If I had any doubt it was Luca before, I didn’t now. The only question was what was he doing here?
I took off my apron to lessen the odds of us being interrupted. I told my tables I was on break, but if they saw me out there in my apron, they might believe I was still in service-mode.
I plastered on a fake smile. “Okay. Thanks, Mona.”
As I went to walk past her, she grabbed me by my shoulders. “No, seriously, Frankie. Find out if that man is single and, if so, put in a good word for me. Good Lord,” she praised.
“Sure thing, Mona.” Not. Even if Luca were single, I wouldn’t do that to Mona. I wouldn’t sign her up for a life that I knew she couldn’t mold herself to fit into.
As soon as I stepped out from the kitchens, I saw him. He was sitting at a booth, his back up against the wall, his eyes scanning the restaurant. He made sure to choose a booth with no window and made sure it was one that gave him the perfect view of the entire place and the people in it.
Some things never change.
He didn’t smile or stand up or anything as I walked towards the booth. That black gaze Mona had fallen in love with stayed glued to mine until I sat down on the opposite side of the booth. It’s been six years, and the beautiful boy I once shared so many secrets with had grown up to be a heartbreakingly gorgeous man.
Luca’s hair was still black as coal, short on the sides, but long enough everywhere else that it’d be no problem for some lucky girl to run her fingers through it. His brows were just as dark, thick, and arched. His eyes were so black, you couldn’t see where the color began, and where the pupil ended. Gone was any softness that once marked him as a boy. Now his face was all hard angles and a strong jaw. He looked like he was carved from stone. And I knew without a doubt his body was in prime condition underneath that expensive suit he was wearing. All the Benetti men were as conditioned as soldiers in their prime. Luca Benetti was six-foot-two-inches of pure, unstoppable muscle.
As a boy, Luca had been beautiful.
As a man, he was breathtaking.
“What are you doing here?”
Luca leaned in and placed his forearms on the table, clasping his hands together. He didn’t quite smirk, but there was something in his expression. “Is that your way of telling me you haven’t missed me?”
I almost cried.
I almost cried because I did miss my friend. I missed him terribly. That’s the thing about running away. Your memories and emotions go with you, so it ends up just becoming geography.
I cleared my throat of the emotions that threatened to take over. “What are you doing here, Luca?” I repeated. I didn’t want to talk about how much I missed him. I’d lose it for sure if I did.
This time he did smirk.
Then he straightened his imposing frame and pinned me with that dark gaze he uses to cripple people with. “Massimo has cancer,” he said, his voice betraying nothing. He might as well have been talking about the weather. But that didn’t bother me. I knew Luca felt, and I knew he felt deeply.
I, however, hadn’t been able to master Luca’s level of aloofness. “What?”
“It’s true, Francesca. Massimo has cancer. Stage-four.” Luca is the only person who calls me Francesca. He’s never called me Frankie. I’ve always been Francesca to him.
My eyes watered, but I didn’t care. Massimo had been one of the most stable things in our lives, and he was vital to the children of Silver Heights. He saved so many lives with his unconditional love and support of the worst of us.
“I…I…”
Luca took pity on me, and I didn’t take his kindness lightly. We may have been best friends once, but Luca was still Luca. “He was diagnosed earlier this year,” he said, explaining. “He had two choices. He could fight the good fight or surrender peacefully when the time came.”
“Did chemo not w…work, or something?”
“He declined chemo treatment, Francesca. He didn’t want the final days of his life to be riddled with treatments, weakness, and agony when he’s as old as he is.”
Before I could comment, Robbie walked up to our table. “Good Afternoon. May I get you guys something to drink? Eat?”
Luca didn’t spare her a glance which told me he had at least two of his men in the restaurant with us for him not to acknowledge her approach. “Nothing for me, thank you.”
I looked up at her. “I’m…I’m good, Robbie. My break isn’t that much longer, anyway.”
Her face was full of concern, but she didn’t push. “Okay. No problem,” she replied, and I knew she was going to demand an explanation later.
Luca didn’t speak again until she was out of earshot. “He’s almost eighty-years-old, Francesca. He didn’t want to put his body through an ordeal it might not survive. He chose to go the way of dying naturally, and he didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want any of his kids to worry.”
The tears I was holding in finally fell free.
His kids.
“Oh, God…” I brokenly whispered.
“Massimo was admitted into the hospital last week and that’s when he could no longer keep his secret. Everyone from the neighborhood has been visiting him, reminiscing, and saying their final goodbyes,” he said.
I shook my head, then grabbed a napkin from the napkin dispenser to dry my eyes and keep snot from running down my face. “Final goodbyes?”
Luca’s face softened and it was a rare sight to behold. “He only has a few days left, Francesca. A week at the most.”
“Oh, Luca…how…” I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask him. The idea of Massimo suffering his secret alone was heartbreaking, but not surprising. He always protected us kids.
And then Luca got
