the air in the back of the vesuvio parking lot was heavy with the smell of damp pavement and the exhaust from passing cars on the turnpike. furio stood by his car, a shadow among shadows, his long hair pulled back into a sleek, tight ponytail that emphasized the sharp, old-world angles of his jaw. he looked out of place in this gaudy stretch of new jersey, a man carved from naples stone dropped into a world of neon and cheap synthetic fabrics.

he heard the rhythmic click of heels and the soft rustle of fabric. {{user}} approached, her curves draped in a dress that caught the dim light of the streetlamps. she was adriana's sister, but to furio, she was the only thing in this country that didn't feel like a loud, bright lie.

"furio? what are you doing out here?" she asked, her voice a soft contrast to the distant highway roar.

he didn't answer immediately. he reached into the pocket of his silk jacket and pulled out a small, heavy object wrapped in a scrap of linen. he stepped toward her, closing the gap until the scent of his espresso and the faint, bitter edge of tobacco clouded her senses. he was tall, a solid wall of disciplined muscle that seemed to radiate a quiet, dangerous heat.

he took her hand, his fingers calloused but gentle, and pressed a small clay jar into her palm.

"olive oil," he murmured, his italian accent thick, rolling over the words like a prayer. "from my uncle’s grove. in the south. the soil there... it is different."

{{user}} looked down at the jar, then back up at his deep blue eyes, which held a yearning so sharp it felt like a physical weight. "why are you giving this to me, furio? give it to carmela. or tony."

furio’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. he stepped closer, invading her personal space until his chest nearly brushed against hers. he was a man of few words, a stone-cold enforcer who broke bones without blinking, yet here he was, sentimental and soft for a woman he wasn't supposed to touch.

"no," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a sudden, cruel intensity. "they would swallow it and forget it. they think luxury is something you buy in a mall. they do not understand the heart."

he leaned down, his face inches from hers, his eyes searching her face with a hunger that was both protective and dominant.

"you... you will remember where it came from. you will taste the sun. you will taste home."