2

Mia DeLuca

I wake up early and immediately open our WhatsApp group chat to make sure the girls are awake. While brushing my teeth, I start a group video call and wait as the screens connect one after another. Sofia appears first, still buried beneath her blankets, her hair tangled and her eyes barely open.

“Wake up, bitch. You cannot waste time,” I yell through a mouthful of toothpaste. “We are in Italy, not Chicago.”

Aria joins next. Steam fogs the mirror behind her, and her damp hair clings to her shoulders. “Exactly. Save that lazy behavior for home.”

“I forgot to pack a white top,” I complain. “Can someone lend me one?”

“Come take one from my room,” Sofia mutters sleepily while sitting up.

“We meet in the lobby at seven sharp,” I announce before ending the call.

I hurry into the shower before opening my suitcase afterward. It is overflowing with bikinis, summer dresses, floral clips, and bright colors that remind me of sunlight. I pick a long orange skirt that flows around my legs and pair it with a matching bra style top. The outfit fits perfectly, like it was made for this city. I leave my hair loose down my back, apply mascara and glossy lip color over my naturally pink lips, then tuck an orange flower behind my ear.

After slipping my instant camera and phone into my handbag, I leave my room.

The elevator opens into the lobby where Aria is already waiting. She wears a short yellow summer dress with white sneakers, ready for an entire day of exploring.

“Where are Bridget and Sofia?” I ask.

“Sofia is still getting ready,” Aria says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Obviously.”

“Let’s eat breakfast while we wait,” I say, grabbing her hand.

As we walk into the restaurant, a man passes by us with a smile. “Buongiorno.”

“Good morning,” I reply brightly.

The buffet area is warm and glowing with sunlight. I fill my plate with scrambled eggs, strawberries, and a croissant before pouring myself coffee. I decide to keep breakfast light.

Aria and I sit at a table for four and begin eating. A few minutes later, Bridget and Sofia arrive carrying their own plates.

Bridget wears loose white trousers with a fitted white top. Her dark hair falls naturally around her shoulders, her face makeup free yet strikingly beautiful. Sofia’s hair is tied into a messy bun, and she wears denim shorts with a white shirt tucked neatly inside. Matte lipstick colors her lips.

“Oh diva, all that time just to get ready?” I tease, narrowing my eyes playfully at Sofia.

The girls sit down.

“I am just stressed,” Sofia sighs dramatically, lifting her brows.

“Stressed about what?” I laugh. “Because you need a job? Or because you already miss the handsome bodyguards?”

The table erupts with laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Sofia says while popping a grape into her mouth. “Fine, maybe they are attractive. But I definitely do not miss them.”

“Then what is bothering you?” Bridget asks.

“You are not unhappy about being in Italy, right?” Aria adds.

“I love Italy,” Sofia says quietly.

“Then what is wrong?” I ask gently.

“In two days I turn twenty three. My father will probably marry me off to some man I have never even met.”

“Oh Sofia,” Aria teases lightly, “I am sure your father will at least pick someone handsome.”

“All mafia men are attractive anyway,” Bridget says with a shrug.

“At least he will not be ugly,” I add jokingly.

Sofia smiles faintly. “True.”

After breakfast, we meet our guide. He speaks fluent English and glances at his phone before smiling politely at us.

“Good morning, ladies. Today we visit the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, Piazza Navona, and St Peter’s Basilica. Lunch after the Pantheon. Shopping afterward. Tonight you will have dinner before seeing the Colosseum because at night it feels magical and romantic. You booked a private car, so I will be your guide and driver. Welcome to Italy.”

We follow him to the car. I sit in the front while Sofia, Bridget, and Aria sit together in the back.

Everywhere we go, I take pictures using my instant camera. The architecture, the colors, the history surrounding us all feel unreal. We stop at small food stalls and eat pasta until we are too full to keep our lunch reservation.

We spend hours taking photos together while our laughter echoes through the crowded streets. I honestly cannot remember the last time we smiled this much.

This feels unreal.

This feels like freedom.

We explore Piazza Navona and St Peter’s Basilica before shopping until our bags become too heavy to carry comfortably. I buy handmade jewelry, colorful bandanas, and souvenirs for both my mother and myself. I avoid the leather shops, even though everyone insists Italy is famous for them. Leather has never really been my style.

That evening, we eat dinner at one of Rome’s luxurious restaurants. We all order the same dish. Spaghetti alla puttanesca with olives, tomatoes, anchovies, garlic, capers, and parmesan cheese. Red wine sits beside our plates while soft music drifts through the restaurant.

“I could honestly live like this forever,” I murmur quietly. “Italy, unlimited pasta, and amazing wine. It feels unreal.”

“This is exactly the trip we needed,” Sofia says softly.

“Our legs are dying, but somehow this is still worth it,” Bridget laughs while lifting her wine glass.

“This is where we belong,” Aria whispers. “Not Chicago. Not trapped with our families. Just us.”

“We should do this more often,” I say. “Disappear somewhere far away from all the chaos. Just the four of us.”

Later that night, we stand in front of the Colosseum. Under the dark sky, it glows with ancient power and beauty. One of the seven wonders of the world.

We make our guide take photos of the four of us together. I send several pictures to my mother because she asked me to update her constantly throughout the trip. I also snap pictures for my diary while our guide explains the history surrounding the monument.

“Built from stone and concrete, this magnificent structure was created through the labor of tens of thousands of slaves...”

Every step sends sharp pain through my legs, but I continue walking forward while my pulse suddenly grows too loud inside my ears.

Then I feel it again.

That sensation.

Not nerves. Not imagination.

A presence.

The atmosphere suddenly changes, heavy and wrong, as though the night itself has stopped breathing. Goosebumps spread across my skin while cold chills crawl down my spine.

I turn quickly.

There is nobody behind me. Only ancient stone walls and endless shadows staring back like empty eyes.

My heart pounds violently against my ribs, refusing to settle.

Then I notice it. A thin trail of cigarette smoke curls slowly out from the darkness before disappearing into the night air. The scent is fresh. My breath catches painfully in my throat. Someone is here. Someone close enough to watch me.

I slowly step backward, staring into the shadows before moving deeper into the darkness myself.

I wander through what feels like the ruins of the ancient Roman Empire until suddenly I stumble straight into someone.

A gasp escapes my lips as I look up.

A man stands before me.

The scent of cigarettes clings to him. He wears a perfectly tailored black suit. A lion tattoo stretches across his knuckles. His eyes are dark and piercing, impossible to read beneath the shadows. He looks dangerous. Terrifying. Yet painfully alluring at the same time.

“Are you okay, bella?” he asks, his voice low and deep.

A shiver runs through my entire body. I cannot answer him.

Without another word, I quickly turn around and hurry back toward my friends.

Who is this man?

And why does it feel like he has been watching me long before tonight?