I learned nothing from losing my parents. I should cherish every second I have with those I love. And I loved Vince. He was like a grandparent to me. What did Rocco say about why he was here tonight? Oh yeah, Rocco wondered why he came here every Thursday. That makes me smile. Rocco knew Vince always came here. Maybe Vince had mentioned me? Maybe Vince wanted us to meet? Or he wanted Rocco to be the one to tell me about his passing. But why? Rocco seems nice, albeit a little demanding, but he's patient. He let me make up my fun stories and didn't interrupt once. Vince used to interrupt with funny additions to the story. But not Rocco. He just sat there watching me. I saw a faint smile cross his lips a few times. And for reasons I can't explain, that made me happy that I could bring even a small smile to those kissable lips. God, he's attractive! He's like a Roman statute. I bet women climb all over that stone fa?ade of muscle.

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and unlock it. I should go thank Rocco for dinner and then never come back here. But something inside me wants to see him again, wonders if he'll be back next week.

I open the door and crash into solid muscle. My head whips back and I look into Rocco's dark brown eyes again as his hands shoot out and grab my upper arms, steadying me.

"Whoa there, tesoruccia," he murmurs. I shiver at that word. I don't know what it means, but I like how he says it.

His thumb rubs the exposed skin on my right arm. I swallow as we lock gazes. Is he going to kiss me? He licks his lips as his eyes fall to mine.

"I shouldn't come back here again. I'm no good for you, Lena. You'd be better off forgetting all about Vince and me," he warns me.

I frown. "Why would I do that?" I ask.

He smiles a sad smile. "You really have no idea, do you?" he asks.

"About what?" I retort.

He shakes his head a little and releases my arms. I immediately wish he hadn't. I felt oddly safer with them on me, like as long as I'm his, no one would touch me, ever. I almost laugh at the thought. I've got to stop reading dark romance novels.

"I—I should go," I stammer as I glance down the hall toward my coat that Antonio's hung on the back coatrack.

Rocco glances at where I've looked and walks over, grabbing the coat from the hook, he holds it up for me. I slowly slide my arms inside and he wraps it tightly around my front, essentially embracing me from behind. I look down at his large hands on the lapels of my wool coat and swallow. I need to start looking for dates on that app my co-worker put on my phone. His hands remain there for a full ten seconds before he releases me.

I turn to him. "Thank you for dinner, Rocco," I say.

"The pleasure was all mine. I'm sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news," he replies as he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It's a personal touch, but for reasons I can't explain, I like it.

"Will there be a funeral?" I ask.

Rocco shakes his head. "He wanted a private burial service."

"Oh," I state, disappointed that I won't get a proper goodbye.

"Maybe I can take you by his grave sometime," Rocco offers.

"Really?" I ask, sounding hopeful in a way I wasn't expecting.

He flashes a warm smile at me, and it seems out of character for him. In the ninety minutes we've spent together, I've only figured out a few things about Rocco. One, he's quiet. Two, he is always observing his surroundings. Three, he seldom smiles, yet is somehow charming. And four, he is most definitely not lacking self-confidence. Yes, this man most definitely has women lining down the block to sleep with him. I don't need another playboy in my life.

"I will see you next week," he states as I turn to leave. I swivel and give him a curious look. He doesn't ask, he just demands. Interesting.

"Maybe," I reply.

"Well then, I look forward to maybe seeing you next week, Lena," he adds as I walk out the door. I notice he's had a bite of cannoli as I leave and something about that brings a smile to my face. Maybe there's more to Rocco Lucci than what he's allowed me to see. He's a mystery, and I love a good mystery.