Chapter 5
Birdie
I stand near the edge of the cliffs, the wind tugging at my jacket as I look down at the water far below.
The Adriatic Sea stretches out in impossible shades of blue—deep sapphire near the rocks, bright turquoise where the sun hits just right.
Waves crash against the limestone cliffs beneath me, relentless and patient, like they’ve been doing this forever.
It’s one of my favorite things about Polignano a Mare. That, and Teresa’s cooking.
I smile despite myself.
She’s been trying to get me to call her Titi Teresa, just like Dante does, wagging her finger at me every time I hesitate.
She feeds me constantly—bread still warm from the oven, olive oil so green it tastes alive, soups that feel like they were made to stitch a person back together.
I think she knows I came here broken, even if she’s never asked why.
The town hums quietly behind me. Narrow streets winding between whitewashed buildings. Laundry fluttering like flags of ordinary life. The smell of coffee and salt and something sweet drifting on the air. People pass me without a second glance, and that more than anything still feels surreal.
Here, I’m not Miss Miller. I’m not a problem to be solved. I’m not the reason men might go to war. I’m just Juliette.
I press a hand to my stomach, where my baby bump is finally starting to show. The wind feels colder suddenly, and I step back from the edge, grounding myself in the solid stone beneath my feet.
Somewhere out there, a world still spins without me.
A man who once felt like my whole universe is living a life I no longer fit into.
I don’t let myself think about him too much—not his voice, not his hands, not the way he used to look at me like I was something rare.
Because here, in this small coastal town perched between sea and sky, I am learning how to exist quietly. To breathe again. To belong to myself.
Teresa will be calling me soon, telling me lunch is ready and scolding me gently for letting the food get cold. I take one last look at the water, committing it to memory, the beauty of it, the danger, the freedom. Then I turn back toward the town and the life I’m building in the shadows.
Teresa and Dante are waiting for me when I return, both seated at the small table near the window.
Morning light spills in, turning the dust motes golden.
Teresa cradles a cup of coffee between her hands, her posture relaxed.
Dante, on the other hand, has nothing in front of him.
No espresso. No phone. Nothing to occupy his hands.
That alone puts me on edge.
“I didn’t know you were coming by today,” I say to Dante, leaning in to kiss each of his cheeks.
He’s become someone I trust—maybe because he’s steady, maybe because he doesn’t ask too many questions, or maybe because he’s the only person here who knows who I really am.
The only one I talk to about the past I’m not supposed to have.
Either way, having him in my corner has started to feel necessary.
He hesitates just a fraction of a second too long.
Every instinct I have snaps to attention.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
“You might want to sit.”
I do, my smile already fading.
“You know,” I say, trying for lightness and failing, “nothing good ever comes from someone saying that.”
He doesn’t laugh.
That’s when I know.
“Tell me,” I say.
Dante exhales slowly, then reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone, sliding it across the table toward me. The screen is already lit.
I freeze.
Lorenzo Conti Marries Francesca Marino in Lavish Wedding.
The words blur for a second, like my eyes are refusing to cooperate. My chest tightens, breath catching halfway in. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see it. But my thumb moves anyway.
I scroll.
And with every image—the cathedral, the snow-dusted steps, the crowd of powerful men and smiling women—something inside me breaks.
Maybe it’s because it’s the same church where Sienna’s funeral was held.
Or maybe it’s because my worst fear is true.
That Lorenzo didn’t love me. He simply wanted to control me.
“Well,” I say. “Good for them.”
Dante asks, “Are you okay?”
“No. But I will be.” I take a step away from them. “I think I’ll take a nap before the dinner rush starts.”
They don’t try to stop me, though I get the feeling Dante has plenty to say. In the safety of my small room, I let my tears fall. Of course Lorenzo moved on. Why wouldn’t he? I was only ever a toy to him.
I’m deep in my misery when there’s a knock on the door.
I don’t answer. I can’t. If I open my mouth, I might fall apart completely.
The door opens anyway.
Dante steps inside, closing it quietly behind him like he’s trying not to startle me.
“Are you okay?”
A broken laugh slips out of me as I swipe at my cheeks. “What do you think?”
“Touché.”
He doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, giving me space while still being there. It’s something I’ve come to realize he’s very good at.
“I know it may not feel like it,” he says after a moment, “but this is a good thing. Now that he’s married, he’ll stop looking for you.”
I let out a hollow breath, shaking my head. “If you believe that, then you’re a fool.”
His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
I meet his gaze, steady despite the storm inside me. “He’s the type of man who wants to have his cake and eat it, too.”
Dante tips his head, conceding the point. “Perhaps.”
“You’re seriously trying to tell me,” I press, my voice tightening, “that if there was someone out there you loved… you’d just stop looking for them?”
My breath catches.
“Unless,” I whisper, “you think he didn’t love me.”
Dante moves closer, his presence grounding without being overwhelming. “Breathe, Juliette.”
The name hits like a splash of cold water.
Not Birdie. Not Miss Miller. Not the girl Lorenzo knew.
Juliette. The woman who survives.
I inhale slowly, forcing my lungs to work, forcing my thoughts back into place.
“It’s best if he forgets about me,” I say, quieter now but firmer. “Now we just have to make sure he doesn’t have a reason to look for me.”
Dante studies me, then nods once. “That’s how it has to be.”
I give him a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I know.”
He lingers a little longer, like he’s making sure I won’t shatter the second he leaves, then slips out to help Teresa.
I take a moment to breathe, to splash cold water on my face, to wipe away the evidence of everything I’m feeling. Then I tie on my headscarf and step back into the world I’m trying to build.
The restaurant hums with life. Familiar voices. The clink of plates. The warm, comforting chaos of people who are here for one simple thing: food.
Most of the customers are regulars. Dante and Teresa told them I’m a cousin visiting from America, and no one’s questioned it. Either they believe it or they’ve decided it doesn’t matter. Here, I’m just another girl carrying plates and refilling glasses.
The headscarf was my idea. I found it tucked in the spare room Teresa lets me use—a soft yellow silk scattered with tiny bright flowers. It reminds me of Sienna in a way I can’t quite explain.
Maybe because she was sunshine. Bright. Warm. Impossible to ignore.
My hand presses gently to my stomach. I’ve been thinking about names. If it’s a girl… I think I want to call her Sienna. She would have loved that. She would have demanded it.
Dante comes to a stop beside me, his presence familiar now, steady.
“You seem happy,” he observes.
“Just thinking about Sienna,” I say softly. Then I glance at him. “I don’t know if I’ve said it recently, but… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being a good friend.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You may be the only person in this world who sees me as a friend.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Before he can respond, Teresa sweeps past, saying something rapid and teasing in Italian. I don’t understand the words, but I understand the effect.
The tips of Dante’s ears turn pink.
I grin despite myself. “Do I even want to know?”
“She’s suggesting I snag you up before one of the locals beats me to it.”
That pulls a real laugh out of me.
“You’ll have to let her know I’ve sworn off men.”
“You’re young, Juliette. You’ll love again.”
That sobers me instantly.
“How can you be sure?” I ask, quieter now.
“I’m speaking from experience.” He doesn’t elaborate. Just glances over my shoulder, the moment closing as quickly as it opened. “Now, get back to work before the boss has to fire you.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, mock saluting him.
The rest of the day blurs into motion—orders, plates, laughter, the steady rhythm of a life that almost feels normal. By the time Teresa flips the Closed sign in the front window, my feet ache and my shoulders are tight, but there’s a lightness in my chest I didn’t expect.
We settle at the tiny kitchen table, picking at leftovers. Teresa talks animatedly, even though I only catch pieces of what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter. The warmth of it carries me.
I’m at the sink, sleeves rolled, washing dishes, when the door opens.
I turn and freeze.
“Dante! What happened?”
He steps inside slower than usual, one hand pressed to his side. There’s a dark bruise blooming across his cheek, already turning deep purple beneath his skin. His movements are controlled, but not effortless like they usually are.
“It’s nothing,” he says, brushing it off as he slides into my vacated seat—but he winces when he does, the pain breaking through his calm for just a second.
Teresa immediately starts speaking to him, sharp and worried. He answers her quickly, reassuring, before his gaze shifts back to me.
“A new group is trying to move into my territory,” he explains. “Had to put them on notice.”
My stomach tightens.
I move without thinking, grabbing ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a towel before pressing it into his hand. “You look like you lost.”
He lets out a low laugh and then grimaces. “I didn’t. I promise. But they did get in a few good hits before I took them down.”
I hover for a second, unsure where to stand, what to do, how close I’m allowed to get.
“Should I… should I be worried?” I ask carefully.
What I mean is—
Did someone find me?
Dante’s gaze sharpens slightly, like he hears the question I’m not asking.
He shakes his head. “Local punks,” he says firmly. “I promise.”
I study him, searching for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one. But that doesn’t stop the unease from settling low in my chest.
Dante leans back slightly, eyes flickering to me again. “You don’t need to worry about anything, Juliette.”
I nod. But my hand drifts to my stomach anyway. Because worry is the one thing I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. Not while Lorenzo might be looking for me.