Rafael
The morning we finally leave the B&B arrives quieter than I expected, sunlight breaking gold across the olive grove one last time as we load the last of our bags into two waiting cars. I stand in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, taking in the faded blue shutters and the crooked sign.
Concetta cries harder than any of us expected, pulling each of us into a hug on the gravel drive and muttering blessings in rapid Italian.
“You’ll visit,” she says to Portia, gripping her hands tight.
“I promise.” Portia laughs, wiping at her own eyes despite herself. “You basically saved our lives twice over. We’re not disappearing on you.”
The bags are loaded, the cars idling in the drive, and for a second none of us seem ready to actually leave this place that sheltered us through the worst months of our lives.
Jayla hugs Portia first, both of them whispering sisterly things to each other. Adagio waits nearby, bag slung over his shoulder, watching Jayla with the same kind of fondness I have for Portia.
Maurizio’s further apart from the group, arms crossed as the goodbyes are traded. I catch Jayla’s eyes drift toward him more than once, an unresolved weight still sitting between them.
“Before we go,” Jayla says finally, crossing the drive toward him, “I need to say thank you. For real this time.”
Maurizio straightens, obviously thrown off guard.
“You saved my life. More than once,” she explains. “I don’t think I ever got a chance to tell you how much it means to me that you’ve protected me so much.”
“You don’t owe me thanks for doing my job.”
“Maybe not. But I’m doing it anyway.” She slides her arms around him in an embrace that has her on tippy toes. “You’ve become one of my closest friends through this, Maurizio. I hope you know that.”
“Even if you chose him.” Maurizio glances toward Adagio, a complicated mix of resignation and respect crossing his expression. “I know, Jayla. I’ve known for a while now.”
“I’m sorry if that hurt you.”
“Don’t apologize for choosing what you really want. I care about you enough to want you happy, even if that happiness doesn’t include me.”
Adagio steps closer, extending a hand toward Maurizio, some old tension finally easing between them. “For what it’s worth, fratello, I know how much you’ve done for her. I won’t forget it.”
Maurizio shakes his hand. “Take care of her. Or you’ll answer to me.”
“That would be a fight Rafael would love to see, right, boss?”
He grins over at me as the group disperses. Adagio and Jayla head off for a separate car for the traveling they’re going to do together.
Me, Portia, and Maurizio go off toward the car we’ll be taking to our new villa. The first real home Portia and I will share together.
“I’ll drive,” Maurizio says, keys in hand. He opens the back door for us to climb through.
The drive passes in comfortable silence, Maurizio focused on the road ahead, the radio playing a melodic song in Italian. Portia’s hand rests warm in mine on the seat between us.
My mind goes back to every version of myself that led to this moment—the young man who had been desperate and let Vito transform him into the devil himself, to the prominent billionaire businessman I soon became.
I adopted the mask so well I was Il Diavolo. He almost erased Rafael Calderone altogether.
But I refused to let him take over my mind. I fought back and did everything I could to claw my way to freedom.
…much of it for the woman I love.
“Nervous?” Portia asks, gaze set on the coastline as it blurs past the window.
“Not even a little bit. For the first time in my life, I know where I’m going, and who I’m going there with. I have no regrets and want for nothing else.”
“Good answer.” She laughs softly, squeezing my hand. “I keep waiting for the fear to catch up with me. The part of my brain that’s spent months bracing for the next disaster. It hasn’t yet.”
“It won’t, dolcezza. We actually get to live now. No masks. No wars. Just us together.”
“That sounds… so unbelievably amazing,” she murmurs. Resting against me in the backseat, she turns her attention back onto the sea stretching out beside the winding road.
The villa eventually comes into view, pale stone and terra cotta rooftops bright in the afternoon light, gardens overgrown but full of promise, exactly the place for a private life.
Maurizio carefully pulls into the drive as Portia’s face lights up at our new home. I hold her hand as she climbs out the back, and then we start up the path that leads to the quaint Italian house. We’re headed toward our future together, stepping through the door and leaving the past behind.