Page 29 of Marcello DeLuca

“To new beginnings,” Marcello added, his eyes locked on mine. “And to everything you want, need and desire being yours to take.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I replied, addressing each of them.

The dinner continued with more toasts and stories. As the evening wore on, Marcello and I slipped away, leaving Uncle James and Ramiri deep in conversation about old times and the future of the family.

We found ourselves walking along the pier, the cool night air filled with the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the shore. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver path across the waves.

“Today is perfect,” I said softly, leaning into Marcello as we walked. “Glad you are here with me.”

“Where else would I be?” he replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

We reached the end of the pier and paused, taking in the tranquil beauty of the night.

I turned to Marcello. “This past year, you’ve been my rock.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle and reassuring. “And I always will be. We have so much ahead of us.”

An engine revved in the distance, a deep, rumbling noise that sent a shiver down my spine. I froze, my breath catching in my throat when I turned towards the noise, and there it was—a black SUV, just like the one at the market moments before my family died.

My heart stilled. A cold dread seeped into my veins. Panic surged through me. My body tensed. Every muscle coiled tight with fear. I felt as though I was being pulled under, drowning in the past. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My eyes were locked on the approaching vehicle, dread pooling in my stomach like ice water.

Marcello tried to move my face back to look at him, but I was stuck.

"Safia, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice urgent but gentle.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the SUV.

“It’s... it’s like before,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “The car... it looks just like the one from...” I couldn’t finish the sentence, the words too painful to speak.

Marcello glanced towards the SUV, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding. He pulled me closer, his arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. "It's okay, Safia. Just breathe. Look, it’s probably nothing."

As the SUV came to a stop a few yards away, I held my breath, every muscle rigid with tension. The door opened, and a man stepped out. He walked to the back door, and for a moment, my heart stopped. But then he leaned in and gently lifted a small, giggling toddler from the back seat.

Relief crashed over me in a wave, leaving me weak and shaky. I released a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, my body sagging against Marcello's. It was nothing—just a father with his child.

Marcello’s grip on me tightened, his eyes never leaving my face. “See? It’s okay. You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice soothing and steady.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to calm the racing of my heart. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling foolish for my panic. “I just... I couldn’t help it.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s understandable.”

The man and his child walked away. Their laughter faded into the night. The tension in my chest began to ease. I took a deep breath, letting the cool air clear the remnants of fear from my mind.”

“Let’s go back inside,” Marcello suggested gently. “Uncle James and Ramiri are probably wondering where we are.”

We turned away from the street, the black SUV fading into the distance behind us.

Marcello kept his arm around me until we were inside the restaurant.

Uncle James and Ramiri, who after a rocky start had become quite good friends over the past year, looked up from their seats as we joined them. Their easy laughter and lighthearted banter gradually dispelled my earlier fear. But even as we ate, Marcello’s hand found mine under the table. He intertwined his fingers with mine in a show of support.

After dinner, we said our goodbyes. My uncle had reluctantly agreed to Marcello and I spending the night together. Thankfully, Marcello offered comforting silence on the ride to his house.

Once in the confines of his bedroom, the silence was different—softer, more intimate. Marcello pulled me into his arms as soon as the door closed behind us, holding me tight as if he could shield me from my fears.

I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe with me, Safia.

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