Barcelona, Spain.
That stamp in my passport was not a random choice when all I have left is to find the only good seed among the rot of the De Luca family.
His choice says a great deal about him—a country far enough from Italy, not as cold as the United Kingdom, and without mafia organizations likely to identify him. It was also the country where we spent our last truly happy vacation with our mother, many years before she was murdered.
Paolo had to return to Sicily in a hurry with our father while we wandered through Seville.
The trip lasted only one day, but in that moment, the good seed had already been planted.
Mother showed us the taste of freedom.
We went to a flamenco performance, and I became convinced I would grow up to be a dancer just like them. I hated watching the bullfi
