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He takes my passport and driver’s license and barely glances at my face. “I can offer you an aisle seat or a window seat unless you prefer first class. We have two seats left.”
“First class,” I tell him. At least that will give me a little privacy while I write an article.
The security check is relatively speedy today. The entire wait after getting through to the gates is spent scouring the halls for anyone who resembles Lorenzo or the men on his payroll. While the smart side of my brain is relieved that I don’t see a soul I recognize, there’s a large part of my heart that feels crushed Lorenzo didn’t even bother to come after me.
Maybe all he ever really cared about was the end game. His family story to play out in the eyes of the world the way he wanted it to. While he watched the De Rosa name be smeared, their humiliation and all the shame the Larussios caused while keeping themselves glamorized in the eyes of the public.
Perhaps that’s not really fair, after everything he shared with me. Maybe he deserves some sort of an explanation. After all, the attraction wasn’t one sided. He didn’t make me any promises that he didn’t keep, and he did keep me from being kidnapped or worse.
Lorenzo will get one last story. I stretch my legs out in front of me and begin to type. Why is it so hard to write the things that are so personal when you’re trying to filter everything that you say? I sigh and read it one more time once I’m done.
Dear Lorenzo,
I write to you from the air to clear any misconceptions that there may be between us. When I first left Italy and started working freelance, my intent was clear. Dig into the truth about what happened to my dad and expose it for what was real. Even after all the hell that man put my mother through, still, he was my father.
Surely, if I was any good at writing, I could learn the truth and set him free. A twenty-two-year-old college graduate setting out on her first venture into the world, idealistic and strong willed. I was certain I could and was ready to face any foe there was, be it a De Rosa or Larussio or any other family out there.
The money was always secondary for me. Did I come to like the comfort and security that it gave me? Certainly. Never did my original story go to anyone but me or my own personal saving space. I always wrote a rough draft that got all the anger, disappointment, and disillusionment of a young woman out of my system. Then, after all that was cleared, I could write a story that was unbiased and true. That’s the story I published. The one the public wanted to hear, not about gory details. The one that exposed the decent men behind the dark, what made them tick, what legacies and rules the powerful men live by.
Then, and only then, did I sell the images. You once said maybe we would never know if I would have published the piece about the roses. You were wrong because I know for certain that if you had not shown up at my house, I would have. It’s pieces like these that fascinate readers, and for a journalist trying to feed that veracity, the story was perfect, taboo, and exciting. A glimpse of the behind-the-scenes traditions that no one usually gets to see.
But that was before I came to love you, respect the reasons those traditions and rituals are so sacred.
Attached in this email, you will find the story from Emelia’s mom and younger brother’s funeral. I sincerely hope that it is what you were looking for and that it will serve you and your family’s purpose well.
The story about the roses I have kept. You of all people should know there always has to be a backup plan. In case things don’t go as intended. My father did not leave me much in the way of memories, but he did leave me with self-preservation.
My intent is not to publish the story, but to keep it as a means of security. In time, as our relationship grew, my original intent was to destroy it. To turn the paper back to ashes where it belongs, watching it burn in a fireplace somewhere while enjoying a glass of wine with you.
But that was before you proved untrustworthy, like my father.
The document will now be in safekeeping for the duration of my life. Rest assured that it will never be shared, but with that, I expect that you will honor my wishes to disappear and start anew.
Love,
Izzy
I reread it once more, engage the airline’s Wi-Fi for first class, and hit send. I turn to look out the window at the gray sky below while wiping the only tears I will allow myself to shed.
A sound of a man clearing his throat causes me to turn toward him. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the one in the aisle.
I shake my head. “No one has claimed either one,” I tell him, gesturing to the two empty ones beside me.
“Weather doesn’t sound good in Chicago. Maybe not as many commuters today. The attendant told me I could look for another empty seat but not until the fasten seat belts signs came off,” he says, sliding into the seat at the aisle.
“A woman with a small infant and toddler had the seats next to me. She can use the extra space,” he explains, stowing his small leather bag under the seat in front of him as I put my phone away.
I nod, barely processing what he’s said. For one halfhearted minute, I thought Lorenzo would find me, at least try to talk me out of going, smooth talk me with his velvety tongue, or even tell me that he loves me too.
That’s what I was prepared for. To tell him that none of that really mattered, because without trust, there is nothing. But that doesn’t stop the sadness in my heart knowing that the powerful and mighty Lorenzo Larussio could have found me with all his connections, but he chose to let me walk away.
Something else my father taught me. Actions speak louder than words…
I doze the rest of the way to Chicago, only waking when the seat belt announcement is made and we’re close to landing. The man next to me is engrossed in a book and glances at me as I stir. “Good flight, no turbulence,” I tell him as the plane descends into the windy city, which is the best place in the world to land and then disappear forever.
Chapter23
Lorenzo
