I know Giuseppe can't differentiate between the masks, though. He looks at his son and only sees the monster he turned into over the years. He can't see the man he was, or the man he is, the man he swears he's trying to be.
He still disappears at night sometimes. There are still the occasional whispered phone calls. He's still paranoid, and overprotective, and extremely careful, but what he isn't is cruel. He isn't deceitful. I understand him. He understands me. He doesn't handle me with kid gloves, but he doesn't give me more than I can tolerate, either. He treats me like a person, not a possession, although, okay… his possessive streak can sometimes still be pretty fierce.
The man is an enigma. A beautiful, sometimes terrifying puzzle that I'm still piecing together, little by little.
Giuseppe, though, has no interest in his son's healing. He has no interest in him being different. As far as he's concerned, Naz is the kind of broken you just can't fix.
Before I can think of something to say to Giuseppe, something other than the usual 'but he's different' bit, the door to the deli opens, the bell loudly jiggling. I don't even have to look over to know it's him. There's something about the way he enters, a chill in the air, a heat in the stare, that tells me Naz is here.
Giuseppe doesn't turn to look, but I know he senses it, too.
"Porca vacca," he mutters, sighing loudly as he pulls his hands from mine and shoves the chair back, standing up. His eyes remain on my face, the pity now more frustration. "You want some cookies? How about some Snickerdoodles?"
He doesn't wait for me to respond before walking away.
A few seconds later, the chair across from me shifts again, another body planting in it. I glance up at him, smiling when he mutters under his breath, "just like a whore in church around here."
They're a lot alike, Naz and his father, but you won't catch me telling either of them that. Stubborn men.
"Of all places," he says, raising his eyebrows as he stares at me across the table. "I could've gotten a table at the last minute at Le Bernardin, could've even taken you to Paragone again, but no… you ask me to meet you for lunch at Vitale's Italian Delicatessen."
I shrug. "The food's good here."
"I won't argue with that, but the atmosphere leaves quite a bit to be desired."
Giuseppe returns then, sliding a small plate of cookies onto the table in front of me. They're so fresh I can smell the warm cinnamon sugar. "Uh, you are heaven-sent," I say, snatching up a cookie and taking a bite of it. Delicious.
Naz rolls his eyes. He rolls his eyes.
I don't think I've ever seen the man rolls his eyes before.
"Are you going to order some lunch?" Giuseppe asks impatiently, glaring at his only child. "Or are you planning to just loiter for a while?"
"Depends," Naz replies.
"On what?"
"On whether or not you're willing to serve me."
Giuseppe grumbles to himself as he stalks away, heading straight back behind the counter, roughly shoving the swinging door open.
He disappears into the kitchen.
"So, uh, does that mean we're eating?" I ask.
"It means I'm ordering," Naz says. "He's either gone back there to make the food for us, or he's calling the police because I'm trespassing again. But considering how hungry I am, I'd say it's probably worth the risk."
Getting up, Naz heads for the front counter, ordering two Italian specials.
After paying, he goes to return to the table but pauses. "You wouldn't happen to have today's newspaper, would you?" he asks the young guy running the cash register, one of only three employees Giuseppe pays to help him out around here. He tends to do the brunt of the work himself for whatever reason. Pride, maybe. Probably pigheadedness.
Before the guy can answer, Giuseppe hollers from the kitchen, "Buy your own damn paper!"
Shaking his head, Naz retakes his seat. "I suppose it's obvious by now where I got my asshole genes from."
"He's not an asshole," I say, still shoveling the cookie in my mouth. "Neither are you, for that matter. You're just, you know... a bit intense."
"Intense," Naz repeats. "That's one way to put it."
Intense, he is. His intensity is unrivaled. His bright blue eyes burn through me as they slowly, carefully, scan my face, watching me eat my cookie like he's getting off on it. I can feel my cheeks warming with blush. "Why are you staring at me?"
He leans a bit closer, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips, flashing his dimples. "Why not?"
It only takes a few minutes for our food to be ready. As it turns out, Giuseppe decided to serve him, after all. I dive right in the second mine is placed on the table, but Naz hesitates. He stares at the sandwich, picking it apart with his fingers, eyes slightly narrowed as he inspects the contents.
"For Christ's sake, Ignazio," Giuseppe shouts, coming out from the kitchen. "Just eat the damn thing!"
A second passes.
Then another.
And another.
I don't think he's going to eat it, but then... he does. He picks it up and takes a small bite, chewing carefully. Holy fuck.
I don't want to make a big deal out of the fact that he's eating at his father's deli, food that, not long ago, he wouldn't even touch. I don't want to rock the boat, so to speak, by pointing out that Giuseppe hasn't once actually threatened to throw his ass out on the street. I don't want to gloat, but I can't help it. I can feel myself smiling with satisfaction. He's different. He is.
'I told you so' is begging to come from my lips.
"See?" I say, almost giddy as I watch Naz eat. "I knew the two of you—"
I don't have a chance to finish whatever smug thing it is I'm planning to say. My words die on the tip of my tongue as loud bangs echo through the deli, one after another.