Chapter 60
Camillo Vicari
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
I was struggling to stay focused. Luca and the men were updating me on the new security measures. A necessity lately, given that everything in our world was in flux. Especially after we had obliterated three of the ‘Ndrangheta’s most powerful families months ago.
“We’re already testing the drones, Don Vicari.
They have a twenty-two-hour battery life, not twenty-seven as promised, but we’re making it work,” Manolo, one of our most tech-savvy soldati, reported.
“I’d like to suggest we upgrade the video surveillance systems. It would be a hefty investment, but I think the ragazzi and I could prevent many kinds of breaches. ”
I exchanged a glance with Luca, who merely shrugged, signaling that the decision was mine. “Va bene,” I nodded. “Work out all the details with Luca, sì?”
“Sì, Don Vicari.”
The men dispersed, and Luca patted me on the shoulder before following them into the villa. As soon as I was alone, I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of petrichor and rubbing a hand across my face.
Dio. With each passing day, I felt myself wasting away.
Everything reminded me of her. The sun. The flowers. The birdsong. The marshmallows. And the peaches. Those goddamn peaches.
I placed my hands on my hips and fixed my gaze on my feet, kicking at the moss that had sprouted between the garden slabs.
She had started saving pits when we were in Reggio Calabria.
I’d found a sprouted pit on the counter when I returned to the house last month.
The humidity in the penthouse had allowed the pit to bud, growing into a small fifteen-centimeter plant.
And I had clung to it as if my life depended on that little tree.
I had put it in a pot. It sat in my room, right by the window. I watered it every morning, as if somehow that kept her close to me.
Daisy. Even the thought of her name ached.
Every night since she left, I dreamed that we were reunited. That she ran toward me like she did that first night. In the dream, I held her tightly against my chest and wouldn't let her go. But when I woke up, she was gone, and I remembered again why it had been necessary.
Daisy was too good for my world.
Every now and then, Luca would try to give me updates, but I always cut him off. I didn’t want to—nor could I—know anything about her life. If one day he told me she’d found someone else, I knew perfectly well I’d throw common sense aside and head to Mississippi to bring her back.
To win her back. That was what my heart craved with all its might. But it couldn't be.
I wondered if she had met some nice American man during those months. A man whose hands were clean of blood and who could give her a peaceful life.
Sì. It was likely that had happened, I realized with a bitter smile and that familiar knot tightening in my throat. She was so easy to love… Surely, she already belonged to someone else.
I cleared my throat and straightened up, taking a deep breath to push back the treacherous tears welling in my eyes. Daisy had to live her life, and I… I would have to continue mine. Without her. Without anyone.
I didn’t want anyone else.
I turned toward the villa, ready to return to the comfortable solitude of my room, when a chill down my spine—almost like a premonition—made me spin on my heel. I frowned and fixed my gaze on the path climbing the hill.
I moved forward with long strides, starting to catch the sound of footsteps. When I finally saw who was coming, I felt as if my flesh were nearly peeling from my bones.
My body trembled. My face went cold.
With her hair loose, whipping in the wind like a golden veil, a slender woman was running up the path. Fast, determined, with a pair of peridot eyes sparkling in my direction.
I shook my head. I was hallucinating. I had to be. She was in Mississippi.
But…
Before common sense could hold me back, I ran the few meters that still separated us and opened my arms, catching her the moment her body collided with mine. Slender legs wrapped around my waist and the scent of chamomile and strawberry filled my lungs.
“Piccola Furetta,” I stammered, clutching her tightly as the sound of our ragged breaths mingled. “Am I hallucinating?”
Her arms tightened around my neck and her face buried itself in my shoulder. Suddenly, her rapid breathing was replaced by heartfelt sobs, and I knew, my knees buckling, that this was far from a hallucination or a fantasy.
Daisy was there. In Italy. In Calabria. In my arms. Again.
“Please, don’t send me away…” she whimpered, her soft accent lapping at my soul. “Please, I can’t go.”
I fell backward and sat there on the ground, with her locked onto me like a stubborn koala. I lifted my face to the sky, trying to find the strength to reject her. To send her back. Instead, I felt my lips tremble, and the tears came without remorse or shame.
No, I couldn’t send her away, and that was perhaps my gravest crime.
Taking a deep breath, planting a flurry of kisses on the curve of her neck, I pulled her back just enough to see her face and tucked the strands of hair behind her ears. Her little ferret face was pinched with sadness and her beautiful peridot eyes were reddened by tears.
“This is a death sentence, Piccola Furetta. In my world, only bullets are guaranteed.”
Her tiny hands rested on my jaw and her lips pressed a quick kiss to mine, bringing me back to life.
“And what am I supposed to do? Stay in Mississippi and pretend we never met? That what we lived through meant nothing? This is my world, Camillo,” she gasped against my lips, taking what remained of me. “This is our world.”
“I missed you so much, Dolcezza… Every single day,” I groaned and captured her lips. I lost myself in that kiss, savoring the sweetness of her, knowing she tasted even better than I remembered.
“Don’t send me away. Never again.”
I laughed as tears rolled from my eyes. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to,” I admitted and pressed my lips to her forehead. Then, I whispered what my soul had wanted to shout for months: “Grow old with me, Piccola Furetta.”
“Does that mean…?”
“Marry me, Daisy Parker. In this life and every one after it.”
She smiled. A deep, slow, tranquil smile, and her peridots locked with my jades. “Let not even death part us.”