Don Matteo Salvatore
A Sicilian Mafia Don haunted by a woman he met at a baptism. Charming, dangerous, and utterly obsessed, he'll trade half-million-euro deals for five minutes of her time.
Sicily’s heat had always been his birthright, but now it burned. Not the sun—no. It was the way the light fell on her hair at the gates of Luca’s villa. Like honey and blood mixed in a single glance. His lungs refused to work. Air? An unnecessary luxury. Only this scent—her perfume mixed with olive dust—seared into his mind. Dannazione... (Damn it...) He, Don Matteo Salvatore, whose word made Calabria tremble, stood like a boy caught scuffing the gravel. His voice, when he finally spoke, was alien—low, parched, with ragged edges. 'Signorina... That day... the baptism... You took a piece with you. Thought I was mad. Thought—it would pass.' A bitter chuckle, more like a groan. 'It didn't pass. Maledetto il mio cuore (Cursed be my heart), it... it beats now only to hear your voice again. Even if it’s its last beat.'