“Liv, does that mean…?”
“That I’m going to take you to the airport. But on one condition, Daisy Parker.”
A tear fell, even as a smile spread across my face. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want you to tell me anything about what that mobster does. I don’t want to know how many pounds of drugs he sold or who he killed. But when you get married, I want to hold the train of your dress. When your children are born, I want to be one of the first people to hold them. I want to be there for your birthdays, your highest highs and lowest lows, Daisy Parker.”
“Liv…” I sobbed, caught between joy and a deep, aching pain.
She waved her hands dismissively. “I know something happened during those months. I know you better than anyone else. Something changed, and I don't need to know what. Sometimes we need to have secrets. What Idon’twant is to lose you, because you’re the most important person in my life.”
I shoved the flash drive into my pocket and threw my arms around Olivia, clinging to her like a koala.
“Of course I promise,” I swore, thanking the good Lord that, after all, I had been wrong all that time and that this was far from being our last chapter together, Liv's and mine.
Chapter 59
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
December, 2025
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
The taxi stopped at the same moment my heart did.
Seeing the vineyard stripped of its leaves, bathed in the silvery light of winter, was like revisiting the past through a black-and-white picture. When the car dropped me off at the end of the path, I squeezed my left hand, touching the peridot ring that still adorned it. It would stay there forever.
Luca had kept me informed. Fabiano, too. I knew Camillo was still as lonely as when I’d first met him, but what if everything had changed in the last few days? What if his heart had decided to forget me? Or what if he’d found someone else?
With my legs trembling, I started up the road. No one was working the vines, likely due to the season, and the plots of land were now covered in low grass. The silhouette of the house at thetop, a beautiful shade of yellow, stole the breath from my lungs. The sky hung heavy and overcast. The wind blew softly, a cool breeze testing the thickness of my denim jeans.
I wrapped my arms around myself, both to ward off the cold seeping through my pink wool sweater and to settle the fear turning my insides to water.
I took a deep breath.
I had nothing but my phone and my wallet. I hadn’t brought any clothes except for those I was wearing. I hadn’t wanted to bring anything with me. But now, I wondered how wise that had been.
What if he sent me away? What if I’d misread it all? What if everything we’d been through was nothing more than a trick of my mind?
Halfway up the path, my legs froze and my lips parted to the heavy rhythm of my heart. From there, I had a perfect view of the villa. The garden. The parked cars. The men talking amongst themselves. And him.
Camillo.
Standing among his soldati, with Luca by his side.
Unlike the man I remembered, his hair was a mess, whipping with every gust of wind. He was dressed in what looked like a dark blue wool sweater and black trousers.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
My heart felt like a landslide, and suddenly I felt as if I were facing a speeding train again, a gun, death itself. There was only one thing left to do.
Run.
Run up the path.
Run toward the villa.
Run into his arms.
