A/N: A longer one, as gratitude for your patience...and more to come.


"Oh Tony - what a view!" Angela turned around, hand stretched across her forehead as she took in the estate and the vineyards from their new perch.

"It really is something, isn't it? Like a postcard. That cave he mentioned is around here somewhere. We'll try to find it after we eat."

Tony and Angela had hiked up to the hill Aldo had pointed out on their walk. Angela spread the blanket out on a flat patch of grass under the shade of a mature olive tree as Tony unpacked the plates and food from the basket. Rosa had packed them a lunch of frittata, a green salad, and a bottle of sparkling wine with two glasses. Tony pulled out the wine and began working the cork out of the bottle.

"This place even smells like heaven. What is it? The grapes?"

He poured her glass and handed it to her. "The grapes, the lemon trees, and I think that's a lavender field over there. Aldo didn't mention the lavender, so I don't know if that's his or a different property."

"Truly magical. Makes you want to chuck it all, buy a vineyard and move to Italy, doesn't it?" she joked, digging into her frittata. "I could get used to this dolce vita thing."

Tony chuckled nervously. He was dying to tell Angela what Aldo had told him, but wanted to wait until he thought it through, and Aldo had more details for him to discuss it with her. "Ha, wouldn't that be something. Although I don't know the first thing about owning a vineyard."

"Oh please, you'd figure it out, Tony. You'd probably turn it into a smashing success. You can do anything you put your mind to."

"Really?" he said, bolstered by her confidence in him. He took a sip of wine. "Aldo says the soil grows magical wine and olives." He hugged an arm around her shoulder and pointed off to the distance. "See that lemon grove over there on the right? Right now Aldo just sells them to towns around the island. Think of all you could do with those lemons. Limonata, lemon curd, lemoncello..."

"Micelli's Lemoncello," she said, thinking aloud. "I like it. That could really take off. You should mention it to Aldo."

"Geez Angela, you're good. You just came up with that on the fly?"

She shrugged. "It's what I do."

He looked at her thoughtfully, then took a bite of the frittata. His face lit up in appreciation. "Angela, this is the one you made. And I gotta say, it's delicious."

She beamed, "Really?"

"Really. I guess I'm not the only one who can do anything they put their mind to. I might be out of the job," he teased, bumping his shoulder against hers.

"Oh you're not going anywhere, buster. May I remind you of my infamous polyester-blend pate?" she joked, elbowing him.

He chuckled and held out his glass. "To trying new things. And to new adventures."

She smiled and clinked his glass. "To new adventures."

For a beat they sat in a comfortable silence, eating and taking in the scenery. "I, uh, wanted to thank you, and to apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For getting emotional last night. I don't know what happened to me."

"Oh Tony, you don't need to apologize. I was glad I could be there. That's what friends are for, right? You've certainly been that shoulder for me plenty of times." She added quietly, "Do you want to talk about it now?"

"I would, I just...can't really explain it."

"Marie seems to be coming up a lot the last few days. Is it being here in Italy, you think?" she prodded carefully, "Closer to something you both shared – but never got to share together?"

He thought a second. "Maybe, that might be a little part of it. Her parents were also Sicilian immigrants, though they came later. We always talked about bringing Sam here." Then, "I think - I think emotions were just high last night. I was jetlagged, like you were. And then we, you know, kissed, and it was different, and it was –"

He met her eyes. He didn't need to say it.

She nodded in agreement. "It was. And it was, as you said – different – from the other times."

"And, I haven't really felt like that since – since Marie."

Angela's heart stopped. What?

"Tony, you've had plenty of –"

"No, I haven't. I haven't, Angela. Sure, okay, I haven't exactly been celibate since then. And actually, that's pretty easy to justify, because I don't feel attached."

"I see. And last night was maybe the first time you've really – explored that more deeply with someone you..."

"Felt attached to," he finished for her.

"Since then?"

He nodded. His eyes were glassy again. "I don't know, I think I panicked. There's a guilt I still feel, Angela. I don't know how to explain it. Me and Marie, we started out so young – starry-eyed, poor. Young lovers in love. It was simple, it was effortless, I knew I loved her. I knew she loved me. That was it. In the beginning, it was so easy. Money was the only thing we worried about, but hey, who needs that when you're young and in love right?" he joked.

Her lips pursed into a compassionate smile, urging him to continue.

"Plus, I had a bright future ahead of me, playin' for the Cards. It was so romantic, dreaming about our future together - me being a big star, us having lots of little Micelli babies; we thought we had it all figured out. But the reality, of course, is always a little harsher than you dream about."

"It most certainly was for you, Tony," she said softly. "No one ever can prepare for their spouse dying an untimely death."

"No, I mean even before that. I was traveling all the time. And at first, that was real romantic. We loved being on the road together, sleeping in hotels, fancy owner dinners – all the perks of being in the Majors. But after a few years, she grew tired of it, and I didn't blame her. Her whole world centered around me. It was hard on her. So she went home, at my insistence, back to the old neighborhood. My father was there, her friends. And Mrs. Rossini. We did the long distance thing, flying back and forth between St. Louis and New York. Then of course, Samantha came along, and she stayed put for the most part. I wanted Sam to have a stable life. And we were still in love. But it was lonely - for both of us."

"You were both doing what you needed to do for your family, Tony. That's what marriage is about - compromise. I understand why you feel guilty now, but I'm sure Marie didn't think of it that way. I'm sure she was so proud of you for achieving your dreams, Tony."

He wouldn't look at her; his face was tense, his eyes squinting at the horizon, blinking back tears. "I can't help thinking that if I hadn't been gone so much, we would have caught her cancer sooner. She was taking care of Sam, thinking only about her, basically single parenting while the cancer was quietly invading her body. I've always thought, if I was there, I would have noticed something sooner; I cared so much. And I think about all that time we were apart, how those years of single parenting, me on the road - were the last years of her life. She deserved better than that. Better than...me."

Angela turned his chin toward her and looked him carefully in the eye. "Tony, you can't blame yourself for circumstances outside your control. You two were young - just getting started. Doing what you needed to get by. That was the phase of life you were in. You can't punish yourself for Marie's loss the rest of your life. Marie wouldn't want that for you. Just look at Mother."

"Mona?"

"Sure. With the exception of Max, she hasn't been able to let herself get close to another man after all these years. It's been well over 20 years now since Daddy died. His death nearly destroyed her. It's safer to play the field and not let emotions get in the way, so she can't get hurt again. Like you said - it's easier if you aren't attached."

Tony looked at her thoughtfully; he'd never seen the parallel between himself and Mona's widowhoods before. "Gee, Angela, I never thought about it like that. Ever consider a psychology degree?"

"Advertising *is* psychology, Tony. And I double-majored in it," she said, sipping her wine with a gentle wink.

He uncorked the bottle and poured them both some more wine. "I don't know that I've really ever talked about Marie like this – ever, since she died."

She looked at him, stunned. How had he weathered those early years with Sam, grieving his wife, without ever talking about it? She took his hand and squeezed it. "Grief reappears in the most unlikely of places, always. And it is only natural for it to reappear when you reconnect with something that reminds you of her...in this case, Italy."

He shook his head, and took a sip of his wine, keeping his gaze on the horizon. If he looked at her, he would lose the courage to say it.

"Not Italy. You."

"Me?"

"Well, sort of you. No, not *you.* Being with you. You and Marie are so completely different, it's hard for me to understand how I –" he stopped. "It's more the feeling. Of you."

He was botching this so badly. Was it the wine, or the careful untangling of his own confused feelings that was causing him to sputter whatever words were coming to mind?

"The feeling of me," she repeated slowly, without emotion, prodding him to help her understand.

"How I feel about you, and being with you, like this," he corrected himself, looking down at his wine, "somehow, stirs things up. It doesn't usually, but it did last night. I don't know. Something about that kiss, and you, in that shirt. That's what makes this so confusing."

"I see," she replied. His gaze remained fixed on the lemon groves, but he took her hand and rested it on his lap.

"It's why I want to be so careful with how we do this. We've always blamed it on you being my boss. But I don't think I even recognized that I also needed to maybe ease into feeling this way, about someone else, especially you." He looked away again, blinking into the Sicilian hillside.

"Especially me," she repeated. Her mind spun like a carousel, trying to be a friend to Tony as he processed his residual grief, while a revelation was dawning in the back of her mind.

"Because, I can't lose that again." He looked at her with the most conviction he'd felt since their arrival. "I can't lose you." Of this feeling, he was at least sure.

She nodded, her eyes now glistening.

"You aren't going to lose me, Tony. You're my best friend in the world. And I'd be lying if I said my disaster of a marriage hasn't also played a part in my ability to keep everything...easier...between us. And, I agree - we have at the very least seemed to always know we couldn't just...get swept up in the moment. We have to be careful, think it through. As we said last night. And, since we're...being so honest...I've been happier the last five years, as things are between us, than I've been in my entire life."

He nodded pensively to the horizon. "Me too, Ange. Real happy."

She thought about all the times they had very nearly gone there. Baking a kiss – er, cake – in the kitchen. The cabin at Kissing Rock. Their anniversary dinner. The indescribable electricity that paralyzed them both the night he recreated her prom. A handful of evenings, with mugs of tea or a pint of ice cream between them, when the air suddenly changed, the conversation stalled upon the recognition of their mutual desire, and they sat in silence, unsure of how to proceed. She always woke up relieved, worried that if they had succumbed to the moment without any discussion, the next morning would be flooded with regret, awkwardness. Suddenly they would be unsure of how to act and feel and be with one another, their easy unspoken closeness dissolved, the whole relationship imploded. It was this fear that niggled at her with alarming regularity these days. We can't go there.

And yet. And yet.

She felt so sure that if they did it right – patiently finding their own way toward terra firma – it would be the most fulfilling relationship she'd ever had. For, in so many ways, it already was.

She placed a hand on his back, rubbing it gently, reassuringly. "Maybe that means what we've been doing is right. We both have things to work through, Tony. We'll work through them together."

He pulled her close, into a side-hug, and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry we're talking about all this heavy stuff. I want to enjoy this time away with you."

"I am enjoying it. I'm glad we can talk like this. We don't share these deeper feelings at home." She added shyly, "Maybe...it's part of our getting there."

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes soft and warm and grateful for her. Angela replied with a blush. They had always communicated this way; there was so much they didn't really need to say. Setting aside his wine glass, he rose to his feet, pulling her up by her hands.

"Let's leave the picnic for now. I want to find this cave Aldo mentioned. My dad and he used to play in it when they were boys. Then I think we need to get into town. I was going to show you the wine cellar but I'm already feeling a little buzzy from our picnic."

"Me too. I can't remember the last time I felt buzzed at lunch."

"Ah, well then! Benvenuto a Italia, the land of buzzy lunches," he joked, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close playfully as they walked side by side, aimlessly up the hill.

"Grazie, signore! I'm loving everything about la dolce vita," she joked. Their eyes met, and she felt last night's headiness creeping back on. She pulled her eyes away. Now was not the time. "Oh - Tony - is that it? Over there, behind that little shrubby bush?"

"Good eye, Angela. That's got to be it. I have no idea why Aldo wanted me to find this, but I gotta say I'm intrigued."

Tony entered first, doing a cursory sweep for critters before going inside.

"Whoa...Angela. You gotta see this." He reached out his hand for Angela to join him. She took it, and stepped carefully into the dimly lit cave, which to her surprise, was sparsely furnished, with sketches, what appeared to be maps, and inscriptions written all over the wall. Swastikas, stars, and dotted lines were scrawled all over one side of the cave.

"It's a...map?" Angela wondered aloud. "From the war?"

"Must be," Tony replied. "My father never talked about the war. He always said, there are some things so terrible, they should remain in the past."

Toward the back, a crate lay in one corner, an empty wine jug in another, and three old straw-tick pallets with thick, scratchy blue blankets.

A cigar box lay on top of the crate. Tony opened it, and found bottle caps, coins, a slingshot, some rocks, a rusty screwdriver, some old train ticket stubs, and some beautiful azure hand-painted tiles. A treasure trove of boyhood odds and ends. Underneath the trinkets was a yellowing pinup of Veronica Lake, the corners curling up at the edges.

"What did I tell you Ange? These Italians - they love the blonde American women."

"I guess boys will be boys," Angela chuckled.

Tony felt a rush of indescribable warmth, standing in this spot that his father had known so intimately all of his childhood, looking at his treasures.

"Tony," she breathed. "This is incredible. It's part boyhood fort, part...what is it? A bunker?"

"Something like that. Looks like this was used as a hideout during the war." Toward the back, there were empty boxes of ammunition on the ground. Did his father use this cave during the resistance? Tony wondered. And why did Aldo keep it preserved like this for all these years?

He pulled up the pinup photo and found two cards behind it. His father's photo, next to a name he didn't recognize. "Filippo Romano." And behind it, his mother, no more than 16, faintly resembling Samantha, although her shrewd expression looked free of Samantha's carefree innocence. "Gina Romano," the card said.

"Angela - these are my parents."

"Tony, you look just like your father," she said, sidling up next to him to examine the photo. Her hand rested on his bad as she hunched over the image. "Why do you think they have different names?"

"I think it has something to do with what Aldo told me. Apparently, they were a part of the Resistance here in Sicily."

She took the photo of his father. "He looks just like you, Tony."

He nodded. "Samantha looks just like Marie, but there's something about my mother's eyes..."

"I know what you mean. There's something a bit fiery about them. Strong-willed, determined."

"The kind of eyes that would beg you for a phone in their room until you cave," he joked.

Angela chuckled lightly and squeezed Tony's arm, then left him to study the photos as she walked over to the other side, where an inscription was scrawled, with two initials below it. "A la luce della mi vita: ti amero per sempre.'" she read, in her best attempt at an Italian accent. "What does that mean, Tony?"

Tony choked out, "To the light of my life: I'll love you forever."

"Oh, how sweet! Do you think that – "

"My ah, my father. He always called my mother that every morning. 'Bongiorno, la luce della mi vita,'" Tony bellowed, mimicking his father's voice. "He would have given her the moon. Those are their real initials, underneath," he said, voice flush with emotion.

"Oh, Tony." She looked at him, misty-eyed and took hold of his arm with both hands. So many dear, departed loved ones for his heart to hold. She hadn't expected this trip to be so emotional; she was grateful to be here with him, discovering these pieces of him together.

Abruptly, he shook his head, as if shaking free his emotions, and said, "We gotta get out of here. Now I'm dying to know what this Antonio guy has to say." He took her hand, and the small box of treasures, and ducked out of the cave, guiding them back to their abandoned picnic.


Dear readers, I apologize for my delay. As the next few chapters are pretty research-heavy, I needed to get a little ahead of this story before posting this chapter, to ensure I didn't write myself into a corner (as I did more than once in ToP, ha). I am now well ahead of it and after some editing, hope to have the next installments up soon. The next 3 or 4 installments have turned into a bit of a historical fic, which I know you didn't really sign up for over here in this 80s sitcom fandom :). Not really sure how much interest there is in Tony's Sicilian heritage, but I'm not sure it's been explored, and thought it might be an interesting adventure (we go all in, Starlight Memories-style, minus all the actors doubling as people in the 40s :). I hope you'll trust me on this journey, as there is a point to all of it, and in researching it I've learned how overlooked the Sicilian experience and Mediterranean front was in the war, despite its importance. So, it began to feel like a story that needed telling, even in just a fanfic-dom. But if it's not your thing, you can likely wait a few chapters and not miss too much by skipping the backstory/history lesson. Also...you were so kind not to mention the Marco/Matteo flub in Ch. 8. I'm writing a different story with a Marco character, and despite several rounds of edits, my brain only just saw it, ha. Thank you, as always for reading along!