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“Try me?” his voice is hoarse, patient, desperate to know me.
“Well, we all work so hard in these big, ugly cities. I imagine we’re lucky to be in Rome and not some larger monstrosity, but still, we work so hard and then spend it all to stay in these places we don’t really like. Is this how life’s meant to go?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, reaching over and gently rubbing the back of my knuckles, encouraging me to continue.
“Most people want to retire to the mountains or seascape and grow old there. So why are we putting off those dreams when it’s quite obvious that life is happiest in nature? What if we could achieve that dream now?
“You make a valid point,” Fiero concedes. “It’s not that straightforward for all of us, though. Some responsibilities can’t simply be relocated to paradise.”
“And you?” I ask, trying to see if I can use this moment to make him open up to me. “Do you have such… responsibilities?”
“I…” his voice cracks. I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumors about me—the organization I run, the dark dealings…”
Of course, I know he’s a mafia don, yet I pretend I don’t. “I’m sure it’s all rumors,” I lie through my teeth.
“What if I told you they’re not?” he asks, almost angrily. “That they’re a birthright, I never asked for, and I can’t leave behind.”
“Well then, I say you deserve more vacations than I do,” I say, giving him a small smile.
He looks up at me, his head jerking back as if he’s shocked by my simple answer. “You aren’t afraid, Romola? Of my world?”
“I learned very young that good people must sometimes do bad things. Who am I to judge? I don’t know where you come from, what has shaped your character or view of life.”
“Most women become fearful. Most men want to be my friend for their own benefit, only very few are willing to become true close friends,” he laments. The way he stares at me with wonderment makes my heart lurch to my stomach. It’s as though he’s never been seen or heard before today.
“Well then, they’re short-sighted to judge a man by his fate and not by his doings,” I whisper.
He gazes at me, his eyes softening like a gentle sea. "I've never met anyone quite like you," Fiero admits, his voice tinged with a raw vulnerability that takes me by surprise. "You don't fear the darkness in me; instead, you seek to understand it."
A shiver runs down my spine at his words, as if finally acknowledging a truth that has been in plain sight since the moment we first laid eyes on each other. I watch how the moonlight kisses his handsome features, and a gentle wave of desire for more seeps through me.
"I'm not afraid," I confess, a barely-there whisper.
We sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks.
"Romola, I've told you more about myself than I normally would any guest. Now, I’ve been wondering about your supposed ability to read crystal balls. How did you come to possess such a mysterious talent?"
My heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as Fiero's question hangs in the air between us. I desperately want to tell him the truth—that I’ve only concocted that backstory so I could crash his party.
I want whatever this is between us to grow, and telling him more lies will certainly not achieve that. But how much of the truth can I really tell him without losing what precariously footing we have gained thus far?
Against all my better judgment, led only by a faint gut feeling, I decided to convince this man that I could see things no one else could.
"Truth be told," I begin, taking a deep breath to steady myself, "my gift came to me in a dream." I pause for a moment, gauging his reaction, before continuing. "It was unlike any dream I'd had before – so vivid and intense that it felt like reality."
"Go on," Fiero says, leaning closer, his eyes locked onto mine.
"From that night on, I started experiencing what I can only describe as an innate sixth sense," I explain, weaving the story of my supposed powers with careful precision. "I began having dreams about people I knew, or sometimes complete strangers, and these dreams would always come true."
"Can you give me an example?" Fiero asks, genuinely fascinated by my words.
"Of course," I say, quickly coming up with some fabricated story. "When I was just twelve years old, I dreamt that my closest friend would break her leg during a school trip. The very next day, she tripped and fell down some stairs, fracturing her leg in the exact same place I'd seen in my dream."
Fiero's eyes widen as he absorbs this information, clearly captivated by my narrative. "That's truly remarkable," he murmurs a hint of awe in his voice.
"Many people are skeptical, of course," I admit, observing Fiero's expressions closely. "But I've learned to trust my intuition and the messages that come to me through the crystal ball and, sometimes, my dreams."
Fiero watches me intently, his emerald green eyes searching for any hint of deception. "I have to say, I'm fascinated by your story," he admits, his voice gushing with genuine interest.
