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She took the bouquet from the salesman, murmuring a thank you. The bundle of flowers was large, filled with all different types: pink camellias, daisies, heliotropes, and others. It created a beautiful array of colors, a contrast to her outfit. Abbacchio opened the shop door, the bell ringing to signal their departure. Summers in Naples are hot, sticky humidity causing your clothes to feel as if they were glued to your skin. The sun constantly beat heavily down on the city. Heat seemed to rise with every second.
Purple hyacinth. Abbachio acknowledged her time before the Passione as a period of darkness and sorrow. Their job meant everything to them, belonging, and losing that crushed them. Like a day old newspaper, Abbachio served no use to anyone. Nights were spent wallowing in self pity, wishing to bring not her own life back, but her partners. Responsibility and guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. The pure weight of it crushed their soul, shattering the once bright youth into pieces, waiting for someone to come and piece them back together.
Turning a corner, she made her way further down the streets. Shops lined the pavement, advertising big summer sales. People flooded in and out, busying themselves with today’s shopping. Abbachio loved going shopping with Bruno, no matter what it was for. Groceries, clothing, even office supplies.. any time spent with their boss was worthwhile. But, admittedly, clothes were her favorite thing to shop for with Bruno. Bruno would take them to the most luxurious store in Naples. Abbachio couldn’t fathom why. When she’d ask, he’d simply answer “because you deserve it, cuore mio, anything you want, it’s yours”.
Pink camellia. Meeting Bucciarati instantly changed Abbachio’s life, steering them from the downwards path they were on to one more hopeful. Bruno’s iron will and power brought her aching soul to a rest, letting the waves overtake them and feel again. Admiration, fondness, love, Abbachio felt it for him. She’d willingly devote her life and spirit to him, giving everything they’ve got to his mission. The main thing Bruno gave her: a home, somewhere to reside in where she could be vulnerable.
Abbachio stopped, a group of kids kicking a ball back and forth in a field, shouting playfully among themselves. She thought of the group back at home and how they sometimes played like this, even though they were all older. Somehow, they’d ended up in a group of teenagers, all joining passione for different reasons, but the root of it was the same for each and every one: Bucciarati.
Spring crocus. Aging seemed to happen so suddenly for Leone, one moment she was a fresh, youthful police cadet and the next… Abbachio had longed to feel young again, she was only in her twenties. For centuries people from all of the world searched for the fountain of youth, yearning to be forever young. Abbachio had found it, and happened to locate it in a dark, decrepit alleyway, rain soaking their hair, makeup dripping. Bruno brought all the youth back. She could laugh, feel joy, with him like she hadn’t before. Being with him made her feel giddy, like a school girl seeing her crush. His mere presence brought such juvenile, childish joy that Abbachio couldn’t contain it any longer.
A woman passed them, absentmindedly bumping into Abbacchio, dropping a handful of things in the mishap. “Sorry!” she quickly apologized, bending down to pick up her dropped belongings.
They also knelt down, aiding in the cleanup. “No worries,” Abbacchio insisted. They handed the woman the rest of her things, taking notice of her beauty. Her skin, flawless and free of blemishes, was a perfect tanned color, like wet sand on the beaches of Sardinia. The girl’s hair was neatly brushed, pulled out of her face to let the public see her beauty. Abbacchio softly smiled, leaving her with her stuff tidied and carried on.
Calla lily. Bruno had constantly told Leone of her beauty, praising her strong built body and features. He’d kiss each part of their body, mouthing the words “beautiful”, “mine”, and other silly things that made Abbacchio’s heart flutter and pound. At first she didn’t believe it, chalking his words up to simple pillow talk. This upset Bruno, and he would start doing it out of the bedroom. While working in his office together, he’d press chaste kisses to their forehead. At dinner Bruno would hold her hand tightly under the table, bringing it up to kiss at the rough knuckles.
Busy streets turned quiet, eerie, as she neared her final location. The gates above gave her a familiar greeting, bittersweet. Abbachio felt solace here, and here alone. It was where they were closest with their beloved. Today was their anniversary, another year of their life being dedicated to her capo has passed. Leone is ready for the next, and the one after that. She will continue her life, keeping his dream going until her eventual end. Bruno was her one and only.
Leone paused, stopping in front of a well tended stone. She smiled, last year's flowers had wilted, making room for fresh ones. “I brought you a gift,” they kneeled, resting in the grass. They set the bouquet down, adding a splash of color to the gray plaque. Even in death Bucciarati loved her—at least Abbacchio hoped so.
Blue saliva, rosemary, heliotrope, marigold. After Bruno’s death, she’d expected to grow lost, losing the single light in her life. Abbacchio was prepared to fall back into that deep unreachable depression once again. But the light stayed, burning as diligently as ever. Their love for Bruno never died out, keeping her strong even without his presence. Abbacchio could still, even without him, keep his dream going. She’d never move on from him, her one and only.