6. The Furthest Fall
Chapter 6
The Furthest Fall
M y first thought was to hit my horn and scream at the sky, but in that position, I did not think it best.
The sort of rage I was feeling had turned out to be dangerous to my health. I usually drove at the speed I was traveling at, knowing these roads and feeling comfortable taking their twists and turns. However, what had happened with Rocco before I fled the villa was still on my mind.
No!
He had told me no to freedom.
That was not what I had agreed to. He had his freedom, and I had mine. His father was attempting to push us together whether we wanted it or not. Luca Fausti was always making a point. He was not only lording his power over me, but also trying to mend what did not need mending. Our relationship was what it was.
Deep down, I knew Luca Fausti understood me, which was why I was still breathing after everything I had done.
And…here I sat, a balancing act, as if the cliffside was a sword.
I did not even turn my eyes down to look.
Sì , still breathing, but it was anyone’s guess for how long. I did not believe I was going to die, but these are the risks we take by even stepping foot out of the house. A meteorite could crush an entire road. An explosion could send body parts into space. A mad killer could be on the hunt for someone else, and it becomes mistaken identity.
Or.
A swerve in the wrong direction could bring you to the edge of a cliff, where your expensive car dangles. One sharp wind, and it was going over the side. A tree was wedged underneath the weight of the car instead of solid road. I could feel the unsteady drift beneath me when a tender wind would rustle the leaves. I could hear the cracking of branches underneath the crushing weight of the car.
Too bad I did not carry wings or a parachute with me.
The thought made me smile, but it disappeared when I remembered my meeting with the Russian leader—the same person who was leading the charge against the Fausti famiglia . Sigh. Brando Fausti and his line had started a war, again , over a woman who was not worth it. A star? Ha! All a man had to do is look up for those, if that was his preference. Where I was perched, the tiny dots scattered for miles above my head.
Perhaps because a past road led to this one, I thought back on the day I brought the spinning top to the farmhouse in Siena, in Tuscany. How she had gazed up at the stars, and I had been caught up in her whirlwind for a moment in time. Her spinning…she had been spinning a web underneath those feet to capture the family, and she had succeeded. I did not entirely blame them. If she could trap me for a moment, she could trap anyone. Especially a man who was prone to catching romantic feelings.
It would have been so easy to kill her then. Poison those blasted pears they all considered so symbolic now. My sister and I laughed occasionally at how ridiculous it was. A piece of fruit being symbolic! I would push myself over if the tree I balanced on turned out to be the tree that they grew on. It would be the worst sort of poetic justice, wouldn’t it? Me splayed out on the hard stone, my hair fanning around me, my arms artfully displayed on the side of my head, my legs touching and not spread open, a droplet of blood running from my mouth, and… those pears scattered around me .
I scoffed.
If this tree gave and I started to fall, I hoped my death was as ugly as that family had become to me. I hoped when Rocco came to see me, because he would, the gruesome last image of me would haunt him along with my echoing voice for the rest of his life.
I have never been afraid of death. I have always been afraid that my last act would not be dramatic enough.
If I did fall, and fell gracefully while my voice rose above me, all my fans would return to this spot and throw roses down at me, just as they had once thrown them at my feet after an astounding performance.
That was a fitting ending.
If this was not the end, I was not sure if the Russian would agree to a meeting with me again. Damn the timing! I had it all planned out. I would not depend on the opposing family to hide me and give me shelter. The only one I could depend on was myself. We are born into this world alone. We might be surrounded by people after, but ultimately, we live in this world alone as well. We certainly die alone. No, after handing the Russian leader crucial information, information that might take the Faustis down a few pegs, I would escape to one of their private islands.
Specifically, to a grand castello a foot away from the tranquil Mediterranean Sea that no one bothered with any longer. It was supposedly haunted by the ghost of Belladonna Conti, who had been married to Marzio’s great-great-great (or some line of great) grandfather, who I believed was named Francesco. Belladonna Conti’s blood could be traced back to the Counts of Segni. They were a noble family, and their lineage could be connected to medieval times in Italy.
As tranquil as the Mediterranean could be, Belladonna Conti had somehow drowned. Slipped on a rock, hit her head, and was taken as a sacrifice to the mermaids of the sea. Some of the workers on the island claimed they could still hear her crying out when the sea became rough and crashed against the shore. She pined for her lover, Francesco .
It was all nonsense.
However, the family did not step foot beyond that area of the island, being the good superstitious Italians that they were. The only woman brave enough to test the waters was a woman who was upwards of fifty and was not afraid. She claimed she spoke to the ghost. It did not bother her. Her daughter and granddaughter would take over the cleaning after she died. Her husband fixed anything broken inside of the castello , but since no one lived there, it rarely needed fixing, only updating. He did that as well.
There were secret passageways in that castello . The Faustis of old were always preparing for a sea attack. The passageways were a way to hide their women and children during a fight. The island, named Aria for its musical sounding waves, had a rich history that belonged to the Faustis.
However, the private island was not listed on any maps, and it was equal to a small country that could survive off its own economy. The soil was rich from the long-ago volcano that had created it. Therefore, all that was grown there was on the same level as the fresh produce of anywhere in Italy. Livestock lived there as well. Chickens, pigs, goats and lambs. Most food was not transported to the island but out of it for profit. The only items that were imported were medical supplies and things such as that.
Easily assessable.
If billionaires could disappear on an island that did not exist to the rest of the world, so could Rosaria Caffi.
My sister would miss me terribly, but we were one and the same. It would not take her long to get over it, especially after I willed her all the things I did not want.
As I said, I had a plan.
The things I needed and wanted were already stashed at the castello . I had made a few trips to the island over the years and hid them in the secret passageways. Some of them led to rooms for sleeping and storage.
Brilliant, no?
The tree beneath me rustled with a hard wind, and an odd creaking noise echoed, as if it was groaning from the weight. Even though I kept my hands on the wheel, the same position they were in when the tree broke my fall, I felt the need to lift them over my head, laughing as if I were on a dangerous ride. I wanted to be sure my voice was the last thing the crowd that had grown on the street heard from me.
The driver of the bus, presumably, kept trying to speak to me. Away with him. I did not have anything left to say.
Whatever happened after this would have the last word of all.