Epilogue

One Year Later

Very little compared to watching the sun set on Florence.

Seated outside on the patio of our home with a content terrier resting by my bare feet, I reconnected with a local leatherworker. An older gent who had been referred to me by Signor Palvecchio, the woodworker who I'd hired to complete work on the fourth designer trunk in my A & D—Arlo and Donvino obvs—collection of steamer trunks.

"You look intent," Donvino said as he came up behind me, freshly showered from his nightly training session on the Arno. "Are there more orders for your trunks?"

I glanced at his hands, smiling at a bottle of wine and two glasses he was carrying as he neared. He bent down to claim a kiss and handed me a glass. I held it up so he could fill it as was our nightly tradition since moving in here last year.

"Actually there are four more. All from Secretary Martinelli," I replied as he poured his own and sat down on a matching chaise lounge. Earnest got to his feet to greet him, tail wagging merrily. "Seems he and his new fiancé are taking a long vacation to Asia for their honeymoon and are gaga to use my trunks."

"Good. They will like Asia," he said, the tiniest bit of dislike in his deep voice. I suspected he would never really like Ricardo, and since my interaction with the undersecretary was limited now as I spent half my days at the main Bonetti Farms Olive Oil company office in Florence working in the labor relations department, his time spent with Ricardo was nil.

"Indeed. We should try to visit there sometime," I tossed out as we both held up our glasses of blood red wine. "May God be watching over you and keeping you in his golden embrace," I said in Italian, Donvino murmuring along in sync. Sadly, my accent was not much improved despite speaking mostly Italian all the time now.

"She is missed," he said, his long legs bared to the setting sun. He looked glorious in the shades of a lowering sun. Pink, yellow, and darkest red shimmered on his skin. A water god in cargo shorts. "That is something that I wished to speak with you about."

"Mm?" I asked around a sip of the glorious zinfandel from a local winery where my father was dating the owner, a lovely woman who could be Sophia Loren's twin. Donvino and I were both crazy over Adeline Jadanza and her wines. Dad was loopy in love and was now spending most of his time in Italy. He claimed that his homeland held all the people he loved the most, so he should be here more. Dad also was concerned about Ginerva, who was still mourning the loss of her dearest friend, as well as battling a slew of other ailments that seemed to be dragging her downward. I had confessed to Donvino that I felt that losing her love had robbed something vital from the grand dame. Lord knows if I lost Donvino, I'd probably wither and blow away like ash.

"There is a competition in Bangkok for single scull racers. If I can medal, I should have a good chance of getting onto the Olympic team," he said, his sight moving to me, dark eyes asking permission.

"Of course we can go!" I sat up quickly, excited for him and his career. He'd come back to the sport with a vengeance after the fire, placing in the top three in several key competitions in Europe. This one in Asia he had talked about for a few months but kept waffling about the cost. Money was not an issue for us now. I'd come into my trust with flying colors and praise from my father and old Henry Lancaster at our U.S. bank. The house was paid for many years ago by Vittoria, and the only costs we had were living expenses. He still worked for Bonetti Farms Olive Oil as a mechanic, making the ride to mill 20 on a new motorbike that I'd helped pick out for his birthday last November. He was incredibly frugal, which came from growing up poor, so I did my best not to lavish too much on him at once. I did spend a little bit of cash on myself and my clothes, shoes, and now my new designer trunk company. Somehow, we had managed to combine old dreams with new ones. "I would love to see Thailand! Bianca can come too. Let me ask her."

He chuckled softly as I began typing on my phone. Bianca was the sister that I had never had, and we shared everything. And I mean everything . Things that Donvino wished I wouldn't a lot of the time. As I chatted with my new sister, Donvino fell silent as he does at times. Earnest stretched out between us, sighing as dogs who live the good life do.

"She says that she will go only if we take her to see the Grand Palace. Oh crap, look at this place! It's gold. Donvino, we have to go there. Imagine me and one of my designer trunks in front of this gorgeous place!"

"Dragging a trunk to the front of the Grand Palace might be difficult," he replied, taking a sip of his wine.

"You have muscles. It will be fine."

That made him laugh a little. "Do you ever think about Piravino?"

I sighed glumly, told Bianca I had to dash for a bit, and then placed my phone on my thigh. I'd worked in town today, trying to negotiate some sticky bits on a union contract that was coming due for mill 20, so when I'd gotten home I'd slipped into a flouncy little shirt with no sleeves and a pair of cotton short shorts.

"I try not to," I confessed. The nightmares were lessening thanks to time and a lovely therapist who was helping me through the trauma. Piravino had taken his own life when he heard the police were on his trail. Perhaps he knew he would die in prison if he were caught. The Bonetti name carried a lot of clout and with that clout came tons of high-priced lawyers. Maybe he had found out his wife had turned him in. There had been no note found. Just the body and a handgun nearby. So while there was no fear of him coming back to try to harm us again, there was also no true sense of closure for us. It was really complicated now, but the sadness over anyone committing suicide mingled in with the need for justice. "Why?"

"I saw a man today along the shore who I thought was him. Just for a second, you know?" I nodded. "I was rowing and someone along the wall waved. It was a moment, just as fast as I could blink, but it terrified me. Which was stupid, as I know the man is dead. I just wonder how long he will haunt us."

I placed my wine on the small glass table on my left, rose, stepped over a sleeping dog, and settled my backside on Donvino's chaise. My back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling at my throat, as we both inhaled and slowly let the breath out.

"My counselor says that trauma like we experienced lingers for a long time," I passed along, letting my eyes move across the river to the houses packed in tightly along it. Some had tiny gardens packed with flowers and patios overflowing with greenery and blooms. Several of the more costly homes had tiny patches of green instead of a flood wall as we had on this side of the waterway. "What happened to us has changed us. It takes time to adjust, sort through the crime committed against us, and move on. For some people, it might take months, others years, and some a lifetime."

"I hate that he still has the power to make me fearful," he admitted, his lips resting on my neck as he spoke. I melted back into his embrace, his strength seeping into me. He fortified me in ways that I could have never imagined just a few years ago.

"Yeah, I hate it too, but we're getting through it. We'll continue to heal, to live, and to love."

Earnest started dreaming, whimpering as his little feet kicked. We both snickered at our hero dog. It seemed that whenever we were slipping into a sad space, this dog rescued us, just like that night of the fire. How had I ever lived without a pet before? That made me think of Ginerva, who had kept Vittoria's two beloved Chihuahuas much to Lucia's chagrin. She said they made her feel closer to her friend. I was beginning to suspect that a dog or cat made us feel closer to heaven itself.

"I will always love you, my little rainbow dreamer," he said as the setting sun kissed the dome of the Florence Cathedral. I snuggled into his loving arms, my sight leaving the church to drop to the river as it flowed along below us, the sunset painting the water dark red and pink as Donvino tightened his hold on me. The man knew I loved a good cinch.

"And I will always love you, my water god." I sighed as my gaze lighted on the reflections of the cypress trees on the surface of the Arno.

Our dreams, newly formed as they were, had come true. I'd heard that love awaits people who visit Firenze but never really believed it. Now I did. Heart and soul.

The End