Chapter 7
Torrential rain pounded our corrugated tin roof for three straight days before the earth finally gave way.
I lay huddled under a woolen blanket with my parents as we woke to an almighty roar.
‘The ridge is shifting!’ my father roared over the deafening rattle of the downpour. ‘Get the girl, Elena! Move! We have to escape, now!’
Seconds later, a sickening, deep groan from the terrain turned the mountainside of the Aspromonte into a sliding wall of mud.
We plunged into a raging, turbulent current that swept us down the canyon like discarded twigs.
The roaring brown waters of the river burst through the valley, ripping our fragile home off its foundations in a matter of moments.
‘Hold on to me!’ my mother shrieked as the floorboards disintegrated beneath us.
The freezing water choked the breath out of my throat, dragging me under until my lungs burned.
‘I’ve got you, piccolina!’
My father’s strong hand shot through the foam, his fingers clamping onto my wrist with a desperate grip.
His knuckles turned white as he fought the debris, his shoulders straining against the pull of the river to keep my head above the surface.
‘Papa!’ I screamed, coughing up the brown silt, my free hand clawing at his wet shirt. ‘Don’t let go!’
‘Never!’ he bellowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes wide with a fierce, protective terror. ‘Hold on, ’
A submerged tree trunk smashed into us with brutal force.
It slammed into our locked arms, the impact tearing his grip away into the foam with a sickening wrench.
‘Papa!’ I choked out, the current spinning me into the center of the channel.
Ten yards downstream, a flash of blue fabric cut through the brown water.
‘Mama!’ I screamed, my voice cracking with panic.
My mother broke the surface for one final, agonizing second, her hands reaching out toward me before she vanished beneath a swirling vortex of mud and broken timber.
Neither of them surfaced.
They were gone, and I was all alone.
My older brothers, farmhands on remote ranches in the Sila Mountains, were nowhere near rescuing me.
I was only nine years old, and the churning waters had just swallowed my whole world.
Kicking and screaming, I whirled in the water, about to be taken under, until an object hit my side.
A loose sheet of metal from our kitchen roof, as long as I was.
I clutched onto it and clambered onto it, my fingers bleeding as the jagged edges cut into my palms.
The current propelled me toward a bend where the deluge choked between two granite boulders.
I sobbed, wishing the waterway would take me too, because the thought of living without my mother’s arms or my father’s laugh felt impossible.
The deafening roar of the flood filled my ears, but a piercing call cut through the chaos from the canopy above.
Peering up, I spotted a colossal Bonelli’s hawk-eagle perched on a thick branch that overhung the fiercest stretch of the rapids.
The bird tilted its head, its intense yellow eyes locking onto mine.
An overwhelming, inexplicable intuition hit me, telling me I had to abandon my metal raft right now.
I waited until the current slammed the sheet of tin beneath the chestnut tree, gathered every ounce of strength in my nine-year-old legs, and leaped toward the low-hanging limb.
My fingers scraped the rough bark, and I scrambled upward, scraping my shins as I hauled my torso onto the safety of the branch.
The second my feet cleared the water, the river compressed between the boulders.
It rose into a three-story wave of mud and crushed rocks that pulverized my flimsy raft, throwing it into a rock face.
The impact would’ve shattered my bones.
I trembled from head to toe, the damp chill of the night soaking through my cotton nightgown as I crept along the mossy bark.
I stopped just two feet from the creature, captivated by its imposing size and regal majesty.
Dense brown plumage extended all the way down its tarsi to its yellow talons.
I sat, huddled, with hands wrapped around my knees.
The eagle let out another soft, resonant call, remaining still by my side.
Why was I still alive? Why did I survive when my parents hadn’t?
An agonizing grief burrowed into me as I stared into the blackness of the valley.
Yet as I gazed into those fierce amber eyes, the crushing terror of my isolation began to lift just a fraction.
It felt like a tiny piece of heaven’s protection flew down to sit in the tree with me.
For nine hours, through the pitch-black freezing rain, that bird stayed on the limb.
Its massive frame blocked the worst of the mountain wind from my face while I wept for my parents.
As the first gray streaks of dawn illuminated the flooded valley, the Bonelli’s hawk-eagle stretched its neck and unleashed a piercing cry that echoed across the water.
A hundred yards away, a red motorized rescue zodiac rounded the bend, the crew chief steering the boat toward the sound of the bird’s call.
‘Over there!’ a man shouted, pointing his flashlight at our tree. ‘There’s a child on the branch!’
The rescuers maneuvered the rubber hull close to the trunk.
I dropped straight into the extended arms of a volunteer paramedic, the thick canvas of his life vest scraping my cheek.
As the motor puttered into reverse, I turned my head to watch the great bird launch from the bough, its powerful muscles propelling it into the morning sky.
In flight, it formed an imposing silhouette, its long wings and tail fanning out against the backdrop of the clouds.
It showed off a deep blackish coloration across its back, a rich pale belly, and striking whitish plume feathers that caught the early sun from below.
‘Guarda quello,’ the paramedic muttered, wiping the river water from his brow as he stared upward. ‘That’s an aquila del Bonelli. It’s rare to see one in this valley. What a magnificent creature.’
‘That was my friend,’ I whispered, clutching the dry blanket they wrapped around my shoulders as the boat sped away toward the safety of the high ground.
While my heart ached for my parents, I held on to the inexplicable, winged comfort from my long-gone winged protector.
SOFIA, Present Day
I woke with a start at the knock on my door, my mind whirling as I jolted from my nightmare.
My chest was heaving, still rocked by the vivid, terrifying dream, one that always visited me when I was either very tired or under great stress.
‘Sofia, you OK?’
I shook my head, befuddled, struggling to make sense of where I was.
It took more knocking and the timbred burr calling my name one more time for me to knife up in bed.
I took a deep breath in, reorienting myself.
Light spilled through a crack between the thick curtains, telling me it was morning.
Glancing around me, I remembered I was in Jude’s mother’s house.
I was not at the mercy of Luisa and the Compagni capos.
I was safe.
‘Talk to me, Sofia, I heard you screaming,’ came Jude’s rasp, and I lurched, realizing I hadn’t yet responded to him.
‘I’m OK,’ I called out, dashing tears from my eyes.
I slipped from the generous bed and padded to the door, opening it an inch.
He stood tall, looming over me, in a vest and shorts that did nothing to hide his hard, muscled shoulders, bulk, ink, and heat.
His eyes peered down at me, still half shut with sleep, hair wild across his brow.
A wild need rose in me to reach a hand out to smooth it away from his eyes.
‘You sure you’re fine?’
I shrugged, holding myself tight around the middle, well aware my threadbare pajamas were sad-looking, as perhaps all of me was.
‘Bad dream,’ I murmured. ‘Thank you for checking in on me.’
He gave me a skeptical look, then jerked his sculpted chin.
‘Anytime,’ he rasped.
‘Sorry for waking you.’
‘Please don’t apologize, it’s 6 a.m., just go back in and rest. OK?’
I nodded and backed into my room as he prowled to his, across the hallway.
Damn, I woke him, and he didn’t look pleased about the fact.
I retreated inside and, unable to sleep, I spent a few hours reading some of Maggie’s books from a shelf in the guest suite.
I made it downstairs at 10 a.m., and for the duration of Maggie’s birthday weekend, I became a quiet fixture of the family gathering.
I found safety in corners as the noise of celebration rose around me.
When the relatives crowded the long wooden patio tables on Saturday afternoon, passing bowls of grilled corn and pickled onions, the questions inevitably came.
Where was I from?
Where was my family?
How was I an orphan?
I explained how a catastrophic mudslide buried our entire valley, taking our home and killing both of my parents in the middle of the night.
‘So you’ve been on your own since then, sweet girl?’ one of the aunts, Rabina, asked as she squeezed lime juice over her shredded pork.
‘No, signora. My mother’s sister took me in and raised me with my cousin Anya in Calabria.’
To her point, though, I had lived alone for the last five years.
Five years after moving from Calabria to Naples for TV work, my acting career collapsed. With no jobs left in the city, I journeyed north.
I settled in Milan, close to the industrial suburbs of Sesto San Giovanni, Cinisello Balsamo, and Cologno Monzese.
I worked shifts in hotels, laundromats, factories, and bakeries, and cleaned hospitals.
I stayed in touch with my friends through WhatsApp and with my older brothers scattered across Europe as much as possible.
But in essence, I survived alone and had done so for many years.
Now, I ducked my head from the sympathy in Jude’s family’s eyes and the clucking tongues.
Needing space and also wanting to earn my keep, I escaped to the kitchen.
Scrubbing dirty dishes spared me from socializing with Jude’s extended family.
Until Maggie whirled into the kitchen, letting out a tsk as she saw me scouring a skillet.
‘Put that down at once,’ she declared. You’re a guest here, not the hired help. Though goodness knows my son and nephews eat like a pack of feral dingoes and leave a proper disaster zone behind them.’
I managed a small, hesitant smile, keeping my attention locked on the soap suds to hide the moisture gathering in my eyes.
‘I prefer to work, signora. It keeps my mind busy.’
From slipping to its dark side.
Maggie’s blue eyes softened as she took the wet dishwashing pad from my hands.
‘I hear you, love. However, in this family, we don’t make people earn their seat at the table. You’re safe here because you’re a human being who needs a breather, not because you can scrub a pan.’
She placed the skillet on the counter.
‘In this house, we also don’t do the women-in-the-kitchen, men-having-fun-in-another-room nonsense. I’d rather kick back and celebrate my 60th than fix potatoes and assemble the salad and set up the dining room too!’
She turned toward the back window and yelled to Kian, Jude, and all the Martinez males lounging on the lawn chairs outside.
‘Get off your lazy asses, fellas! Sofia can’t be washing after us! And after dinner, it’s not gonna be ladies tidying up and doing dishes while the fellows sit around. We ALL help, and then we ALL relax!’
The men sheepishly strolled in through the patio door as Maggie, triumphant, pulled me away from the sink.
‘Now dry your hands and let me get you another slice of that vanilla cake before the boys inhale the rest of it.’