Salvatore Dalla Part 2
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say, taking two steps back. “If it’s freedom you want, you’ll have it.”
For a moment, I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but she quickly recovers, holding my gaze.
“It’s what I want, Salvatore; it’s what I’ve wanted since the first time I looked into your eyes, my freedom,” she says as I place my hand on the door to leave her room, but I freeze.
“You were never trapped, Amapola; since I took you out of the casino, I gave you your freedom,” I say, stepping out and slamming the door behind me.
***
“Call Rico; I need him to come here right now,” I say to Fabrizio.
As I wait for my brothers, I tilt the whiskey bottle directly to my mouth. I thought about pouring it into a glass, but I didn’t have the patience; I wanted the burn of the liquid to wash down the lump that was blocking my throat—something I hadn’t felt since I was a child.
“What happened?” Fabrizio asks as he enters my room without knocking and finds the bottle at my lips.
“I need you to do me a favor,” I warn him. “Amapola is leaving; make sure she’s safe, help her with whatever she needs, and never mention me to her, and vice versa. I never want to hear her name again; I just want her to be safe.”
“Salvatore, are you sure?” Rico asks.
“I’ve never been more sure in my life.”
“She hasn’t forgiven you? Brother, I know how messed up it must be for her after what she saw, but she loves you; over time, she’ll see that you weren’t to blame,” Fabrizio interjects.
“You’re wrong, Fabrizio. I could never make her happy; since I came into her life, I’ve only caused her pain.”
“Don’t go down that path, Salvatore. The girl was in a bad place, and you pulled her out; you gave her new motivation, safety, a profession, care...”
“It’s not me saying this, Fabrizio; Amapola made it clear how much I’ve hurt her, and I have to agree with her.”
“Please, Salvatore, don’t be foolish,” Rico says. “The idiot of the three of us is me; act rationally like you always have. The woman is just hurt; give it time, and everything will be fine.”
“I am being rational, brother; that’s why I’m letting her go. See what she needs and help her with everything; that’s all.” I conclude our conversation, and they understand the message and leave.
Some time later, I see from the window of my room Amapola pass through the front door. Some soldiers carry her many bags; she hesitates for a moment, looking back. I wanted her to give up, to come back and talk to me, but she doesn’t. After saying goodbye to Ángela with a hug, she gets in the car and leaves.
She wasn’t just leaving; she was taking a piece of me with her, the best I had to offer someone, and I knew that without Amapola, I would never get that part back.
But loving, in the end, is also knowing when to let go. I loved Amapola enough to give up my own happiness for her to have hers.
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