Chapter 25 - The Amalfi Horizon
Four days later, the private Bombardier Global 7500 jet touched down smoothly against the sun-baked asphalt of Naples International Airport, taxiing directly toward a private hangar where a fleet of matte-black luxury vehicles waited in disciplined formation.
Stepping off the private stairs of the aircraft, the warm, fragrant Mediterranean breeze washed over us, carrying the unmistakable scent of saltwater, blooming lemon groves, and sun-baked stone. The contrast between the cold, industrial concrete of Chicago and the golden, effortless beauty of the Italian coast was staggering.
Within an hour, our motorcade was winding its way along the breathtaking cliffside roads of the Amalfi Coast, the sparkling blue expanse of the Tyrrhenian Sea stretching out endlessly to our right. We bypassed the crowded tourist hubs, heading straight toward a secluded, cliffside villa perched high above the picturesque village of Positano.
The villa—historically known as Villa Moretti, though it had stood empty and shuttered for over a decade during the syndicate wars—had been completely restored under Roman’s direct orders. Surrounded by terraced gardens of olive trees, bougainvillea, and fragrant rosemary, it was a masterclass in Mediterranean elegance, featuring whitewashed stone walls, vaulted ceilings, and sweeping open-air terraces that overlooked the sea.
As our car glided through the iron security gates and came to a smooth halt before the main entrance, the heavy wooden doors swung open. A local estate manager and a small, discreet staff stood waiting to welcome us, bowing respectfully.
“Welcome to Italy, Mr. and Mrs. Moretti,” the manager said in polished, accented English. “Everything is prepared for your stay.”
We stepped out into the brilliant afternoon sunlight, the warmth wrapping around us like a familiar embrace. Roman immediately wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close as we looked out over the breathtaking panorama of the sea below.
“Well,” Roman murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “What do you think of our summer residence?”
May you like
“I think,” I smiled, resting my hands against his chest, “it’s going to be very difficult to ever convince me to get back on a plane to Chicago.”
“Then don't,” Roman laughed softly, his dark eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. “We can run the global empire from a laptop by the infinity pool.”
