In the shadow of Naples

16.

Days blurred together since the mafia had left the hospital, as if time itself had stood still. Today, the last victim was being discharged from my list: an innocent six-year-old girl. The air felt lighter, as though an invisible threat had finally dissipated. No more armed men patrolling the hallways, no more suffocating fear. And yet, within the hospital's silence, I felt an odd emptiness. As if part of me had vanished along with the danger.

With a weary sigh, I sank into my chair. Before me lay stacks of files, work that had piled up over weeks of chaos. I picked up the top file, but the words remained meaningless. My thoughts kept drifting back to those intense blue eyes that had so often held me in their mysterious grip.

"Focus, Bailey," I whispered to myself, as if trying to call myself to order. This is what you wanted, I repeated in my mind. Peace. Freedom. But now that I had it, it felt hollow. Incomplete. A part of me missed his presence, despite the danger that came with it.

My gaze slid back to the papers, but I couldn't organize my thoughts. Questions kept surfacing, questions I had no control over. What should I cook tonight for Maria and Alessia? Something quintessentially English, perhaps. Shepherd's pie? Or maybe a classic roast dinner? The harder I tried to steer my mind, the more it wandered back to him.

When I finally signed the last form, I stood up abruptly. A walk would do me good, I decided. Fresh air would clear my head. Outside, the sky was surprisingly clear for this time of year. The crisp air nipped at my cheeks as I wandered through the market, my fingers grazing fresh vegetables and herbs. Slowly, my basket filled with potatoes, carrots, and a succulent leg of lamb, perfect for a roast dinner.

At home, the kitchen was my sanctuary. The scents of roasted lamb and vegetables soon filled the space, and with each minute, the tightness in my stomach loosened. Cooking always grounded me, pulled me into the present and pushed my thoughts to the background.

Just as the roast was nearly done, the doorbell rang. Maria and Alessia stood at the threshold, both smiling, a bottle of wine and a limoncello in hand.

"It smells delicious in here," Maria said as she stepped inside. Her voice was warm, familiar, an anchor in the chaos of my thoughts.

"I thought we'd keep it simple tonight," I said, accepting the wine. "A classic roast."

We poured glasses and toasted to the evening. "To peace," Alessia said, her voice heavy with meaning. "And fresh starts."

As we sat down to eat, the tension of the past weeks slowly began to ebb away. The food was simple but satisfying, the flavors familiar and comforting. Yet, even among the laughter and stories that flowed across the table, something simmered beneath the surface a question no one dared to ask. It was Maria who finally broke the silence.

"Bailey," she began carefully, her eyes searching mine, "how are you really?" "You seem... different."

I paused mid-motion, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth. The question hung heavy in the air, impossible to avoid. "I don't know," I admitted, the words slow and weighty. "Now that it's over, I should feel relieved." But instead, I feel empty. "Like something is missing."

Alessia looked at me with understanding in her eyes. "It's normal to feel this way after everything that happened." You've been through so much. "Give it time, Bailey. Eventually, peace will return to your life."

I nodded, but deep down, I knew it wouldn't be that simple. The shadow of the past still loomed over me, dark and elusive. As the evening wore on and laughter continued around the table, I couldn't forget the presence of those blue eyes. Even now, with the past behind me, I wasn't sure if I had truly escaped.