I Love You, Salvatore Read online

  I hid behind the full-length mirror, yelling at Salvatore to get out of the room. “It’s bad luck to see me in my wedding dress!”

  He laughed. “No, it’s bad luck not to see your beauty.”

  I poked my head around the corner, what I saw drying up my words. Salvatore was standing a few steps inside the doorway, my soon-to-be husband simply stunning. Dressed in a black tuxedo, Salvatore was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. No, he wasn’t just tall, he was towering. He was the tallest man I’d ever seen, not to mention the handsomest. I still couldn’t believe I was going to be his wife by the end of the day. I knew I was cute, everyone told me so, but he was so much more. He had such a lovely face that made me melt inside, and I could forever talk about his blue eyes. They were a window to his emotions, and right now they were telling me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Pushing aside my superstitions, I stepped away from the mirror, feeling ecstatic he liked how I looked. I was wearing a white strapless embroidered dress that clung to my petite frame, while my strawberry-blonde hair was rolled back on the sides and held up at the back in a loose style that suited my dress.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes ravaging me.

  I smiled wider. “Grazie.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, picking me up so we were face to face. He kissed me hard, devouring my mouth. I placed my hands on his cheeks and kissed him back. I felt safe in his arms—and pure joy.

  “Totò!” Anna yelled from the doorway, using a shortened version of Salvatore’s name. “Put her down now and get out!”

  He stopped kissing me and turned to see Anna, who was glaring at him, her violet eyes as striking as their mother’s.

  “No, you leave, Anna.” He turned back and resumed kissing me again.

  Stomping came behind us, then Anna grabbed his ear, breaking our kiss.

  He put me down and swatted Anna’s hand away. “What the hell?! Have you gone mad, woman?” he said, rubbing his ear.

  His sister pointed at the door. “Get out, you stupid man. You’re not supposed to see Rosa before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”

  He continued to rub his ear. “The only bad luck came with you.”

  “Out!”

  He clicked his heels together and held out his arm. “Hail, Caesar! I shall leave.” He blew me a kiss as he backed out of the room. “I’ll see you soon, Amore.” He closed the door, leaving me alone with Anna.

  Anna spun around on me. “Do you know you could’ve jinxed your wedding?”

  I laughed, finding her expression funny. She was a younger replica of her mother, with the same wavy brown hair, modelesque features, and a temper to match. At seventeen, she was the oldest of Salvatore’s two sisters, and by far the bossiest of the siblings. She was always ordering her brothers and younger sister around, often snapping at them when they didn’t do what she wanted.

  “This is not a laughing matter, Rosa.”

  “Don’t worry; nothing will go wrong with the wedding.”

  She scowled at me. “You say that now, but if you test God, he’ll bring his hand down hard on you.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Hear me, Dio, I’m sorry.”

  “Rosa! Stop mocking me.”

  I looked back at Anna. “I apologized to him.”

  “Sarcastically.”

  Smiling wide, I stepped in close and wrapped my arms around my soon to be sister-in-law. I’d known her for a while—ever since she started high school. “Don’t worry, nothing will go wrong,” I said.

  She returned my hug. “I really hope so, because you’re the best thing in Totò’s life. I’m happy he’s marrying for love.” She let go of me, her face saddening. “I wish I could marry for love.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  She breathed out. “A few minutes ago my mother told me I have to marry a Rosso. I don’t even know the man, yet I have to marry him next year. I will be meeting him today.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sergio. I just hope he’s attractive. Half the Rossos are handsome, the other half are greasy looking. If he’s from the greasy half, I don’t know if I could stomach it.”

  I placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sure your mother would pick the most handsome of the Rossos for you. Knowing her, she wouldn’t want unattractive grandchildren.”

  A smile brightened up Anna’s face. “Sì! That’s true.”

  “And do you have a boyfriend you want instead?”

  She shook her head. “My last boyfriend was an idiot, so I dumped him. Actually, all of my boyfriends have been idiots. I’ve got lousy taste.”

  “So maybe your mother picking someone might work out, and if Sergio’s a handsome Rosso, like the ones with the dark eyes and wavy hair, you won’t be able to take your eyes off him.”

  Her face brightened even more. “I like those Rossos, they’re gorgeous.” She hugged me. “Grazie, Rosa.”

  I hugged her back. “For what?”

  She pulled away. “For giving me hope.” She ran a thumb under my lips. “Let’s fix your lipstick, Totò messed it up, and we should hurry. I really want to see what Sergio looks like now.”

  I smiled. “He’ll be the most handsome man here—apart from Salvatore.”

  She laughed. “You were made for my brother … well, almost.”

  I frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She covered her mouth, trying to hide a smile. “Add another foot on you and you’d be perfect,” she said behind her hand.

  “Ha! Cheeky.”

  Still smiling, she grabbed a lipstick off the cabinet and ordered me to stay still. Once she’d applied it to my lips, she straightened, declaring, “Perfetto!”

  I checked in the mirror and smiled wide. It was perfect—like everything.

  I turned around as the door opened, the smile leaving my face. My mother was staring at me with tears in her eyes, shattering my perfect moment.

  Anna made an excuse to leave the room. Once she was gone, my mother walked up to me. She was wearing a soft blue suit she’d made, which matched the layered mesh fascinator on her head, the headpiece finishing off the mother-of-the-bride outfit.

  She placed a hand on my cheek. “You truly look beautiful, my darling girl. I just wish…”

  “I was marrying someone else?”

  She nodded.

  “Salvatore loves me, Mamma, and I love him with all my heart. He’s also giving you a grandchild. This should be a day of smiles, not tears.”

  “How can I be happy when I’m giving away my daughter to a mobster?”

  “He’s different from the others, he’s—”

  “—someone who could get you killed. I read in the paper this morning about the woman who was murdered simply for being married to a Donatelli. She was a civilian like you.”

  “You should stop reading about the mafia.”

  “Of which you will become soon.” She shook her head. “You’re not cut out for their way of life, Rosa. We’re made differently from those people.”

  “Mamma—”

  “No! You will listen to me for once in your life, Rosa. You still have time to pull out of the wedding. I will help you raise the child. I don’t care what people say; I’d rather have you safe and sound with me, than risk losing you.”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

  “Love is truly blinding you, Rosa, because I know in my heart that your union with Salvatore will only end in tears. I feel like I’m going to a funeral, not a celebration.”

  “I’m not going to die, I just have a new life ahead of me,” I placed a hand on my stomach, “and one in my womb.”

  She brought a shaky hand to her mouth, letting out a pained sob.

  I willed myself not to cry too. “Please, Mamma, this is one of the happiest days of my life. Don’t add sadness to it, because no matter what, I will be marrying my amore.”

  She lowered her hand. “Just promise me
one thing.”

  “What?”

  “To live everyday to its fullest—because it could be your last.”

  ***

  My mother was seated in the main part of the church now, along with our wedding guests. I was standing in the foyer, waiting to walk down the aisle. The wedding ceremony was being held in the stone church the Santini family went to, its highly decorative design and sculptures a celebration of the Baroque period.

  Salvatore’s eleven-year-old brother started beat-boxing in front of me. Alessandro was trying to annoy his eleven-year-old sister, who was my flower girl. They weren’t twins. Alessandro had just turned eleven, while Bella was almost twelve.

  Bella snapped at Alessandro to be quiet. In response, he hit Bella’s flower posy out of her hands.

  “Alessandro,” I said. “Stop that.”

  He turned to look at me, giving me the sweetest smile, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Unable to help myself, I smiled back, the boy a right cutie-pie. He looked like a mini version of his oldest brother—just sweet.

  Alessandro picked up Bella’s flowers and held it out for her to take. She had her arms crossed over her chest, sulking. She looked lovely in a pink frilly dress and rose crown, while her long brown hair was done in ringlets. She snatched the posy off Alessandro and poked her tongue out at him.

  He looked at me, his violet eyes as innocent as can be. “See, it’s her fault.”

  “Is not!” Bella snapped.

  I laughed, then placed my finger to my lips, shushing them as the organ music started playing. They turned to face the doors as they opened wide. Alessandro gave his sister a nudge. She glared back at him, but instead of causing trouble, she headed into the main part of the church. Alessandro followed her with the rings on a small pillow. The children were a bit old to be a flower girl and ring bearer, but Salvatore had insisted upon it, wanting his siblings involved in every aspect of the wedding.

  My brother hooked his arm around mine. “Are you ready to get married?” he asked, looking handsome. He’d shaved off his scruffy strawberry-blond beard for the occasion, and was wearing a black suit that made him look much more refined than he was. Lately, he always seemed to smell of fish. He’d left school a few weeks ago to work as a fisherman. But today, the only thing he smelled of was the cologne I’d given him for his eighteenth birthday, my brother scrubbing up nicely.

  I smiled. “I’ve been ready for a very long time.”

  “Then let’s make you a Santini.” He directed me into the main part of the church. Stained glass saints lined the walls, the holy congregation all praying to the painted image of God in the ceiling’s fresco. Blue skies and angels surrounded our Heavenly Father, all of them residing over my wedding.

  Despite my morning-sickness, I felt like I was in my own slice of heaven. Everyone turned to look at me, the wooden pews full. I walked down the aisle, my sole focus on Salvatore, who was standing in front of the altar. He had the most stunning smile on his face, looking as happy as I felt. I straightened further, feeling like I was ten-feet-tall, Salvatore always making me feel special.

  He turned to the priest as I stopped by his side, giving me sideway glances as though he was finding it hard to keep his eyes off me. Three of his brothers were standing next to him, the best man, groomsman, and ring bearer, while Salvatore’s two sisters and my auntie Maria were on my right, finishing off the wedding party.

  My brother detached himself from my arm and went to sit with my mother. The priest started talking, but I didn’t hear a word he was saying, since all my attention was on Salvatore. Laughter drew my attention to the pews. Our family and friends were all smiling at us, a few of them giggling.

  “Rosa,” Salvatore said. “Padre Giuseppe asked you a question.”

  I turned to the priest, who was also smiling wide. “Rosa, do you take this man to be your husband?”

  “I do.”

  Applause broke out from the pews. I didn’t know why they were being so loud, but I was ecstatic they were happy for me and Salvatore.

  The priest continued asking me questions, of which I answered “I do” to all of them. Once finished, he asked Salvatore the same questions, each answer matching mine.

  After we exchanged rings, Padre Giuseppe turned to our families. “Does anyone here have any reason as to why these two cannot marry?”

  “No!” Salvatore said loudly. “Unless they want me to place a hit on them.”

  Everyone burst out laughing, although I could tell my mother was pretending, her face strained. But her worries couldn’t get me down—nothing could, because I was marrying the love of my life.

  “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said. “You may kiss your bride.”

  Salvatore grabbed me and lifted me off my feet, planting a giant kiss on my lips. I placed my hands on his face, kissing him back.

  “Get a room!” someone shouted, sounding like one of the thirteen-year-old twins.

  “Dominic!” Salvatore’s mother snapped, confirming I was right. I could imagine her taking him by the ear and marching him down the aisle, although she wouldn’t do that in public. Still, the boy needed to run and hide once he got home.

  Salvatore lowered me to my feet and bent down, placing his lips next to my ear. “No one can take you from me now.”

  1999

  In Sickness and Health

  Six months after the happiest day of my life my whole world came crashing down. I woke up early one morning, feeling something wet. I switched on the nightstand light and looked down at my body, letting out a startled cry. Blood covered my lower half, drenching the sheets.

  Salvatore turned in bed. “What’s— Dio, Rosa!” He slipped his arms under me and picked me up, yelling for help.

  I didn’t do anything, just lay in his arms, too stunned, too shocked, what was happening unreal. He opened the door and carried me into the passageway, again yelling for help. People came rushing out of their rooms, everyone dressed in nightwear and looking half asleep. My eyes went to Salvatore’s father as he headed for us, his face full of concern. He went to take me off Salvatore.

  Salvatore’s grip tightened. “Get Cesare,” he snapped, referring to the house doctor.

  The Don rushed down the staircase. Salvatore followed after him, heading for the doctor’s office. As we entered the passageway, Cesare’s door opened, the thirty-something man having heard Don Santini’s shouts for him. He tightened his dressing gown belt and indicated to the next room. The Don opened it, allowing Salvatore to carry me through.

  Salvatore laid me gently on the bed, which looked no different from a bed in a clinic. There were medical supplies and machines in the sterile room, the best money could buy, since hospitals were a high risk option for the Santini.

  “What’s happening?” Salvatore asked the doctor, his face distraught.

  “The placenta’s probably come loose,” Cesare answered. “I will need to get the baby out of her now.”

  “But she’s only seven months.”

  “She will die if I don’t.”

  “Then do it!”

  Muttering about a C-section, the doctor placed a mask over my face, telling me to count with him. Every number made my eyes droop lower. Before I reached four, I was out for the count.

  I woke up a while later, with Salvatore sitting by my side. He was gripping onto my hand and had his eyes squeezed shut, his expression pained.

  “My baby,” I croaked out.

  He opened his eyes. They were shiny, giving me the impression he’d been crying. He let go of my hand and reached forward, pulling my face to his chest. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said.

  “My baby,” I croaked out again, needing to know where she was. I’d had a scan early on in the pregnancy—our child a girl.

  He let go of me and turned to a small bassinet that hadn’t been there before. He slipped his arms under a pink bundle and laid it on my chest. I wrapped my arms around our baby and looked down at her per
fect little face. So tiny, so sweet. I knew our child wasn’t alive, the little bambina too still. I started crying. That was all I saw for a full five minutes, not the small bundle in my arms, just the tears blurring my vision. I had known grief at my father’s death, but this … it was beyond anything I had experienced. Grief wasn’t an adequate description, pure and utter devastation was closer to the mark. I was holding my first child, yet her soul was already in Heaven before I’d even seen her.

  Salvatore touched my arm. “Can I take her?”

  I looked up at him. His blue eyes were filled with so much despair it was like another dagger to my heart. I held out our child for him to take. He took a hold of our tiny bambina, cradling her in his arms as if she would shatter. He ran a finger over her face, two tears breaking free from his eyes. I watched as they slid down his cheeks. It broke my heart even more.

  He bent his head and kissed our baby’s head, muttering, “I love you, angel.”

  Overwhelmed with despair, I squeezed my eyes shut. A few seconds later, Salvatore threaded his fingers through mine, our grief united; our pain one.

  ***

  The following weeks were surreal. After I recovered enough to be moved upstairs, we locked ourselves in our room, trying to cocoon ourselves away from everyone else. Though, it didn’t stop people from visiting us: the doctor to monitor my progress, Salvatore’s mother begging us to eat more, while his father just sat quietly with us, the man not as hard as I’d thought. I’d woken up on the nineteenth day, finding him staring at his sleeping son with so much love and emotion it made me cry.

  The Don looked across at me, his face softening further: “You’re my daughter as much as Salvatore’s my son. You two are one soul.” He got up and left the room, the slope of his shoulders showing he was mourning for his first grandchild.

  Our angel’s death hadn’t just affected us; it had affected everyone in the household, even the hardest of them.

  Knowing we couldn’t cut ourselves off anymore, I got out of bed and changed into everyday clothes for the first time since our daughter’s death. I then went down to the kitchen. Everyone who I came across stopped to ask if I needed help. I shook my head, not wanting it. I wanted to help Salvatore, not to be helped.