Page 253 of The One
Turning to Mari, I pull her close and press my nose into her hair, giving myself a moment to pull it together again.
We’re one step closer to disappearing forever.
D-Day
This is the day that changes everything.
The deep hum of the engines vibrates through the deck as the yacht slices through the water, leaving the Sicilian coastline behind.
Sunlight glints off the waves, bright and endless, like our future ahead. But my gaze lingers on the land fading into the horizon.
Sicily has never been my only home. But this island, this is where my bloodline runs deepest, where my ancestors walked, ruled, fought, and died. And now, I’m leaving it behind, knowing I can never return.
The finality of it settles in my chest, an insistent pressure that I can’t ignore. Guilt gnaws at me below the surface, a silent betrayal to the men who came before me, to the legacy woven into my very name, now tattooed into my chest.
But then I look at Mari and I’m certain that I’m doing the right thing.
Whatever I’m leaving behind, whatever weight history tries to place on me,thisis what matters to me now.
She is what matters.My own family.
I’m not running. I’m choosing.
Mari wraps her arms around herself and watches the distance grow, a lone tear tracing down her cheek. Wordlessly, I step closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against me. She melts into my embrace, her fingers gripping my shirt as she buries her face against my chest.
“I know,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her damp skin and pressing my lips to the top of her head. “I know it’s hard.”
She takes a shuddering breath. “I thought I was prepared,” she whispers. “But it’s real now. I won’t see them again. Not for a long time. Maybe never.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and a sharp pang twists in my chest. She’s leaving behind the only family she’s ever known. And she’s doing it forme.
It’s a gift I will never take for granted.
“We’ll make this work,” I reassure her, lifting her chin to gaze into her eyes.
She presses closer. “We already are.”
I turn back to the open sea, my grip on her secure. The Sicilian coastline is a mere sliver in the distance now, and ahead of us, nothing but the horizon. Pantelleria awaits by late afternoon, the place where life as we know it will end.
I take the throttle, pushing the yacht faster.
We’re not looking back anymore.
Pantelleria, an island southwest of Sicily near the coast of Tunisia, is now in sight, its scattered lights flickering against the vast stretch of darkness.
The quarter moon casts a dim glow over the water, enough to catch the choppier waves and the silhouettes of a few distant boats. It’s not yet obstructed by the clouds creeping across the sky, swallowing up the stars.
Flashes of lightning streak across the horizon, the thunder getting louder. The wind has picked up, whistling through the open deck, making the yacht sway with each passing swell.
Mari had never stepped foot on a yacht before, never been on the open water, but she took to it effortlessly, seeming to enjoy the salty breeze and tasting the ocean on her lips.
It reminded me of our mini-honeymoon when she saw snow for the first time. The same thrill, the same wonder was there, but this felt different. More natural. More like her. As if the sea had always been a part of her, waiting for her to return.
We moored in the marina for a very late lunch or early dinner, however you want to look at it, making sure we were seen. When the explosion happens later tonight, there needs to be no doubt we were here. We also discreetly checked out where our new vessel is docked.
Tiero always loved his boats, and he picked well with this one too. Polished timber, sleek lines, but smaller than you’d expect from him. More unassuming. Less attention-grabbing.
Now, hours later, we’re anchored back in open water. The island glows faintly in the middle distance, its lights twinkling through the haze. A few boats drift further out, their beacons bobbing like fireflies against the ink-black sea.
