The autumn heat hung low over the Savannah River, thick with the scent of damp earth, salt water, and blooming jasmine.
By mid-afternoon on a humid Thursday, Mario’s black Ferrari Roma glided down Bull Street, its engine letting out a low, purring rumble that echoed off the towering live oaks draped in heavy curtains of Spanish moss. The dappled sunlight filtered through the dense green canopy above, casting flickering shadows across the crimson hood of the car.
In the passenger seat, Maya leaned back against the supple leather, her dark brown eyes watching the historic district unfold through the tinted glass. She wore an effortless ivory silk blouse paired with high-waisted olive trousers, her caramel-gold skin glowing in the late-day sun.
For fifteen years, the thought of returning t
