I LOVE YOU, SALVATORE
Marita A. Hansen
CONTENTS
Copyright
Acknowledgements
US English Note
The Five Families
Blurb for I Love You, Salvatore
2014 – I’m Rosa Aggio
Part 1 – The Early Years
When Everything Changed
1988 – When We First Met
1989 – The Mafia
3 Months Later – Always Friends
1994
1995
Selena’s Father
Sunday – Ice Cream
Monday – He Was Hers
1996 For the Time Being
2014 – The Black Viper
Part 2 – The Middle Years
1998 – The First Time
Shattered Innocence
2014 – Blackness
1998 – The Shop
2014 – Crying
1998 – Vows
1999 – In Sickness and Health
1999 – 2004
Part 3 – The Final Years
2005 – 2009
3 Months Later – A Tragic Accident
Death Isn’t Prejudiced
2010 and 2014
2012 – Written Promises
2014 –Before the Attack
One and Two
My Last Breaths
Salvatore’s Viewpoint – Blurb for Tell Me About Rosa
About the Author
Other Books by Marita A. Hansen
Italian / English Glossary
Copyright
I Love You, Salvatore
(The Five Families #1)
(The Santini Brothers #1.5)
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2014 © Marita A. Hansen
Editor: John Hudspith
Cover Design By Louisa Maggio at LM Creations
Cover photograph from Yuri Arcurs Photography
and sourced from http://peopleimages.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: [email protected]
All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has helped me in getting this book published, especially my long suffering family for having to put up with all the time I spend on trying to make my writing career a success.
In addition, I would like to say a special thanks to:
John Hudspith – He’s edited many of my books, and is absolutely great to work with. I always feel that I’m putting my best work forward after he’s been through the manuscript.
Charmaine Butler & Noara Rahman – my beta readers for this book.
PLEASE NOTE:
US English is used throughout the text, which differs slightly from UK/Commonwealth spelling.
For example, US English uses story instead of storey in regards to building levels, color instead of colour, and so forth. So, if you see slight variations, they are not errors.
Any other differences may be due to the book being set in Italy.
There is an Italian / English Glossary at the back of the book.
Lastly, thank you for choosing to read I Love You, Salvatore.
I hope you enjoy the story.
All the best,
Marita.
The Five Families
Santini
D’Angelo
Landi
Donatelli
Rosso
The Five Families series is a collection of standalone novels and novellas centered around different members of ruling mafia families on a famous island off the southern coast of Italy.
ROSA
Every love story is important, whether it ends in a happy-ever-after or tragedy, because two people shared something so special that it made them value each other’s life more than their own. I know this is true because my life with Salvatore Santini was a beautiful love story…
One that ended far too soon.
But I would rather live for only one day with him, than suffer a lifetime without him. Being with Salvatore was worth a thousand deaths. Through him, I experienced heaven on earth, something very few people find. So don’t cry for me, I was truly happy. But if you can’t stop your tears, save them for Salvatore…
The one I left behind.
2014
I’m Rosa Aggio
There were three moments in my life that changed everything
The first was my father’s death
The second was meeting Salvatore Santini
And the last was running after my son that fateful spring day
My five-year-old son shot through the exit, yelling: “My teddy!”
I ran after Piero, pushing past people to get to him. The servants and my family were all moving in the opposite direction, heading for the bomb shelter. We’d been warned that bombs had been planted in the main house. A mafia war was in full swing on our island, sweeping up all of the families into its unrelenting violence. And right now, my son was going to be a casualty of war if I didn’t catch him in time.
I screamed at Piero to stop, but he disappeared through the back door of the main house. I ran in after him, spotting him heading for the curving staircase. Even though he was little, I could never catch him. The boy was like a baby Ferrari when he got going. But I needed to get him out; the bombs were due to go off any minute.
I took to the stairs as fast as I could go. A family guest raced down the other way, wrapped in a towel. She looked like she’d been caught in the shower. My family—the Santini, were protecting her from a rival family after she’d accidentally killed their heir. However, it looked like we also needed protection now. No one was safe.
I continued up the staircase, screaming at Piero to come back. One of my brother-in-laws overtook me, shouting: “Get out! There are bombs in the house.” Dominic was twenty-nine—seven years younger than me. He looked like a rock star with his piercings, scruffy clothing, messy brown hair, and tattooed arms. He disappeared into my son’s bedroom. I followed him in, spotting Piero picking up the big teddy bear off his bed. His father had won it for him at a local fair when he was three, and ever since Piero treated it as though it was a living, breathing creature.
My brother-in-law grabbed Piero and shouted, “Go, Rosa! Go!” I shot out the door. Dominic ran past me, his legs much longer. I was only five-foot, while Dominic was well over six-foot, all the Santini men giants amongst us mere mortals.
Dominic descended the staircase like a bat out of hell. My son clung onto his uncle, with his teddy bear squashed between them. He looked so tiny in Dominic’s muscular arms, my bambino crying for me.
I ran down the staircase after them, spotting our guest standing in the lounge, looking confused. She probably didn’t know where the bomb shelter was, since she’d only come to stay with us recently. Dominic turned the corner with Piero, yelling at her to get out. She ran after him, with me right behind her.
Then everything changed. One second the lounge was quiet, the next a loud boom enveloped the room, debris flying everywhere. As the explosion lifted me off my feet, I thought of one person…
Salvatore Santini
L’amore della mia vita
The love of my life
Part 1
Th
e Early Years
When Everything Changed
In 1987 the stock market crashed, causing my family to lose our home. My father had invested heavily in it, and as a result we had to move from a three-story house in a wealthy part of Naples to a seedy apartment block with tiny rooms and noisy neighbors. It was a seven-story cream-colored building that had grayed and yellowed in areas. Clothes were hung out on the balconied windows for everyone to see, panties and all. Even worse, there were mounds of household waste rotting on the streets, the smell rancid. But we had no choice but to live there, since my family was bankrupt.
My father started working all hours of the day in an attempt to get us away from the squalor. As a result, five months later he died from a heart attack at the age of forty-two, leaving my mother alone with very little money and two young children. So, she moved us to her mother’s place on a large island off the southern coast of Italy. It was a huge culture shock going from city life to a small fishing village. To make things worse, my grandmother was a fire-breathing dragon who had probably driven my grandfather to an early grave. She absolutely terrified me. On the first day in her home, she barked at me that I needed a haircut before I started my new school. Tears streamed down my face as she cut off my long strawberry-blonde hair, something I had loved and taken great pride in. She told me to stop being a baby, that it was necessary, because there was no way I was bringing head lice into her home. After she’d finished cutting it short, I ran to my mother in tears, flinging myself at her. Little did I know that my new haircut would be the reason Salvatore and I met.
1988
Our love story didn’t begin when we first met
We were only ten
Instead, we became steadfast friends
The daughter of a seamstress
The son of a Don
Two children who didn’t understand the consequences
Of becoming friends
On my first day at my new school, I kept my head down, embarrassed over my boyish haircut. After finding out where my class was, I headed to the back of the room, hoping no one would notice me. Luckily, it was fairly empty, so I took a seat by the window in the far corner. Outside, children bustled about, dressed in beige, white, blue, and red uniforms. As more students entered the class, I removed a book from my backpack and pretended to read it, wanting to hide behind it. I abided by the rules of the ostrich - if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.
Some noisy boys entered the classroom, the thump, thump, thump of their shoes heading my way. One of them yelled, “Hey, someone’s in your seat, Salvatore!”
My heart sank. Realizing I’d been noticed, I peered over the top of my book. A group of boys stopped next to my desk, the middle one capturing my attention. Despite being a head taller than the others, his height wasn’t what I first noticed about him.
It was his eyes.
They were stunning. They were a pale blue, with a darker azure circling them as well as radiating out from his pupils. I’d never seen such beautiful eyes before, so much so that I couldn’t look away.
He smiled, his expression telling me he knew I liked his eyes. He probably got a lot of compliments because of them, my staring no doubt a regular occurrence for him. But his eyes weren’t the only striking thing about him. He was very good-looking, much more so than the other boys, who were ordinary and scruffy in comparison. His clothes were pristine while his brown hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. He reminded me of the picture-perfect children who modeled clothes in the magazines my mother used to buy when we were rich.
He cocked his chin up in a friendly hello. “Ciao. I’m Salvatore Santini. What’s your name?”
I didn’t answer, too tongue-tied to get a word out. The other boys started sniggering, making me even more nervous. Unlike the boy with the beautiful eyes, they weren’t so friendly-looking. It made me worry they were going to hurt me, especially the blond on my right, who was rubbing his fist as though he was getting ready for a fight. But they wouldn’t start a fight with a girl … would they?
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” Salvatore asked.
I cleared my throat, finally answering him, “Rosa Aggio.”
The blond boy started laughing. “He has a girl’s name.”
My face dropped, the realization he thought I was a boy making me want to cry. It was probably because of the horrible haircut my nonna had given me. It also didn’t help that I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, since my mother couldn’t buy a uniform in time. Wishing I could disappear, I lowered my head, now too upset to be scared.
“She’s a girl, you idiot!” Salvatore snapped.
The blond boy yelped, making me look back up. He was rubbing his arm, his expression annoyed. “How was I supposed to know? She looks like a boy.”
“She does not. You’re just stupid as well as blind.”
“Am not!”
Salvatore took a threatening step towards him. “You are, so tell her you’re sorry or I’ll punch your stupid mouth.”
Looking scared, the blond boy blurted out, “I’m sorry,” then took off to the front of the class.
Shaking his head, Salvatore turned back to me. “Ignore him; he’s an imbecille who doesn’t know a pretty girl when he sees one.”
I smiled at him, stunned that he’d called me pretty. No boy had ever called me that before. In my old school, they were more interested in calling me mean names and pulling my hair.
Salvatore sat down in the chair next to me. “Get lost,” he said, flicking a hand at the remaining boys.
They all scurried off to different seats, Salvatore’s tone surprising me. He hadn’t talked to them as though they were friends. It was more like he was their boss and they were his henchmen, not kids of ten. I smiled wider, feeling special that he’d chosen to sit next to me.
He smiled back. “You can be my friend today.”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked, hoping I’d made a friend for keeps. I didn’t care if he was a boy; I just wanted to have someone to talk to.
He shrugged. “If you’re not boring you can be my friend then too.”
The teacher entered the class, cutting our conversation short. I didn’t know it back then, but meeting Salvatore would change my life forever.
1989
The Mafia
I didn’t find out Salvatore’s family was in the mafia until the following year. I’d invited him to my eleventh birthday party. He walked in with the biggest gift and two large men dressed in dark suits, along with the most stunning woman I’d ever seen. I instantly knew she had to be his mother, since she looked like him, just with violet eyes. She also looked like she’d stepped out of one of my mother’s fashion magazines. The woman was as beautiful as a model, with high cheekbones and perfectly shaped lips. I wondered whether she was one, or even a princess, her rich purple dress adding to her regal appearance. As she shook my mother’s hand, I imagined her wearing a diamond encrusted tiara over her flowing brown hair.
Salvatore moved in front of me and thrust out my present, stealing my attention away from his mother. Smiling at him, I took the gift, so happy that he’d come to my birthday party. We hadn’t visited each other’s homes before, since Salvatore wasn’t allowed to play with friends after school, unless it was for a special occasion or a sports activity. It was why I’d tried to join the basketball team—so I could spend more time with him, but the coach had laughed me off the court since I was so short.
Therefore, his presence at my party was a big thing. He’d been so excited when his mother had said yes, and I’d been over the moon too. We both hated that we couldn’t see each other outside of school. Still, we managed to find a way around it through handheld radios. That’s what Salvatore called them. They were thick black things with long antennas—similar to walkie-talkies. I was so excited when he’d given me one at school. That night I’d hidden under my bed covers and talked to him in code as though we were spies. Other times we played cards by telling each
other what we had. Unfortunately, he shared a room with his older brother Ricardo, who constantly butted into our games. I didn’t like Ricardo that much, because he had a bad temper, and would always accuse me of cheating if I won since he couldn’t see my cards. He also threw tantrums every time he lost. Luckily, when he did that he would storm out, leaving me and Salvatore to talk in peace.
I took my present into the lounge. It was a small room with a large picture of Jesus above the fireplace. There was also a cross on the opposite wall, while the floral couch was squished in between two thin cabinets, leaving very little space. We lived in a two-bedroom cottage, where my brother and I literally slept in closets. My grandmother had gotten a friend to install windows in them so we had some air and light. They were only big enough to fit our beds in, which had drawers built into the base. Although I didn’t like how tiny my room was, at least the window faced the Mediterranean Sea, where I could watch the fishing boats come and go.
Instead of putting Salvatore’s present with all the others, I sat down in the middle of the lounge and started tearing off the wrapping. I was supposed to open my presents after I blew out the candles on my cake, but couldn’t wait, especially since it was so big. Once all the golden paper was off, I let out the biggest squeal. He’d gotten me a Barbie house, something I’d only dreamed of having, since my family was too poor to buy me one.
“Happy birthday, Rosa,” Salvatore said.
I jumped to my feet and leapt at him, throwing my arms around his neck. I pulled his head down and gave him a big kiss on his cheek. He shoved me away and wiped his face, his expression disgusted. Ignoring his complaints, I sat back down and started opening the box.
Grumbling about gross girl germs, he sat in front of me while our mothers continued to talk. I glanced across at them, seeing Salvatore’s mother smiling at mine. They couldn’t have looked more different. Salvatore’s mother was so tall, while my mother was tiny, at the very least a head shorter. She also wasn’t glamorous like Salvatore’s mother. She had no makeup on and was wearing a simple yellow dress that she’d made. She had strawberry-blonde hair, which was pulled back in a bun, the gray strands dulling down the color. My mother was half Danish, my lighter coloring inherited from her.
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