people turned to look at us, I uttered a silent thank you and gave a sheepish grin. As I accepted the rose, those familiar dark eyes pierced mine and burned me from a distance. Everyone around us gushed over how sweet the boy was, but I remained serious—holding the gaze of the man who haunted my dreams for more nights than I could count.
The moment he looked away, I felt like I had woken up from a powerful trance, and took in a deep breath. Thanking the boy one more time, I continued on with work. On my way to the kitchen, I placed the rose in a vase that stood on the side table in the hallway. When I returned to Alessandro Damiani's table, he appeared more serious than usual and lost in thought. That night, he didn't give me a large tip when he came to settle the bill. Instead, he handed me a rose of his own which he must have purchased from the boy. When I took it from his hand, our fingers touched, and I shivered at the contact. His smile held a hint of something akin to sadness. Then he leaned closer and laid a feather soft kiss on the bridge of my nose. The scent of his cologne infiltrated my senses, and my heart thumped out of my chest. The look in his eyes told me he could feel it.
“Take care of yourself, tesoro,” he whispered softly, and then he was gone...
I remained staring after him with parted lips and flushed cheeks, devoured by the strangest sizzle in my veins. I kept the rose he had given me, and pressed it between the pages of my diary where I described how his gesture made me feel.
The next Sunday when I went to work, I kept glancing toward the door and waiting for him to appear, but he never came. Then, the Sunday after arrived and the one after that, and there was still no sign of the group of four men. Months passed by, and he never visited the restaurant again. All I had left was the rose and the memory of his beautiful face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Past (5 years prior)
The sudden absence of the powerful man who had disappeared without a trace or explanation made me feel alone and almost abandoned. I couldn't rationalize these strange feelings because Alessandro Damiani didn't owe me anything. In all probability, he had already forgotten about me, while I continued thinking about him every single day. No matter how hard I fought to forget him, I missed his visits. I missed the way he smiled at me before leaving the restaurant. I even missed his unnerving, black gaze that made me so clumsy and awkward in his presence. The torture lasted for weeks, but—with time—I accepted he was out of my life for good, and I settled back into the existence of hardships and misery.
The situation at home grew worse by the day, and the tension between my parents became unbearable. Their fights always ended up in physical altercations, and both of them were losing their minds. This couldn't continue for much longer, and something had to give sooner or later. The thought of leaving together with May was constantly on my mind, but I told myself to be patient. I would turn eighteen in two months, then I'd be able to contact child-protective services and try and convince them to let me take care of May.
Life was difficult, but I had hope. I had a plan for the future. May was my reason to keep fighting, and I was determined to do whatever it took to get us out of this hell. But then, things took an ugly turn and escalated into a disaster of epic proportions.
One day when I came home from school, there were three strange men standing in our living room. My father's usually swollen face looked pale, and Trisha was crying. It took me a moment to grasp the severity of the situation. These weren't ordinary men. For one, they all wore leather jackets as though part of some dangerous gang. One of them stood out, even more menacing than the others, and from the way he barked orders, he seemed to be in charge. He was so tall and overweight, he resembled a giant. The fact he was bold and had a long thick scar under his right eye made him appear even more dangerous.