I placed the pit on a saucer and left it on the counter. Tomorrow, I would wrap it in paper and take it back to the villa with me.
As I was getting ready to return to my room, a faint echo caught my attention. I froze in the middle of the dark hallway, my brow furrowing as my fists clenched. Before common sense could kick in, I was already moving toward the noise.
My stomach churned.
Muffled moans broke the tranquility of the night. It was hard to tell if they were from pleasure or… distress. They were stifled, perhaps by a pillow, and accompanied by rapid breathing and Italian words I couldn’t make out.
I stopped in front of the closed door to his room. Pressing my hands against the wood, I leaned in, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. Was he with another woman?
Camillo sounded breathless, and the noises he made, interspersed with a string of Italian words, were… strange.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea to be there. I knew it was wrong. Even so, my hands found the doorknob and eased the door open.
A crack. Just a crack to see if another woman was there. Then I would leave.
As soon as the door opened wide enough for me to peek through, my gaze darted to the bed, and my lips parted.
There was no one there but him.
Lying on his back with only a duvet draped over his hips, his bare chest rose and fell at a dizzying pace. His face, illuminated by the silver moonlight, was contorted in a look of distress I had never seen before, and the words he murmured almost resembled a sob. But his eyes… His eyes were closed.
A nightmare, I realized.
I slipped into the room, stopping right beside the bed.
Beside him.
I didn’t know what to do. Camillo wasn’t the kind of man you’d imagine in a moment of vulnerability. He was allindifference and fortitude, a steel giant who rarely gave in to emotion. But that wasn’t what I saw now.
That strong man, that cruel mobster, was writhing in pain, his face washed in tears that seemed as though they would never stop falling.
Carefully, I sat on the edge of the bed and placed one of my trembling hands on his chest. He was drenched in sweat.
“Camillo…?” I whispered, startled by the violent thrum of his heartbeat against my palm. “Camillo…?”
“Marcello.” He groaned, and my eyebrows knitted together. “Marcello. Perdonami.” A name and a plea for forgiveness, that much I could understand. But the question remained: who was Marcello? “Perdonami.”
He turned with a sudden jerk, one of his hands clenching like a claw against the pillow. His whole body convulsed as the moans and pleas continued. I leaned over him to look at his face again, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw his teeth bared, gritted tight.
“Oh no…” I breathed, the sudden realization hitting me that he was going to hurt himself. I didn’t know if it was a good idea to wake him, but I had no choice. I placed one hand on his back and the other on his arm, shaking him. “Camillo, wake up. Please.” Nothing. I shook him harder. “CAMILLO!”
With a roar, Camillo bolted upright, gasping for air. His head hung forward, his sweat-soaked hair masking his expression. I moved closer, sliding a hand over him and lowering my face to meet his gaze.
“Daisy…” he wheezed, his voice breaking. The moment our eyes met, I saw the raw pain and the tears spilling from his. “Per favore, I need to be alone.”
“You were having a nightmare.” I pointed out, ignoring his request. No, he didn’t need to be alone. That was the last thing he needed. “You called out a name.”
“Daisy…”
“Who is Marcello?” I insisted, taking his hands in mine. I expected him to push me away or bark at me to leave. Instead, his jade eyes, clouded by tears, met mine, staring as if my mere presence were a knife piercing his gut. “You were asking him for forgiveness…” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “Why?”
Camillo looked at me, his features tightening, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly in his throat. He stared at me for a long beat, lips pressed thin as if searching for the right words, until he brought my hands to his face and kissed them.
A jolt of electricity shot through my skin. The warmth of his lips felt like fire, and my pathetic heart gave in.
“You shouldn’t be here, Piccola Furetta.” He murmured, his gaze flickering away.
“I know. But I heard you and—“
