As long as I got to spend time with him, though, I was able to shove my disappointment deep down inside myself.

Usually I was filled with excitement when on my way to meet him. However, this time I was filled with a sense of foreboding as I walked in the early dusk toward Douglas Gardens.

The small gardens that ran alongside the Water of Leith were empty. Except for the large figure sitting on a bench.

“Marco?” I asked quietly.

He gave me a nod as I approached, and as I got closer his features came into better focus, as did the red swelling under his left eye. I sucked in a breath and hurried toward him, sitting down close. Without thinking I reached a hand toward his face, my fingertips tracing the skin just underneath the developing bruise.

“What happened?”

He looked lost. I felt a painful ache in my chest for him. “Some people are afraid of me. Because of my height, my build, the rumors, my reputation.” His mouth quirked up at the corner in disdain. “And some see it as a challenge. Me as a challenge.”

Infuriated for him, I lowered my hand to rest on his shoulder. “What did your uncle say when he saw?”

Marco snorted. “Hannah, who do you think did this?”

I didn’t know what I wanted to do more: cry for him, or bring a world of pain down on his uncle. There would never come a time when I would understand how an adult could abuse a child under their protection because I’d never known anything but absolute love and devotion. I knew Cole had suffered at the hands of his mother and Jo at the hands of her father. I’d felt helpless upon hearing that. I felt helpless again.

“Has he… has he done this before?”

He shook his head. “And probably never will again. Aunt Gabby went ballistic at him. She told him she’d leave him if he ever touched me again.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “I like your aunt Gabby.”

That got a smile out of him. “Yeah, she’s cool.”

“Did you tell your grandparents what he did?”

“Hannah —” He smiled sadly. “Nonno pretty much hates me. He could give a crap. I was bad news in Chicago. I hung around guys that were getting into really ugly stuff. That’s why my grandparents sent me away.”

Intrigued, I leaned forward. “Why do you think your granddad hates you?”

My mum’s dad had died before I was born, but my dad’s father was still alive and he always showered me with love the few times a year I got to see him. I couldn’t understand a grandparent hating his grandchild.

“I’m half African American. My Italian grandfather can’t stand the fact that his precious daughter slept with a black guy.”

My lips parted in shock. “He’s racist?”

Marco shrugged. “My dad could have been Japanese, Jewish, or Mexican and it would have pissed Nonno off. What mattered was that my dad wasn’t Italian and my parents weren’t married when my mother got pregnant. Nonno is really old-fashioned and a total traditionalist.”

You could call it whatever you wanted. There was no excuse for mistreating a child ever, and for it to be based on simple genetics? I was furious for Marco. “Was he awful to you?”

Marco shrugged again, but this time he met my gaze when he said, “My mom pretty much disowned my dad and my grandparents wouldn’t let him near me. He gave up, took off before I was even one. My mom stuck around for a few years, but she couldn’t take being a mom. She was only seventeen when she had me. And she couldn’t take the fact that her dad, who she’d once idolized, couldn’t stand the sight of her and the massive disappointment she represented. So she took off too. Left me with them.”

My stomach felt heavy. “How bad was it?”

He looked me straight in the eye and I knew by his expression he wasn’t going to tell me. By not telling me, though, he left my imagination to work overtime and I felt nothing aside from fury at his grandfather and a need to protect Marco. “Nonna’s great. She tried to make up for… everything else. And most of the Italian side of the family are great. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to live with them.”

“So you got in trouble and they sent you here to your uncle?”

He nodded, a scowl forming on his handsome face. “My mom’s big brother. My aunt Gabby is Scottish Italian, but her dad is originally from Chicago. She came for a visit years ago and my uncle Gio fell for her. They came up with the idea for the restaurant, her parents had capital, he moved here with her, and D’Alessandro’s was born.”

Silence fell between us and I suddenly felt awkward touching him. I dropped my hand and settled back against the bench. My eyes moved down the long sprawl of his legs, and I thought that if he’d wanted to, Marco could have fought back. He didn’t. Out of respect or refusal to be brought down to his uncle’s level, I didn’t know. I just knew it made me care about him even more.

“Is this why you texted me?” My voice sounded loud in the darkening gardens.

“Nah. I texted you to hang out with me. To talk.”

I laughed softly. “You? Talk?”

I felt warm all over at the sight of his grin. “I talk. I just did, didn’t I?”

“I suppose. But you’re really more of a listener.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head at me, still grinning.

Wanting to keep him smiling, I attempted some easier conversation. “Well, you said talk, so I’m going to make you talk more.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, turning to the side and stretching my arm out along the back of the bench. Marco shifted slightly, turning his body in toward mine. “Let me see… okay. What’s your favorite song?”