THE TASTE OF HIS HEAT

FLASHBACK-HER LITTLE SUNSHINE

Eight years ago.

The Palermo sun burned low, painting the city's crumbling rooftops in hues of amber and rust. In a cramped apartment above a noisy street, Bianca Romano sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling around a plastic stick. Two pink lines stared back at her, stark against the white. Pregnant. The word lodged in her throat, heavy with fear and wonder. At twenty, barely surviving with Natalie and Verona in their rundown Palermo flat, Bianca felt the world shift beneath her. The memory of that night in Club Notte-the stranger's gray eyes, his fleeting touch-flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away. He was gone, a ghost. This was her reality now.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, her hazel eyes wide with resolve. "I can do this," she whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true. The apartment was quiet, the drip of the faucet a steady rhythm. Natalie and Verona were at the café, leaving Bianca alone with her secret. She stood, smoothing her worn dress, and tucked the test into her bag. She'd tell them tonight. They'd figure it out together.

That evening, over a makeshift dinner of pasta and cheap wine, Bianca's voice shook as she spoke. "I'm pregnant." The words hung in the air, fragile as glass. Natalie's fork froze mid-bite, her auburn curls catching the dim light. Verona, seated across the wobbly table, raised an eyebrow, her blonde hair pulled tight, her expression unreadable.

"Pregnant?" Natalie's shock melted into a grin. "B, that's... wow. Okay, we've got this. You're not alone."

Bianca's eyes stung with relief. "You sure? It's going to be hard."

"Hard's our specialty," Natalie said, squeezing her hand. "We're family."

Verona leaned back, her smile thin. "Yeah, we'll help. You keeping it?"

Bianca nodded, her hand resting on her stomach. "I am. I want this baby."

Verona shrugged, sipping her wine. "Your call. We'll make it work."

The months that followed were a blur of exhaustion and hope. Bianca worked double shifts at Caffè Sole, her body aching but her spirit unyielding. Natalie stitched baby clothes from thrift store finds, her laughter a lifeline. Verona was quieter, helping with errands but often distant, her sharp eyes watching Bianca's growing belly. By the ninth month, the apartment was cramped with a secondhand crib and stacks of diapers, a testament to their shared determination.

When labor came, it was fierce and unrelenting. Bianca gripped Natalie's hand in a Palermo hospital, her screams swallowed by the sterile room. Verona paced outside, claiming she hated hospitals. After hours of pain, a cry pierced the air-a baby boy, small and perfect, with dark curls and eyes that shimmered like hope. Bianca held him, tears streaming down her face, her heart swelling with a love so fierce it scared her.

"Damien," she whispered, naming him after a character in a book she'd loved as a girl. Her little sunshine, a light in her shadowed world.

Life with Damien was a delicate dance. The apartment, already small, felt smaller with his crib wedged beside the couch. Bianca adapted, learning his cries, his smiles, the way his tiny hand curled around her finger. Natalie was a natural aunt, singing off-key lullabies, while Verona helped less, her visits sporadic. Bianca didn't mind; Damien was her focus, her reason to keep going. She worked nights, leaving him with Natalie, and returned to rock him to sleep, his warmth anchoring her.

One month after his birth, Verona vanished. No note, no call. Her clothes were gone, her corner of the apartment bare. Bianca and Natalie tried her phone, searched her usual haunts, but Palermo's streets offered no answers. "She'll show up when she wants to," Natalie said, her voice edged with frustration. "Always was a flake."

Bianca nodded, but unease settled in her chest. She pushed it aside, focusing on Damien. He was two months old now, his coos filling the apartment with life. She bathed him in a plastic tub, sang softly as he blinked up at her, his eyes a mystery she longed to unravel. Each night, she tucked him into his crib, kissing his forehead, whispering promises of love.

That night, the air was thick with summer heat. Natalie had left for a late shift, leaving Bianca alone with Damien. She rocked him until his breathing slowed, his tiny chest rising and falling. She laid him in the crib, smoothing the blanket-a gift from Natalie, embroidered with stars. Exhaustion pulled at her, and she collapsed onto the couch, drifting into a fitful sleep.

A creak woke her, the apartment dark save for the streetlight's glow. Her heart lurched as she sat up, a chill crawling down her spine. The silence felt wrong, too heavy. She stumbled to the crib, her breath catching. The blanket was gone, the crib empty. Damien was gone.

"Damien?" Her voice cracked, panic rising like a tide. She tore through the apartment, flipping on lights, checking under the couch, behind the curtains. "Damien!" The word was a scream now, raw and desperate. The door was ajar, the lock intact but unlatched. Her knees buckled, her hands shaking as she clutched the crib's edge.

She called Natalie, her words a jumble of sobs. Natalie rushed home, her face pale as she searched with Bianca, their voices echoing in the empty flat. They called the police, who arrived with flashing lights and stern questions. "Any enemies? Any strange visitors?" Bianca shook her head, her mind blank with terror. Verona's absence flashed through her thoughts, but she dismissed it-Verona wouldn't do this.

Days blurred into a nightmare. The police combed Palermo, posting flyers with Damien's photo, his dark curls and tiny smile haunting Bianca's every moment. She and Natalie searched alleys, knocked on doors, begged strangers for leads. Nothing. No witnesses, no traces. The police grew weary, their updates sparse. "We're doing all we can," they said, but their eyes held pity, not hope.

Bianca stopped sleeping, stopped eating. She sat by the crib, clutching the star-embroidered blanket, its scent fading with each passing day. Natalie forced her to eat, held her through sobs, but the void in Bianca's heart grew. Her little sunshine, her Damien, had vanished into thin air, leaving only questions and pain.

One night, alone in the dark, Bianca opened her locket-a gift she'd bought herself after Damien's birth. Inside was his photo, taken at one month old. She pressed it to her lips, tears falling. "I'll find you," she whispered, her voice a vow. But Palermo's streets were silent, and her son was gone.