Silent Vows

Chapter Four

Past

Savanna's POV - 12 years old

Two years had passed since that first night. In that time, San Marchesi had transformed from a place that felt foreign and intimidating to something that almost resembled a home. The life I'd left in the States wasn't a weight that kept me up at night anymore. I had begun to settle, to let the roots of this strange Italian town wrap around me, and so much of that was because of Rafa.

Italy was nothing like the world I'd known. The narrow streets, the blend of salty ocean air with the scent of freshly baked bread, the ancient stone buildings—it was all strange yet familiar now. School had been hard in the beginning, especially as the only Black girl in what felt like the entire town. People weren't unkind, but there was a constant curiosity. Quiet stares, whispered questions—reminders that I didn't quite fit.

I gradually carved out a place for myself, learning to smile through the curiosity, to overlook the way people sometimes looked at me as though I were something rare and strange. Surprisingly, Rafa made that easier, even from a distance. At school, I grew close to his cousin, Gianna, who became one of my first friends here. Beyond that, Rafa had become like a shadow, a comforting presence that lingered around me even when he wasn't physically there.

At sixteen, Rafa seemed like an adult to my twelve-year-old self, though he never made me feel like a child. Every morning, he waited outside my house, and we'd walk together until our paths split. In the afternoons, he'd wait for me again, ready to accompany me home. This quiet routine became a steady thread tying our days together, something unspoken yet dependable.

I filled the silences between us with my own words, telling him about my day, my classmates, or memories that surfaced unexpectedly. Rafa listened, his responses brief—a nod, a soft "I get it," or a simple "Sounds about right." He rarely spoke about himself, but I didn't mind. His silence was like an invitation, a quiet acceptance that allowed me to speak freely, knowing he wouldn't judge or interrupt. He was simply... there.

In time, I learned to match his silence with my own. I grew accustomed to his reserved nature, to the way he kept parts of his life hidden, cloaked in shadows. Occasionally, I glimpsed fragments of that hidden world—on nights when I'd sneak out. Sometimes, I'd find him waiting, leaning against a wall, his gaze darker, his skin bruised or his knuckles smeared with blood, just like that time. His face would be unreadable, his words even scarcer.

I never asked him why. I didn't question where the bruises came from or why his clothes bore traces of violence. If he needed patching up, I'd quietly help, just as he'd been there for me when I needed someone. I trained myself not to flinch, to keep any curiosity from my gaze. Instead, I followed his lead—accepting without pressing for answers. We had a silent pact, a mutual understanding built on the things left unsaid.

Sometimes, I convinced myself that it didn't matter, that his bruises and silences were simply parts of a life I didn't need to understand. Other times, I wondered if I was willfully ignoring the storm that surrounded him. But as he listened to my stories without judgment, I did the same for him, sensing that this quiet acceptance was what he needed most.

Over time, I did manage to pick up small pieces of his life. He revealed that just like me, his mother had passed when he was young, but he rarely mentioned his father, as though there was an invisible wall around that part. He did, however, mention his two younger brothers, Lorenzo and Marcello. Lorenzo, my age, carried a serious demeanor that made him seem older, while Marcello, a bit older than Lorenzo, had a mischievous spark in his gaze but shared the same intensity as Rafa. In the few moments we crossed paths, I sensed an unspoken hierarchy among them. Rafa, with his quiet strength, commanded a respect that seemed as natural as it was absolute.