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Rafaele
I taste that sweet, glorious victory the second my shot hits Fiero’s fuel tank. I watch with eager pleasure as their helicopter plummets to the sea. The storm's fury rages, churning the water into a frenzy, and Fiero and Romola jump, disappearing beneath the crashing waves.
While I do take pleasure in their fall, I need to follow. Time is ticking; one of them has my diamond, and I must find them, dead or alive.
I peer through my plane’s windshield into the murky waters, trying to find them, but I see nothing in the moonlight. They're gone, swallowed by the sea's angry maw. Adrenaline surges through me, propelling me into action.
I put the plane on autopilot for three minutes and swiftly put on an orange life jacket. Glancing back at the cockpit, I knew my plane wouldn't last long in this storm. It’s not a difficult choice—The Heart of Italy is more important right now than any beloved material possession.
"May the gods help me," I mutter under my breath as I leap from the plane into the tumultuous ocean. The impact is jarring, cold water crashing around me like a vise. For a moment, I'm disoriented, struggling against the powerful currents.
The Gods must be listening. These waters look rougher than they are.
My entire body goes harrowingly numb from the icy water, but I don't have time to dwell on the pain. With my life jacket buoying me up, I frantically scan the churning waves, searching for any sign of Romola and Fiero.
There, in the distance, I catch a glimpse of them – two small figures fighting against the brutal currents as they swim towards the caves that line the rocky shore.
I can feel panic clawing at my chest as I realize what this means. If they make it to those caves before I can reach them, I could lose them completely. They could disappear into the myriad of tunnels and passages, even call for backup. They could disappear with my diamond. I can't let them slip through my fingers.
"Damn it," I mutter, gritting my teeth as I plunge my arms into the water and pull myself forward with all the strength I can muster. My muscles scream in protest, but I force myself to ignore the pain and fatigue; I have no choice but to push my body to its very limits.
"Please, let me reach them in time," I pray to whatever gods may be listening. In the midst of the roaring storm and the battle against the merciless sea, a haunting vision grips my mind. It's as if the turbulent waters have stirred up something otherworldly, something ancient and sinister.
Through the crashing waves, I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure standing on a colossal rock at the edge of the shore. The figure is cloaked in darkness, its features obscured by mist and spray.
For a brief moment, it seems as if the figure is beckoning me, hand outstretched toward the caves where Romola and Fiero are headed.
“I’m hallucinating,” I tell myself. Another wave rolls past me, pushing me along to the shore. When I look up again, the hallucination is gone.
My attention is drawn by Romola’s movement, now out of the water. Damn it!
However, something’s wrong, for she bends over and gingerly helps Fiero up. He tries taking a step but staggers to his knees. She helps him up again, and this time, he places one arm around her shoulder. They turn their backs to me, walking away.
I need to catch up! But even as I swim with desperate determination, a sense of foreboding settles over me like a suffocating fog. What awaits us in those caves? They are said to be haunted by vengeful spirits and guarded by ancient curses. This is Ostia, after all, and the supernatural has always been an integral part of our history, our culture, and our very souls.
“You’re talking like a fool. It’s the cold,” I convince myself. But I can’t shake that image of the figure guiding me forward.
I swim faster, never looking back to where I saw it. It was just a hallucination, nothing more. There’s nothing to look for.
Or so I tell myself.
Chapter 48
Fiero
At last, we reach the shores. However, to get to the grottos, we need to make our way up an incline surrounded by rocks. The cold, salty water claws at my injured foot as I try to climb, but each time, without being able to step on both feet, I fall back into the water.
“Listen, Fiero,” Romola gasps through her fatigue, wiping her slick, wet hair off her face. “Hold on tight, will you? I’m going up first to help you out.”
I cling desperately to the jagged rock. She uses one arm to cling to another rock, jumps with both feet to gain her balance, and manages to pull herself up to the shore first. Immediately, she lies flat on her belly, facing me and quickly reaches down with one arm.
I let go of the rock, her strong grip on my arm being the only thing keeping me from being swept away. I muster what strength I have, using my arms and one leg and haul myself up next to her. We both collapse onto the ground, panting heavily.
As my heart rate slows, I turn my head to face her. She’s lying with her eyes closed, her wet hair clinging to her flushed cheeks and draping down her shoulders. Even drenched and exhausted, stuck in an orange lifejacket, she's still breathtakingly beautiful.
The storm has eased out a little, but I can still hear the crashing waves of the unforgiving sea. Today, I wouldn’t have made it out of that ocean without her.
It is then that I realize just how much I love her—this fierce, brave woman who risked her life for mine. She could have gotten to shore much faster on her own, but she didn’t abandon me.
