Chapter 6 - The Tuscany Sanctuary
The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of raw survival, unspoken passion, and the terrifying knowledge that tomorrow might bring death.
When Roman finally pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, both of them were breathing heavily.
“Italy,” Roman murmured against her lips. “Just for three weeks. Let me clear the city, Aaliyah. Give me time to burn the Marcones to the ground so I can give my son—and you—a world where you don't have to look over your shoulder.”
The next morning, under heavy armed escort, a private jet lifted off from O’Hare International Airport, carrying Aaliyah, Leo, and a squad of elite guards bound for Florence.
The Rossi villa in Tuscany was breathtaking—rolling hills of vineyards, ancient stone walls, and sunshine that smelled of olives and wild rosemary. For the first time in months, Leo was able to run freely across open grass without wearing a bulletproof vest.
Aaliyah watched him from the veranda, her heart aching as she checked her phone every ten minutes for news from Chicago.
Roman called every evening at 9:00 PM local time.
“How is he?” Roman’s voice would echo over the satellite line, sounding tired but steadily stronger.
“He ate all his dinner today. He found a stray puppy in the barn,” Aaliyah would reply, sitting on the stone edge of the terrace. “How is Chicago?”
“We took three of their warehouses yesterday. Old man Marcone is running out of allies,” Roman revealed. “It will be over soon, Aaliyah.”
“Come back to us, Roman,” she whispered into the phone. “Promise me.”
May you like
“I promise,” he answered.
In Italy, away from the blood and concrete of Chicago, Leo began to transform. He smiled more. He held Aaliyah’s hand as they walked through the local village markets. And though he still didn't speak, he began using a small notebook to sketch pictures—drawings of the villa, of Aaliyah, and of a tall man in a black coat holding hands with both of them.
