One year later

          "Mia, non scordarti il cuscino da viaggio," Aunt Feli says while I come down the stairs followed by the driver who takes my luggage to the car. (Mia, don't forget your traveling pillow).

After a year of living at Aunty's house, today I'm traveling back to the US for my graduation.

"Oh, dai, Zia, sto viaggiando con il volo di papà. Non c'è bisogno di quello," I reply but once I'm next to her just before I exit the house I notice Aunty hiding her eyes from me. (Oh, come on, Aunty, I'm traveling by Papa's flight. I won't need that).

"Aunty... please don't make me cry," I tell her while circling my arms around her neck and squeezing her tightly.

"I don't even know when one year has passed. It's like you came here just yesterday," she sobs.

"Aunty, I'm coming back. It's only one month and I'll be back. I promise," I reply but my heart clenches in a painful claw just by thinking about it.

"Of course, you will. It's not like you can miss your own wedding," she bitterly jokes and plants a kiss on my forehead. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I don't want you to leave to the States and leave your mind here. All is good, we are all fine and we wait for you to come back. Enjoy your graduation," she continues, playing with my hair and tucking some curls behind my tears while tears threaten to slide down my cheeks but I keep looking into Aunty's eyes, loving her to a whole different level after spending a full year in her house.

Aunt Feli has been the first mother figure I've opened my eyes on. She used to take me to her house whenever mamma was not available and I remember that the happiest day in my life was when she bought my first surfing board. I loved it and fell in love with surfing ever since.

"I will. And when I come back, you, mamma, and I will go and hunt the perfect wedding dress," I promise and she smiles widely until her eyes become some thin lines.

It's an arranged marriage and it almost feels like it's not my own wedding so, mamma and Aunty can choose whatever dress they like.

I love to see them happy, unlike my broken heart. There hasn't been even one day or night without thinking of Raffa, without reliving the moment I saw him crashed on the floor, covered in blood as if the skies have opened and they cried tears of blood.

That day will haunt me forever and the love I have for him will never end, till the day of my own death.

He never came back to me. I don't even know if he died that day or not. Even if he did, in the Mafia world you don't make such things public till all businesses are arranged.

I asked Papa to search for him. He said that after he was taken to a doctor, he disappeared the next day although Papa was sure he was in a coma when they took him.

Papa says he's still searching for him but, no news yet and I'm thinking that maybe he doesn't want to be found.

So I've stopped searching. And hoping.

The months after the hit on our house we had to leave hidden and Aunt's Feli house was just the place for me. Mamma and Papa left for the house on the island and lived there with Grandma Becca and Grandpa Lucas.

Julian took over Papa's business and settled in NY.

I remained at Aunt Feli. And before I enjoyed it, I crossed hell.

I was not a human those days. I stopped eating and sleeping and my room was the only place I felt I could breathe.

My marriage came as an escape from my tragic life. Raffa must be dead or else he would have found me. He promised he would and I promised I would wait but, if he really doesn't want to show up and come back, maybe my marriage will set him free and all things will be back to normal.

Well, our normal.

And if he is dead... well, he will reign my heart forever and I will honor him by living my life decently, doing my best to be happy, and keeping him alive in my thoughts.

I met Michelle on a trip to Ibiza, four months ago. I still believe it was not a coincidence because, well, let's say I know Papa very well.

He is quite a decent-looking guy, gentle, smart, and with a deep respect for Papa. He is a good catch, Aunt Feli once suggested and so, I said yes.

If it's not Raffa, it can be anybody with a good heart. This marriage is for the family, not for me.

"Miss Emilia, siamo pronti," the driver says and I know it's time to leave for the airport but I still linger in Aunty's arms, sobbing and sad to leave. (Miss Emillia, we are ready).

I'm traveling to NY first and stay with Julian for a while. Then I'll visit my family at the island house, spend some quality time with them, and most importantly, I'll be surfing.

I miss it.

We soon arrive at the airport where I'm being waited by the cabin crew and Papa's guards. They are too many lately but, papa says it's necessary.

"Welcome on board, Miss Benito," the nice, sexy lady smiles at me and shows me to my seat.

Before I make myself comfortable for the ten hours of flight, my phone buzzes and I pull it out of my purse, seeing Papa's call flashing on the screen.

"Si, papa," I pick it up. (Yes, Dad).

"Principessa, come stai? Va tutto bene?" papa says. (Princess, how are you? Is everything alright?).

He sounds weird, sad.

"Sì, papà. Tutto e 'veramente bello. Come va? Come sta, mamma?" I ask him, trying to find out more. (Yes, Dad. Everything is great. How are you? How is Mom? )

"Yes, yes principessa, we are fine. Listen... hm, Julian will wait for you at the airport in NY and you will both take an immediate flight here."

I frown my eyebrows at Papa's new instructions and my heart skips a beat.

"Perché? Cosa c'è che non va?" (Why? What's going on?)

"Niente, Emilia. Solo che..." (Nothing, Emillia. Only that...).

"Papà, che succede?" I ask with a shaky voice when I hear Mamma sobbing in the background. (Dad, what's going on?)

"È la tua Nonna, Becca. I'm sorry we didn't tell you earlier. She was getting better, but... she passed away, sweetheart," Papa speaks in a low voice and then comforts Mamma whose sobs grow even higher. (It's your grandma Becca).

"Oh, no..." I mumble and I can only my imagine the broken heart Mamma Eve must struggle with right now.

"We will be there in no time, Papa. Tell Mamma Eve I love her and give her hug from me," I whisper.

My thoughts go to Grandpa Lucas. He must be devastated. Grandma Becca was his life, his blood and flesh and I'm worried that the suffering will simply crush him.

The flight starts taking off and I shift my eyes to the window, silently crying and remembering the days when I've mourned Raffa, broken, wanting nothing more but to die as well.

I feel Grandpa Lucas's pain. It's heart-ripping, a blood-sucking pain that cannot be compared with any other.

Today, more than any other day in the past months, Raffa is constantly in my mind. His memory is so vivid, so real that I can almost feel his arms around me, squeezing me tight, hear his faded voice saying he loves me, the words resounding in my ears and making me sigh deeply with a heavy chest as if it's carrying a mountain of rocks.

I wipe my tears off, sinking my sorrow into a deep breath, and slide up the screen of my phone, unblocking it and mistakenly opening my writer's app right at the book that I've started to write one year ago, and I freeze.

My lips curl in a bitter smile, taking to my soul the pain I feel once I remember that writing this book in a play has brought Raffa into my life, the love of my life, and the hardest sorrow at the same time.

I open the last chapter, left unfinished for a year and my fingers freeze before the urge of typing again.

My story stopped when the Don between the covers of my book realized that falling in love with the young girl he met by accident, literally an accident, was the best thing to happen, especially because the consequences saved his life.

And when he's just about to declare his love, she gracefully turns her back and leaves him. That's how I wrote the story then, but now... I have another perspective on it.

She can't leave him! She could never leave him because every time he is around the air they breathe together has magic and smells of field flowers, because when he spells her name she hears thrills of music, and because his touches are soft and loving, making her elevate to a place where no harm can ever reach her.

Before wrapping my head around the forgotten love story between my dear Don and the woman that rocked his world, I suddenly acknowledge that I'm actually on a flight on the way to my home country and not among the characters of my book, with my fingers pressing the delete button, erasing the mistake I've done by canceling the love my characters share, and I find myself surprisingly eager to write again, as a tribute to my sweet Raffa.

So I grab tightly the phone with both hands and frantically delete word after word, as lines disappear with a speed that I can't follow and "love" and "forever" stick into my eyes reminding me that Raffa has gone too soon out of my life.

Too soon, giving me no chance to taste his skin, to have him throbbing inside of me, to kiss his lips until I taste blood, to fill my eyes with his beautiful face, and have him smiling at me until I faint with joy and happiness.

My fingers hurt me pressing way too hard on the phone's screen, tears dropping on it and pain digging into my heart until frustration invades all of my being and I throw the phone somewhere in the floor, under the seats in front of me, releasing my agony through a roar from the depth of my lungs.

To the sorrow and pain living with me within the same heart now anger fits in, anger on Raffa for being so reckless and letting himself killed, for risking his life and leaving me to no one on earth, for forcibly ripping me off of the joy to love him and have him and love him some more.

I curl my body in a ball, with the knees to my chin where I rest my forehead, and let myself dive in a heartbreaking cry, one that I haven't had for too long and seems I need it.

I missed mourning my love.

I don't know for how long I stayed there, hiding my eyes and holding my knees in a tight hold of my arms, but when I had tears no more to shed, I lift my head and search for the phone.

It is still under the seat in front of me. Nobody dared to pick it up, not even to show up although I'm pretty sure that my show has already reached Papa's ears.

Good! He is part of my sorrow and bitter destiny.

I wipe my face with both palms and stand up, fetching the phone from where it's laying and I open my book again.

This story will be written, this love story will be mine and Raffa's story.

This story will have a happy ending and I'll laugh in his face hoping that in heaven or hell, wherever he is right now, Raffa sees me and his heart will explode in million pieces missing me and dying over and over, again and again until skies will cry blood.

I'll keep on laughing with joy of the very few memories we have together.

My fingers, as if having a mind of their own, start typing letter after letter, words lining like beats on a threat and I knit there my very deep love I still carry for him in my heart, bringing my Don of the story in the arms of the woman he loves, at times not knowing if he is the Don of my book or the Don of my heart.

"Signorina Emilia, le porto qualcosa da mangiare?" I hear the refined voice of the flight attendant asking me and I snap my head up, looking at her still lost in the rows of my writing, trying to understand her question. (Miss Emillia, should I bring you something to eat?)

"What..." I mumble.

"We still have a couple of hours till we land and we will be taking off again very soon after," she continues.

Before I have the chance to refuse because for fuck's love, I need to write right now, the phone buzzes in my hands and I lower my gaze to check for the caller.

It's Papa, of course.

"Si," I reply fast. (Yes).

"Emillia, are you trying to kill all of us? Are you planning to worry your Mamma and me until we die?!" he roars through the phone.

"Papa..." I try to mumble something, anything, an excuse for my teleportation back into my world where I usually retire when the pain becomes too strong.

"Snap the fuck out of it and eat!" he threatens.

If you thought I could breathe or blink without Papa knowing about it, then you don't know him. He had eyes everywhere and ears on all the walls.

"I will, papa. Promise," I give in and decide not to be a brat this time.

Only this time.

"Perfecto!" (Perfect)

"Papà, posso parlare con Nanno Lucas?" I ask having a deep wish to unite my agony with his. (Dad, may I talk to Grandpa Lucas?)

Papa sighs deeply, taking a moment to either refuse or try to find a way to make me change my mind.

"Sì, tesoro, certo," he finally says and I hear his steps through the phone.

"Yes, sweetheart," Grandpa Lucas speaks in a stern voice which brings goosebumps to my back, realizing that the tragedy of losing someone you love sounds so terrifying from the outside.

"Mi dispiace tanto, Nanno Lucas... tanto..." I start sobbing, having a dreadful wish to hug him.

"Lo so, mio uccellino, lo so. E so anche che questo dolore non ti è sconosciuto. Mi dispiace anche per Raffaello, tesoro. Perdonami per non averlo detto in quel momento," he replies, swallowing his own sorrow. (I know, my little birdie, I know. And I also know this pain is not unknown to you. I'm also sorry for Raffaello, sweetheart. Forgive me for not saying it at that time).

"Grazie, Nonno. Ci vediamo presto, si? Sto arrivando," I mumble trying to control my sobs and straighten my back like I always do when I search for strength inside of me to face the storms that are to come in the next days.

~~~~~
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