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Luciana took a breath as if she was getting ready to lob an objection, but then she simply gave a curt nod of acceptance. “That will help, sir… Gianpierre. Thank you.” She offered up the weakest smile he’d ever gotten from her before she turned to make her way from the Romano del Mare’s enormous inner courtyard. Her first steps included a limp, but it disappeared after only a moment through what Gianpierre assumed was force of will.
Luciana’s strength reminded Gianpierre of his grandmother. She’d been a formidable woman, tough as nails but as kind and gentle as a lamb.
Gianpierre turned his attention to his crew.
“Bernardo, Carmine—tape off the new hole and do what you can to clean up this area so that reconstruction can continue tomorrow. Everyone else, make a line and tap every inch of this courtyard. Look for spots ready to cave and tape them off. Then, make a map of the courtyard and mark the spots. Overlay it with a map of the tunnels and mark the spots that still need to be checked. Paolo, you are with me in the tunnels. If you do not hear from us in an hour, someone come check on us.”
“Se, capo,” chorused the people of Gianpierre’s loyal crew, telling him “yes, boss.” They’d been with him for years, and had followed him to the most remote locations on Earth. Being back home in Sicily was a treat for everyone, except Gianpierre.
That wasn’t exactly true. Gianpierre loved being back in Italy, and Sicily especially. It was his home. It was his heart. His heritage was in Sicily. It held his past, and it was his future. But, it was not where he wanted to be right now. He wasn’t ready to settle down and make the medieval architecture of Italy his consuming passion. There was still the whole world to see and travel. There were still ruins to explore and save, ruins with history different than the ruins of Italy. He wasn’t ready for Sicily to become his everything—not yet.
Six hours later, a tired and dirty Gianpierre and Paolo emerged from the snaking tunnels beneath the Romano del Mare.
“Ciau, everybody. Go to your families. See
you tomorrow,” he said, releasing his crew for the night. They had done a good job, and he wouldn’t risk wearing out their good will by working them so hard that they missed out on spending time with family they had barely seen in months. “Send me all pictures of problem spots within the next couple of hours.” He’d go over them later. Just because their day of work had ended didn’t mean his had.
Collecting the rolls of plans and notes made by his crew, he headed for home—or rather home base. It was an apartment that he’d been renting for years in the nearby town. It was the top level, floor-through of a 4-story building that gave him exclusive use of the roof, which he’d converted for use as a gym.
When he’d rented the place years ago, he’d only meant to keep it for six months, but six months had somehow turned into over ten years. It was the closest thing to a home that he had, even if he was only there at most two months out of the year.
Running up the building’s stairs instead of taking the elevator, Gianpierre let himself in through the door that he never bothered to lock whenever he was in town. The day’s sweat had mingled with centuries-old dust, leaving him feeling grimy.
Pulling the strap of his scarred and beaten leather courier bag over his head and leaving it on the floor, Gianpierre kicked off his boots next to the door so as not to track the work-site’s ancient dirt through his apartment. Next, he stripped off his clothes and left them in a pile before walking through the apartment naked to the shower.
The hot water from the shower streamed over his head and temporarily turned the swirling water at his feet gray as his body let go of the last of the day’s grime. Turning around, he let the water pound the tired muscles of his back. He had traced every passage archway of the resort’s catacombs and had even discovered a long-ago caved in section that required extensive excavation and structural repair. The discovery would push his schedule back by weeks if not months, and it was time he couldn’t spare.
Turning off the water, Gianpierre dried himself before tossing the towel over his hair. Rubbing it as he walked, he headed to his bedroom, passing the apartment’s entryway as he went.
A woman’s gasp made him freeze and then turn as he dropped the towel from his head to drape across his broad shoulders. There, in front of a still-open door, stood a tall, slender woman with large, round eyes and a mouth that was open in shock.
“Luciana?”
LUCIANA
Luciana had come to see the apartment but was getting an eye full of so much more. Gianpierre whipped the towel from around his broad, muscular shoulders and made hasty work of wrapping it around his tight waist. Behind her, Luciana heard the real estate agent enter and knew that little Natalia would be with her.
“Sir…” Luciana whispered. It was an apology and question all in one. Behind her, Signora Rizzo gasped, and Luciana turned around just in time to see the older woman slip her hand over Natalia’s eyes.
“What is this?” Gianpierre demanded. His still-damp body glistened, his layers of muscles begging to be traced by Luciana’s hands.
“I…” Luciana said, shaking her head. She didn’t know what to say, and she gave Signora Rizzo an imploring look.
“Signora Romano, this apartment is for sale!”
“What?” Gianpierre said, taking a threatening step forward with his shoulders bunched as if ready to fight Poseidon himself.
“We contacted you. Letters have been sent for six months with no response. We had no choice but to move forward. The building has new owners, and instead of offering rentals, they’re offering the apartments for sale. I am sorry, Signore. I did not know that you were in town.” Through it all, she kept her hands over Natalia’s eyes even though the little girl squirmed and pulled at the woman’s hands.
“You are selling my home?”
Signora Rizzo shrugged. “Would you like to buy it?”
Luciana watched, amazed, as Gianpierre took a step back with the same sudden intensity that he had taken a step forward. His eyes darted from place to place within the space that he called home, and Luciana was sure that she saw panic in his eyes.
“Signore Romano?” the real estate agent prompted again.
“No, no… I’m only renting. This is a temporary home. I’m not settling down. I travel too much to own. It makes no sense.”
