Salvatore Dalla

The jet lands in the hangar in Palermo at six o'clock sharp. In a strange way, I remember my mother and all her devotion, contradicting everything I've been for the past few years. I go back to the times I was catechized and say a prayer to God, asking Him to guide my steps if I deserve it, to help me bring Amapola back, because I’m certain this is our last chance, no doubt about it.
In the same room where I was with her the last time we came to Palermo, still wrapped in a towel, I lie down to admire the stars. Amapola made me see even this differently. I used to love the darkness because I thought I belonged to it; now I admire it because through it we can see the beauty of the twinkling stars, which are stronger than the darkness surrounding them. Amapola was like that; even with the darkness I brought around her, she shone and stood out against me.
I look at the clock—it's nine o'clock at night. I decide to get dressed and go to her house. I want to see the place where she lives, even though I assured myself it would be ideal for her and her father. I want to see it in person.
Amadeu drives the car to the house, and it feels like with every meter closer, my heart beats even faster.
“Stop here,” I ask Amadeu to keep his distance as he parks. I know she’s going to the party with Marco; her father told me when I probed this afternoon. I didn’t mention that I would be here tonight; for the first time, I feel insecure.
Even though I’ve gathered information about their interaction, I’m surprised to see them together and consider that maybe he is better for her than I am. But, being the son of a bitch I am, selfish as hell, I disregard the lapse of consciousness and decide that I’ve given her enough time.
I watch as she steps out, beautiful as always, wearing a long, flowing dress with a sweetheart neckline, adorned with small, delicate flowers. Her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, and she has a light touch of makeup. Even from a distance, I can catch every detail about her, and even if we were miles apart, I’d still see her perfectly as if I were using magnifying lenses.
She walks slowly toward Marco, a smile that used to be meant only for me gracing her face. He scans her body, and I control my instinct that screams for me to pull him away from her.
I see him kiss her cheek and linger there for too long, but before I lose control of my impulses, Amapola steps back.
“She’s still mine.” I smile, satisfied.
“Without a doubt, boss,” Amadeu says, and I realize he’s present, and that I spoke aloud without even noticing.
“I haven’t forgotten what you did, Amadeu,” I say irritably, trying to maintain some distance from the man who has accompanied me my entire life.
“I’m sure you’ll thank me later.” I can hardly believe it; he, who has always maintained a stern and respectful demeanor, now thinks he can say what he wants.
“You’re spending too much time with Rico; I need to reevaluate those connections,” I grumble, and he nods, but I notice a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Shall we follow him, boss?” he asks as Marco’s car begins to move.
“No, I need to do something first. Stop in front of the house, please.”
Even though I know I could just enter, I don’t; I prefer to respect at least a bit of their privacy, so I knock on the door when I reach it.
“Salvatore?” The astonished look on Amapola’s father’s face almost makes me smile.
“Expecting someone else, father-in-law?”
“Father-in-law? So you finally decided to do what’s right?”
“Are you not going to invite me in?”
“Sorry, Salvatore. Come in; I’ll make us some coffee.” He opens the way, and I step inside, scrutinizing everything. I can see her touch in every corner; Mia Amah leaves her mark everywhere she goes.
“So, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asks as he hands me a cup.
“Because I decided a little earlier.”
“She just left,” he comments, and his smile fades suddenly from his lips. “Maybe you took too long.”
“I saw her leave; I was parked a little behind,” I inform him.
“And why did you let him almost kiss her?” he asks, surprised.
“I had never seen them together, and I wanted to observe to see if she wanted him or still belonged to me.”
“And what did you see? Because I was watching them too, and they were very close to kissing.”
“But she stepped back; in some way, she pushed him away. Amapola is still mine, Mr. Leopoldo, and that’s why I came to speak with you first.”
“Well, speak up, man.”
“I want you to give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“What? You want to take her from me so quickly?” Suddenly, the man stands up and begins to pace back and forth.
“What were you expecting? We’ve taken too long for this,” I warn.
“But we’re fine here,” he says, feeling heavy.