Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 7

Francesca

Donatello’s smells like home.

Pierce used to bring me here all the time when I was younger and our mother was in one of her moods. Which was more often than not. We’d sit in this same booth closest to the kitchen while Rosa Donatello would let me pick out the dinner special of the day for the following night.

I love eating here, and I’ve missed the place more than I thought. It’s been far too long since I’ve come in. It’s small and intimate with dark wooden walls decorated with pictures of all the celebrities that have visited over the years posing with Luciano, the owner.

My fingers pIuck at the red and white checkered tablecloth, and I look around at the few patrons seated at the tables. It’s in between the lunch and supper rush, which is how I like it. It’s quiet and not crowded so I don’t have to deal with a lot of people.

“Francesca, cara mia, welcome back,” Luciano greets me with his usual joyful smile. I’ve never not seen this man happy.

“Thank you. It’s so good to see you again.” It is, too, even if it’s hard being here. It’s a reminder of better times. Before. “How’s Benito doing?”

He shakes his head, but his grin remains. “I’ve tried teaching him some of our family’s recipes, but I don’t think I passed the cooking gene on to him. He’s spending more time doing deliveries for me than he is in the kitchen. Which is probably for the best.”

The last time I saw Luciano’s son, he’d been a gangly teenager tripping over legs that had grown too long, too fast. He must be almost eighteen by now.

“I’m sure he’s a lot of help to you.”

The bell over the door rings, and I turn toward it. In walks Giovanni, his powerful frame taking up quite a bit of space. He’s not as tall as Pierce, but his build is similar to Jacob’s. My gaze travels over him, and my belly flutters. We lock gazes, and without looking away, he crosses the restaurant, his gait still off, until he slides into the booth opposite me.

There’s this familiar awareness that makes its presence known. It’s been growing stronger and louder over the last couple months. From the moment I learned he’d been shot and nearly died.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

His dimples appear. “Hi, yourself.”

A throat clears beside us and jerks my attention away from him. Luciano still stands there with a huge grin on his face. Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot about him.

“What can I get you two to drink?” he asks.

Flustered, I mumble that I’ll take a water.

“Same,” Giovanni says.

Luciano nods and leaves us alone.

“Did you do something different with your hair?”

I glance swiftly up and pat my head in a self-conscious gesture. “Oh, um, I just curled it a little bit. Thought I’d try something new.”

Gio smiles, his dimples deepening further. “It’s nice.”

My cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

I study him. Despite his grin, there’s a tightness around his eyes and lips. I don’t want to be that annoying friend, but I’m worried.

“Have you gone back to work, yet?” I ask for the lack of something better.

His expression shifts and his teeth seem to clench. “No. I’m still being made to wait until the doctor clears me. It should be in the next week, I’m hoping.”

“That’s good, at least. Give you a little more time to heal. You know it hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You need to take better care of yourself,” I say despite telling myself only moments ago I would stay quiet.

“Not today, Francesca. Please,” he says a bit sharply, his expression closing off.

That icky feeling hits my stomach, and I cringe, my whole body burning. “I’m sorry.”

Gio reaches across the table. His hand is warm over mine. The warmth travels through me and settles low inside. “I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just have a lot on my mind, right now.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer cautiously, still recovering from the sting of his scolding.

He sits back in the booth with a shake of his head, taking the heat of his touch with him. My skin tingles from the contact.

“Not unless you can change the past.”

I smile sadly. “I wish I could.”

Gio’s eyes meet mine, and he winces. “I’m sorry. That was an asshole thing for me to say. I wasn’t thinking.”

I drop my gaze to the table. It’s no secret within the organization what happened to me, but the fact that he, specifically, knows what the Russians did fills me with shame. Even if it wasn’t my fault. It makes me feel flawed. Like I’m not worthy of someone.

Of him.

“Look at me,” Giovanni demands.

My eyes dart upward.

“I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but whatever it is, stop it. The past doesn’t matter. Not for either of us. Today and the future is what counts. Okay?” he says.

I nod stiffly. Luciano returns with our water, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

“Are you ready to order?” the older gentleman asks.

“Go ahead,” Giovanni prompts.

“I’ll take the lasagna, please.”

“And I’ll have whatever the special is.”

Luciano picks up the menus neither of us looked at. “It’ll be out shortly.”

A familiar uncomfortable silence settles between us. The kind that had been present before he’d been injured. It’s my fault, but despite what Gio said about the past, old memories threaten to push their way to the front of my brain.

“I saw my mother earlier today,” he says quietly.

That has my attention. “How did that go?”

He makes a noise; a cross between a snort and growl. “As well as I figured it would. She’s still the same negligent, selfish woman she’s always been.” He pauses and slumps a bit in his seat. “Do you ever think people can change? Or hope they’ve changed?”

“It’s funny,” I say without humor. “I asked Pierce this exact question recently.”

“And?”

“His answer was no. He said that people can pretend for a while that they’re someone else, but in the end, they’re always going to be who they truly are and who they will forever be. The whole concept makes me sad.” I sigh. “Maybe I’m an optimist, or perhaps just naive, but I don’t want to believe that. I want the think that if someone really wants to, they can become different. Better.”

Giovanni doesn’t say anything for several minutes, but I can tell from his expression he’s thinking about it. His eyes meet mine and he smiles softly. “Don’t ever lose that positive outlook, Francesca. I think it makes you someone special. You’re a much better person than those of us who have grown too cynical.”

I flush at his compliment. “Thank you. I’ll try not to.”

Our food comes out and we fill in the silence with inconsequential things. Luciano returns to refill our water.

“Will this be one check or two?” he asks.

“Two—”

“One—” Gio says at the same time.

“You don’t have to pick up my tab for me,” I tell him.

“One,” he repeats firmly.

Luciano nods and heads back into the kitchen.

“Thank you for lunch. But it’s not like this is a date.”

Giovanni stares intently at me. “What if I say it is?”

I blink at his suggestive tone and butterflies suddenly start flapping in my stomach. “A,” it comes out on a croak. I clear my throat. “A date, you mean?”

“Yes.”

That’s it. Just a single word. “Oh.”

I haven’t been out on a date in over seven years. Have never wanted to. “Does this have anything to do with what your mother said? About you panting after me?” I ask quietly.

“Her choice of words was poor,” he says. “But if you were wondering about my interest…then yes, it might have something to do with it.”

“Oh,” I repeat. I’m not sure what to do with this information.

“I’ve been patient over the last year. Or at least as patient as I could be. Waiting,” Gio says.

“Waiting for what?”

“For you.” He casually drops the bombshell. “It wasn’t but a few months ago that anytime I got too close, you increased the space between us.”

I flush, because he’s not wrong. “I’m sorry.”

Giovanni shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I understood. Still do. But ever since the accident, things have changed between us and you know it.”

It has. The second I heard he’d been injured, it’s as though I finally realized that I could lose him. Even if I hadn’t really had him to begin with.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Of what?” Gio asks.

“Everything. I’m scared I can’t be who you want me to be. I’m scared I can’t be who I want me to be.”

Once again, he reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb rubs across the back of it. My skin sparks with the caress. We’ve touched more today than ever before.

“Who do you want to be?”

I look up from where our hands meet and into his eyes. “I want to be the old me. The me who didn’t run away when things got tough or scary. I want to be that happy, bold, fearless me. The me before. Before she had all those things stolen from her.”

“I don’t think any of us can ever be the old version of ourselves. We grow as people. For better or for worse, our life experiences shape and mold us into someone new. That doesn’t mean you can’t be happy or bold or fearless again.” Giovanni gently squeezes the hand he still holds. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are.”

My smile is shy, but I don’t drop my gaze. “I like who you are, too.”