Chapter 43 Camilla
The car is not what I expected. I'm standing in the villa's courtyard after breakfast, when one of his men pulls up in a sleek silver sports car.
"Good morning," he says, climbing out and handing keys to Renato who's appeared beside me. "She's fueled up and ready to go."
"Thank you." Renato dismisses him with a nod, then turns to me with something that might be nervousness in his expression. "I thought we'd take something fun. If that's okay."
"Fun?" I circle the car, running my hand along the smooth lines. "Wow! What is this?"
"Ferrari 488. Had it in storage." He opens the passenger door for me. "Haven't driven it in three years. Seemed like a good day to remember what it feels like."
I slide into the leather seat, breathing in the smell of the expensive car. The interior is all carbon fiber and red stitching, designed for speed.
This is not a car for cautious driving.
This is a car for living.
Renato settles into the driver's seat and the engine roars to life with a sound that vibrates through my entire body. He catches my expression and something almost playful flickers across his face.
"Buckle up and hold on," he says.
Then we're moving.
Fast.
He takes the mountain roads like he was born to them.
Smooth acceleration through the curves, perfect timing on the shifts, the kind of controlled aggression that comes from skill and confidence.
The trees blur past us as we climb higher into the mountains between Lake Maggiore and the Swiss border.
I should be terrified. The speeds he's taking these curves at would normally make me grip the door handle and beg him to slow down.
Instead, I'm laughing.
Actually laughing. Deep, genuine, surprised-by-joy laughter that I haven't felt since before the cathedral. Maybe even a long time before that. The adrenaline, the speed, the pure freedom of it all combines into something that feels almost like flying.
Renato glances over at me, and when he sees me laughing, something transforms in his expression. The careful control drops away and he smiles, really smiles, not the sharp dangerous smile I've seen before but something real and unguarded.
Then he laughs too.
The sound startles me so much I almost stop laughing myself. It's rich and warm and completely unexpected, nothing like the cold businessman or the violent killer or even the careful man who makes me breakfast. This is... a man enjoying making someone happy.
Enjoying me being happy.
"Faster," I hear myself say, and he responds immediately, pushing the Ferrari through the next series of curves with even more confidence.
The world becomes a blur of green forest and blue sky and grey mountain road. My heart is pounding but not from fear, from exhilaration. From feeling alive in a way I haven't felt in years.
From being with someone who understands that sometimes you need speed and the kind of reckless joy that comes from trusting someone else completely while they push every limit.
We drive for an hour like that, him taking the curves with increasing confidence, me laughing at the pure thrill of it, both of us existing in this bubble where nothing matters except the road and the speed and the unexpected joy of being together.
Eventually, he pulls into a small parking area near a mountain café that overlooks the valley below. When he cuts the engine, the sudden silence is almost shocking after the roar of the Ferrari.
"That was incredible,” I tell him, still smiling.
"You weren't scared?" He's watching me carefully, like my answer matters more than it should.
"I wasn't scared at all. I trusted you." The admission slips out before I can analyze it, and I can tell it pleases him. "You're a very good driver."
"Learned young. Had to." He gets out of the car, coming around to open my door. "When you grow up the way I did, you figure out how to take what joy you can find."
I accept his hand. "Is that what this is? Joy?"
"Yeah." He looks almost surprised by his own answer. "It’s what it feels like to me."
The café is small and rustic with stone walls, wooden beams, and a terrace overlooking a view that stretches for miles. Mountains in every direction, the lake glittering far below, Switzerland visible in the distance. It's breathtaking.
We take a table on the terrace, and sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just taking in the view. The coffee is perfect. Strong and rich, exactly what you want at a mountain café.
"This is nice," I say finally. "Normal. Like something regular people do."
"We can be regular people. For today, at least." He takes a bite of cornetto, then pushes the plate toward me. "Though I don't think regular people drive Ferraris through mountain passes at illegal speeds."
"No, but regular people laugh like you did in the car." I accept a pastry, tearing off a piece. "I've never heard you laugh like that before."
"I don't laugh much."
"Why not?"
He's quiet for a moment, considering. "Nothing's been funny for a long time. Life's been... serious. Survival first, then business, then more business. Not much room for joy in that."
"And today?"
"Today you were laughing. Happy. It made me..." He trails off, searching for words. "It made me remember what that feels like."
The honesty in his voice gets to me. We're not talking about the nights, not acknowledging what's happening between us in darkness. But this—this daylight connection, this moment of shared joy—feels just as intimate in its own way.
"Tell me more about your father," I say, wanting to know more about him. “You never say much about him."
"Not much to tell. He was terrible at staying in one place. My mother thought he'd settle down when I was born, but..." He shrugs. "Some men aren't built for settling down."
"Are you?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is ready to address. He looks at me for a long moment, something complicated in his dark eyes.
"I used to think I wasn't. That I was like him, built for chaos, not for staying." He picks up his espresso. "But lately I've been wondering if maybe I just never had a reason to stay before."
We're dancing around something huge here, something neither of us can name in daylight. But it's there in every word, every glance.
"More coffee?" The server interrupts, appearing with the pot.
"Please," I say gratefully, needing a moment to process what he just implied.
She refills our cups, chattering about the weather and the tourists. After she leaves, we fall into easier conversation about the mountains, about coffee, about nothing important and everything at once.
We stay for over an hour, just talking and drinking coffee and watching the world from this mountain perch. It's the most normal thing in the world.
No loaded silences, no pretending, no weight of trauma or violence.
Just two people enjoying each other's company on a beautiful day.
Eventually, reluctantly, we head back to the car. The drive down is slower, more relaxed, but just as enjoyable. He lets me pick the route, turning wherever I point, getting deliberately lost on small mountain roads just because we can.
"This was perfect," I say as we approach the villa. "Thank you for planning it."
"Thank you for laughing." He pulls into the courtyard and cuts the engine. "I'll remember that sound for a long time."
We sit in the car for a moment, neither of us quite ready to return to the villa and whatever complicated reality waits there. Out there in the mountains, we could be anyone. Two people falling for each other in the simplest, most natural way.
But we're not anyone. We're us, with all our complications and darkness and the nights we pretend don't exist.
"Camilla?" He turns to face me, his expression suddenly serious. "Today was..."
"Don't," I interrupt gently. "Don't analyze it or make it into something complicated. Let it just be what it was."
"Which was?"
"A good day." I open the car door. "One of the best I've had in a very long time."
"Me too."