I LOVE YOU, SALVATORE
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.
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
The Early Years
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.
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.
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