Meeting The Mancini's

Mason Mancini watched the young woman from a distance. “I wonder why she looks so sad?” he murmured aloud.

“Maybe a heartbreak,” his wife, Maria, suggested. “If that’s the case, then the man must be a fool.”

She chuckled softly, then nudged him. “Why don’t you go over and ask what’s wrong? Maybe we can help.”

“What makes you so sure she’ll tell me her problems?” Mason asked.

“I can see she’s troubled. Perhaps she’ll open up to you.”

He glanced at the girl again and sighed. “Alright, I’ll talk to her. I just hope she doesn’t think I’m some kind of pervert.”

Maria laughed outright. Mason stood, smoothed down his jacket, and walked over to where the brunette sat.

Lisa was so lost in her grief that she didn’t notice the older man taking a seat beside her on the bench. Her quiet sobs were interrupted by a voice thick with accent.

“Ti fa molto male, Signorina? Do you feel unwell?” the man asked.

She shook her head quickly, wiping at her tears. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand your language, sir—and I don’t talk to strangers. Please… just leave me alone.”

“Excuse me, Signorina,” the man said gently, his words a mix of Italian and English. “I don’t mean to be rude. My wife urged me to ask why you were crying. My name is Mason Mancini.”

He gestured toward a well-dressed older woman watching them from a short distance. She looked genuinely concerned.

“My little sister and I came here on vacation,” Lisa admitted softly. “But yesterday I received some terrible news.” She explained the doctor’s diagnosis from that morning.

“When will your sister have the surgery?” Mason asked, his sympathy clear.

Lisa shook her head as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. “I don’t have the money to pay for it, sir,” she confessed.

“You truly are in a difficult position, Signorina,” he said gravely. “Yes… I see why you’re sad. But you haven’t told me your name.”

“I’m Lisa Saunders. We’re staying at the Palazzo Veneziano,” she whispered.

He waited quietly, and she continued. “Our parents died in a car accident a year ago. My sister still can’t process their deaths. She asks when they’re coming home. This holiday was meant to take her mind off everything that reminds her of them.” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry to burden you with my problems, Mr. Mancini. I’d rather be alone for a while. I think your wife is calling you. Please thank her for me.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Saunders,” Mason said politely, standing and giving her a small bow before returning to his wife.

He rejoined Maria on the bench. “Well, you were gone quite a while,” she remarked. “Couldn’t tear yourself away from the pretty young lady?” She teased with a sly smile.

“She’s beautiful, yes—but more than that, she’s in pain,” Mason said seriously. “Her name is Lisa Saunders. She and her little sister are from South Africa. They came here on vacation two days ago, but yesterday she received devastating news. Her sister needs surgery, but she can’t afford it. Their parents were killed in a car accident last year. Lisa has been caring for her sister ever since.”

“So not a breakup, then,” Maria said thoughtfully.

Mason shook his head.

“I wonder if she’s not just another gold digger looking to catch a rich man,” Maria mused.

“No. She doesn’t strike me that way at all,” he insisted. “At first, she wanted nothing to do with me—told me straight out that she doesn’t talk to strangers and asked me to leave her alone. That isn’t the behavior of someone making up lies for money.”

Maria tilted her head. “True. And we could always confirm her story at the hotel or the hospital.”

“Did she tell you the name of the specialist who will operate?” she asked.

“No, and I didn’t ask.”

Maria stood gracefully. “Then perhaps you should introduce me. I’d like to speak with her myself.”

“Come, my dear,” Mason said.

By the time Mason and his wife approached her again, Lisa’s tears had dried.

“I’d like you to meet my wife, Maria Mancini,” Mason said warmly.

Lisa greeted the elegant woman as she sat down beside her.

“Mason told me about your sister,” Maria began gently. “I’m glad to see you’re not crying anymore. Who is the surgeon scheduled to operate?”

“Doctor Esposito,” Lisa whispered. “But… there will be no operation. It’s better not to keep hoping for a miracle that will never happen.” Her voice cracked, and she broke into quiet sobs again.

“What miracle were you hoping for, dear?” Mason asked softly.

“There isn’t one,” Lisa said, wiping her tears. “I just hoped somehow I’d find the money to pay for the surgery. But there’s no one I can call back in South Africa.”

“Don’t you have a fiancé? Or any family who could help?” Maria asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I only have a grandfather left, and he’s retired. I don’t have a fiancé. I was so focused on finishing law school that I didn’t have time for relationships. After our parents died, I had to quit my studies to care for Lilani full-time. I work as a receptionist at a law firm now. She’s all I have.”

There was a pause. Maria’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Perhaps there is a solution—one that could benefit us both. Suppose you made Italy your new home? My grandson was blinded in an accident. His fiancée left him, though we provided for him and the family business. I hired nurses to help him, but they only cared about his money. None of them lasted. He needs someone genuine. Tell me—your sister’s name, the hospital, and the doctor treating her?”

Lisa hesitated, then gave her the information.

“Good. I’ll contact you this afternoon. Don’t worry about the operation anymore,” Maria said firmly as she stood.

“Goodbye for now, dear. Be ready to meet my grandson.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Mancini,” Lisa replied softly, watching her leave. She walked back toward the hospital, her mind whirling with questions about what Maria could possibly mean.