“She is no longer with us.” My expression must have been too obvious. I turned to Fabiano, embarrassed by the relief I was feeling. What did I care if Camillo Vicari was single or married?He was a jerk, a murderer, and my kidnapper. Nothing more. "Signora Valentina was quite a woman. Very beautiful, tall, intelligent... Signor Camillo loved her so much it was ridiculous. Once, she told him she was allergic to peaches. By the time Don Patrizio and Don Gaetano found out, he had already ordered us to uproot all the peach trees. He had many arguments with his mother because of her. Signora Natalia hated Valentina.”
I swallowed hard, looking at the window beside me. The sun was about to set in a few minutes, but even its copper beauty on the horizon was not enough to dispel what I was feeling. My chest felt tight. A sharp pain made my toes curl.
When I first told him I was afraid to be alone in the housekeeper's house, he didn't even care. But for that so-called Valentina, he even uprooted a peach orchard.
I rubbed the back of my neck, focusing on Fabiano and pushing those absurd thoughts away.
“Did she also die in the accident?”
“No.” His heavy tone surprised me. All this time, Fabiano had been extremely pleasant and had proven himself to be a cheerful man, but now his tone was distant, heavy. “She was murdered at home, in America. She and her son.”
I shifted uncomfortably. Camillo had had a wife and a child. My heart sank as I imagined him returning to Italy alone, with no one. It was no wonder he wanted to protect the family he had left from Senator Jones. But there was something that still puzzled me.
“Did you say she was to blame for the accident, Fabiano?”
“Sì. She went to work in America as a lawyer or whatever she was. She got hold of some dodgy documents and had Signor Camillo's famiglia arrested. When they tried to escape, she called the police and the accident happened,” he said. “Camillo, Mario, and Lorenzo were in another car, which is why they survived. But Don Patrizio, Don Gaetano, Don Ricardo, Signora Natalia, Signora Renata, and Signora Geovana... they died in the accident.”
“And... And did Camillo forgive his wife?” The question came out without me thinking.
Fabiano sighed and scratched the curls covering the back of his neck. “No. He asked her for a divorce as soon as the sentence was read. He preferred to go to jail divorced than married to a traitor. He didn't even want to recognize the boy when he found out she was pregnant.”
“Oh...”
We didn’t talk about it any further. It was terrible to realize everything Camillo had been through, and I understood why he was so paranoid. He had been betrayed by the woman he loved and lost his family because of it. I couldn't imagine the kind of guilt he must have been carrying in his heart.
I suppose we all have our demons...
After a few minutes on the road, I frowned. The sun had already set, but there was no sign of the houses of Castello dell'Fiero. Quite the opposite. Fabiano had entered some kind of highway.
I sat up straight in my seat.
“Where are you taking me?”
He smiled and winked at me. “I’m going to prove I can be a great friend, if you let me!”
I narrowed my eyes, remembering all the shooting lessons my Papa gave me when I was a little girl. Those people were part of the mob. Fabiano was no exception, so I was pretty sure there was a gun somewhere in that pickup and I wasn’t afraid to use it if my new friend tried anything funny.
“How exactly are you planning to do that?” I asked, already eyeing the glove compartment.
Would it be there?
However, the Italian looked at me and gave me a warm smile, easing my nerves as he explained, “I’m taking you to Reggio Calabria.”
Chapter 31
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
July, 2025
Reggio Calabria, Calabria, Italy
My jaw dropped as soon as I got out of the car. Before me stretched the sea, impressive and serene, dotted with the lights of street lamps brushing the waves at its edge.
“Benvenuta a Lungomare,” said Fabiano, extending an arm, inviting me to follow him.
That place, Lungomare, seemed like something out of a summer dream. Palm trees sprinkled the streets and the beach, some narrow and impressively tall, others rounded and adorably small. They mingled with sections of garden that cut across the pavement, forming a mix of vegetation where rural Italy and the tropics blended together. There was a huge building with a facade where red tiles and beige granite mingled, all reminiscentof Gothic arcades and similar window arches. It reminded me of an aristocratic mansion. I wondered if it was one.
I spotted some kind of humanoid statuettes, covered with letters and other symbols, along the lawns of the gardens and a cluster of Greek-style columns made of what looked like wire. Along the seafront, there were bars and restaurants scattered about, from which most of the buzz came. Even so, there weren't many people around.
