Amalfi, 1939
“Wait,” Lauro cried, tearing loose from Nino’s grip to follow Isabella across his parent’s living room. Her scarlet dress slashed through the Christmas Eve crowd like an arrow intent on its target, which as near as he could tell, was the rear door.
“Let her go.” Nino gripped his arm again.
Lauro whirled to face his brother. “Bastardo!”
“Maybe so. But we’re not fighting over Isabella. Not here.”
Nino tugged him toward the entry door through a throng of their uncles—their father’s brothers—who had been standing nearby and had witnessed the entire debacle between him and Isabella.
Other friends and family members were watching them, and Lauro saw Isabella’s protective mother toss her husband an angry look. His father was crossing the room toward Signora Guardino to calm her, while Sara was edging the room to find Isabella. What was going on?
Nino pushed the door open. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Lauro plunged outside, sudden anger erupting toward his brother. “What did you do to Isabella?”
“It was before you met her.”
“When?” Lauro spit out the word, barely able to contain his fury.
Holding his hands up as a shield, Nino stepped back, putting distance between them. “Last spring.”
“Was there a baby?”
“She lost it. If I had known before, I would have married her.”
Lauro closed his eyes in agony. The man who’d broken Isabella’s heart was his own brother. A thought struck him, and he had to know. “Did you…force yourself on her?”
“I didn’t have to. She’s awfully persuasive—”
Filled with savage rage, Lauro lunged like a lion, blinded with the desire to obliterate the man who’d spoiled his one true love. His brother ceased to exist to him. Thudding against Nino, Lauro’s impact sent them sprawling onto the gravel court, and he landed a solid blow against Nino’s nose, which exploded with a spurt of blood.
Urged on by the satisfying blow, Lauro hit his brother again, while Nino crossed his arms against his face and curled under him, absorbing the impacts.
“Stop!”
Never before had he attacked his brother, but even the sound of his father’s voice couldn’t restrain his frenzied fists now.
Grappling for handholds, Carmine and two of his father’s brothers, Guiseppe and Vito, tugged them apart and pulled him off Nino.
Lauro fell back onto the gravel, panting and sweating, wailing with outrage, his knuckles smeared with blood.
“How dare you do this?” Carmine held them apart, enraged at the sight of his bloodied sons. “And on Christmas, the holiest of days. What’s gotten into you?”
“Nino ruined everything,” Lauro shouted.
“How could he? Nino just arrived.” Carmine stood between them. “He called me this morning, insisting I give you his position at la fabbrica di cioccolato. This is how you thank him?”
Their uncle Guiseppe pulled Nino to a seated position and pressed a handkerchief against his split nose and chin. Wincing with pain, Nino pushed him away. “It’s my fault, Papa. I tried to explain.”
The front door swung open and Isabella’s imposing father, Signore Guardino, stepped out. His face was reddened with anger, though his venomous stare was ice cold. “Who are you, and what did you do to upset my daughter?”
Lauro groaned and covered his eyes. An anguished cry erupted from somewhere deep in his gut as searing pains of distress shot through him. His beloved Isabella…
Carmine hurried toward her father. Putting an arm around his shoulder, he conferred with him in a hushed tone.
Lauro would never know what his father had said to make Signore Guardino turn around, but he knew his father would pay for it. And so would he.
The door clicked shut, and Carmine spun around to face his sons. “You have about thirty seconds. One of you had better explain.”
Nino coughed into his hand. Hanging his head, his voice was barely audible. “I dated Isabella in Rome.”
Lauro’s reaction was swift, but his uncle Vito held him back. “Why did she look so shocked to see you here?”
A sheepish expression filled Nino’s face. “We met at a club. We agreed, no real names. It sounds crazy, I know…I called myself Riccardo.”
Carmine dragged his hands over his face and cursed to himself.
Lauro’s temper soared. Struggling to keep his voice down to a hoarse whisper in case Isabella’s father could hear them, he gripped his father’s shoulder, crying with pain. “He ruined her. He admitted it.”
Carmine swung around to Nino. “Is this true?”
With regret etching his face, Nino nodded.
Lauro shot back at him. “Are you in love with her?”
“Does it matter? You’re the one marrying her.”
“It’s you she loves. Why couldn’t you have stayed away?”
A commotion sounded behind them, and Lauro turned to see Isabella and Adele rounding the corner of the villa.
Isabella’s face was white with anguish and fury, and Adele was trying to calm her. Isabella yanked away from her and stalked toward them.
Nino struggled to his feet. “I never meant to hurt you—”
Isabella grasped his collar and pulled his face to hers. “I loved you.” She spat into his face and finished with a slap that resounded through the still night air.
“Isabella,” Lauro cried, scrambling to her.
She whirled around, her face a tortured mask of grief. “I can’t marry you, Lauro, don’t you see? I can’t bear it. Anyone but him.”
“No!” Lauro raced to her and enveloped her in his arms, shielding her from his brother with the force of his love. “We’ll move, we’ll go somewhere.”
“I’ll go,” Nino interjected. “I’m leaving for America anyway.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Carmine said, gesturing at Nino. “No one is leaving. We’ll work this out.”
With tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, Isabella clutched Lauro. She tore her hands through his hair and kissed him with such passionate fervor that Lauro felt his insides twist and melt to her will. God, he loved her!
“I don’t care what happened, Issie, I love you.”
She wailed and pressed her palms against her head. “But I don’t, I can’t, not with your brother so close. It’s good-bye, Lauro.”
Extricating herself from his embrace, she rushed toward the cars that lined the gravel court, her mussed blond hair and scarlet dress streaming behind her.
Stunned just long enough to let her get ahead of him, Lauro cried out and gave chase.
Isabella spied keys in the ignition of a low slung, red Alfa Romeo sportscar. Swinging into the car, she turned the key, revved the engine, and spun out, spraying gravel behind her.
Lauro and Nino raced behind her, but they were no match for the powerful coupe. Isabella sped out onto the road and quickly disappeared from view.
Sinking to his knees, Lauro doubled over in the dusty court, weeping as his heart shattered. In the distance, he could hear Isabella shifting gears through turns, tires squealing.
Winded, Nino knelt beside him, sharing his grief. “I’m sorry, Lauro.”
“Don’t touch me,” he cried out, his nerves on fire. Only Isabella could comfort him now, and she was gone. Lauro spit dust from his mouth.
Nino pushed up and turned away.
Moments later, the sharp sound of grating machinery pierced the night silence. Tires squealed in a harrowing, hairpin curve beneath their perch and ended with a sickening crescendo of twisted metal and blood-curdling screams.
Silence.
Lauro scrambled himself to his feet and screamed into the night. “Isabella!”
Moments later, an explosion rocked the night, and flames illuminated the narrow road beneath them.
His heart leapt. He had to get to her.
Dio mio, did she make it?
Not this, Lauro prayed in desperation. Please, dear God, not this.
Nino cranked the ignition of his car. Flinging open the door, he called out to Lauro. “Get in!”