“Discreetly. Signorina, I repeat, discreetly, if you look to our left, you’ll see a group of ‘friends’.” Scratching my head and looking like a lost tourist, I did as he asked and spotted a group of men who must still be in their twenties, chatting cheerfully. When one of them locked eyes with me, I turned back to the shop window and cleared my throat, feeling a chill run down my spine. “They’re ours,” Luca clarified, and I was relieved to realize they were Camillo’s soldati. “But here, on the Corso, you don’t have to worry. No one does anything stupid in front of so many people.”
“Does that mean, you know,pew-pew?” I mimicked the sound of a pistol under my breath.
Luca cleared his throat rather unpleasantly. “Yes, at any moment. That’s why I’m here with you.”
I nodded slowly, taking in that information. My gaze wandered over the shop window, and suddenly a face came to mind and fear filled me.
“Camillo.” I gasped. “Luca, you should be with him. Not with me.”
Horror overwhelmed me. If what Luca was saying was true, Camillo could be shot at any moment, and that was enough to send me back to the past, to that damned night. In a split second, the image of Lester flashed through my mind, and I needed every ounce of strength I had to keep the tears from spilling over—tears that were now burning in my eyes.
Although there was no train track, nor a frightened boy, there was a strong man walking with a target right in the middle of his back. Camillo could die, and that was a reality that filled me with the deepest horror. A horror one only feels at the possibility that a man who seemed unshakable could crumble at any second.
“Hey, hey…” Luca’s gentle hand resting on my back made me realize my lips were trembling. He wiped away a stray tear as if I were a lost little child. “Don Camillo is always accompanied. Besides, I want to see someone go through Martino. Tutto bene, sì?”
I nodded yes, furrowing my brow and swallowing the urge to cry. After taking a few deep breaths and regaining mycomposure, Luca guided me and we started walking again, so as not to arouse any suspicion.
We reached a display window full of dresses when he stopped me once more.
“Come in, Signorina. We have to buy something. Otherwise, it’ll look strange!” he said with a wink, his arm already stretched toward the open door.
I didn’t want to go shopping. I wanted to get this over with and meet up with that cruel, idiotic Italian, and make sure he was still alive and well. Noticing my apprehension as we entered the store, Luca whispered another barrage of reassuring words, assuring me that the car was armored, that there were eyes in high places, and more than a hundred friendly heads near him.
Somehow, that relieved me, because Luca didn’t mess around with anyone’s safety.
Inside the store, I glanced at a few dresses, and Luca dismissed the salesgirl—a young woman who couldn’t have been more than nineteen—who tried to help us. They had bought me everything I needed when I arrived in Italy. There was no reason for me to…
“Oh my good Lord.” I gasped, loud and clear, stopping dead in front of a mannequin. A piece of dark green satin formed a simple yet elegant dress that hugged the body and ended just above the knee.
Luca stopped beside me, a broad smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Do you like it, Signorina?”
Did I like it? I loved it! It was probably the second most beautiful piece of clothing I’d ever seen in my life. The first was the dress I'd seen the afternoon I broke into the west wing of the villa and came across that picture of Camillo’s parents. I would always remember the red satin dress his mother wore.
“It’s so beautiful…” I muttered, running my fingers over the fabric. In a reflexive gesture, I looked for the price tag, and when I found it, my joy vanished. “Eighteen hundred euros? For this?” I grunted softly, looking at Luca with a disgusted expression.
He shrugged. “I don’t know much about clothes, Signorina. But money is no object! Don Camillo gave orders to buy whatever the Signorina wanted.”
Pride demanded that I refuse and leave without the garment, but instead, a mischievous smile appeared on my lips. “Everything, huh? What if it’s a house in front of the sea?”
Luca narrowed his eyes and muttered through clenched teeth, “Don’t push your luck, Signorina.”
Dress bought, and matching shoes too, we hurried through the streets. The crowds had thinned out, and Luca didn’t want to take any risks, but despite the danger that seemed to lurk everywhere, I smiled simply because we were going to find Camillo.
I’d only be at ease when I saw him in the flesh, alive and well right in front of me.
We entered a building and Luca pressed the button for the top floor in the elevator. Before the doors closed, I saw how the group of soldati in plain clothes stood casually outside thebuilding’s glass doors, pretending they were just smoking a cigarette.
Clever.
The elevator doors opened, and I found myself in front of an absurdly spacious penthouse.
Of course Camillo had a penthouse.
I stepped inside the apartment, with Luca leading the way. Everything there was the opposite of the villa in Castello dell’Fiero, and it was clear it had been decorated to a man’s taste. The furniture was modern, the decor abstract, and the only colors visible there were shades of gray.
When we entered an open-plan space with a living room, kitchen, and dining room, Luca pointed to our left, toward a massive glass wall. As I walked with him in that direction, I soon spotted a spacious terrace, and at the far end of it, under an awning, next to a sort of white wall, stood a glass and wrought-iron table, and sitting at it, Camillo.
With a knot in my stomach, I walked forward, my sandals echoing against small white squares that formed a path in the middle of the pebble floor. I felt relieved to see him looking well, but his indifferent expression tormented me and brought me back to reality. To the way he had treated me.
