Epilogue
Capri
Ihad met a bunch ofred roses when I got home that night.Leonardo had taken me home, promising to take care of everything.Taking care of the situation obviously didn’t involve returning Adriano to me.We couldn’t involve the police since it was Mafia business.What that implied was that we had limited resources to search for Adriano.The first few days had been terrible.I couldn’t eat or drink and holed up in my house.I had clung to the hope that my master had survived somehow.Maybe he had washed up somewhere and was waiting to be found.
After a few weeks, his trail had gone cold, and Leonardo had exhausted his options.I slowly began to accept that maybe he didn’t survive.The chances of surviving that fall after being shot were dangerously slim.Yet a part of me refused to stop believing that he would one day return to me.
“How did you come up with this painting?”an amused art enthusiast asks.He cut a striking figure in his tailored suit, the fabric hugging broad shoulders and tapering neatly down his frame.A crisp shirt peeked from beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of his tie catching the light.Clean-shaven, with hair combed back in effortless style, he had green eyes but was not my master.
“I must say, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he adds, desperate to strike up a conversation.
“Live life...”I’ve clung to Adriano’s last words.They remind me of how he wanted me to live my life free of pain and regrets.I know he wouldn’t have wanted me sulking and spending weeks mourning his death.He’d have wanted me to embrace the pain, fuck with it, and come out stronger.I knew what I had to do, and I did it.
My relationship with my parents has been great.I no longer spend my days holed up in my house.I finally completed my first painting since my best friend’s death, and I’m doing what I’ve always wanted.It’s ironic how one death made me lose the will to live, and the other gave me the will to live life.
“Live life?”he asks with a puzzled look.
“I lost my best friend in an accident and lost my will to live.I spent weeks in the hospital, then months learning to walk again ...then months holed up in a self-dug pit.”
“Then what happened?”he asks, interest piqued.
“I met him.”I turn back to the artwork on the gallery walls.A painting of the picture I had seen at Adriano’s place—a younger version of him sitting on his grandmother’s lap and smiling, while holding a rose.That’s how I want to remember him—happy, with brilliant eyes.
“Who is he?”
“Someone who taught me how to find pleasure in pain.He taught me how to live again.”
“He must be a great guy.”
“He was.”
“Was?”
“He died...”I try to steady my voice.“Car accident.”
He gives me a strange look, as if it’s unbelievable that my best friend and boyfriend would both lose their lives in car accidents.I am not about to tell him that Adriano was in the Mafia and fell off a cliff while trying to protect me.
“Well, I’m so sorry to hear that.It’s impressive that you could create something so beautiful from such a tragic story.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The gentleman nods and moves on to the next piece, while I remain in front of the painting of the man who had taught me to live.
Crunching footsteps and the sound of boots hitting the tiled floor make my eyes go wide.
“Hmm ...interesting...”a deep and familiar voice says from behind me.
My heart immediately goes into overdrive as I realize who it is.Tears well up in my eyes, as goose bumps make a home across my skin.“Adriano.”
Maybe my journey hasn’t been perfect, but deep down, I know that I finally have the chance to live life.
The End
