Anthony Cuero, M.D., once a strong, optimistic Christian, struggles with the clash within himself. He is a young physician from the University of Miami who fell hopelessly in love with, and eventually married, Valentina Calamia, M.D. Their love and passion for each other strengthens with the passing of each day and it is believed to be attributed to a five-hundred-year-old family secret. Valentina's parents, grandparents and ancestors successfully protected the family secret within their family home, which sits on the side of Mount Etna, Sicily's most powerful and mystical domain. It is Anthony's and Valentina's turn to protect it. But, their short time together was not always blissful. Her ancestor, from over five hundred years past, who bequeathed Valentina's lineage with this extraordinary gift of love and passion, was unable to evade the envy of evil. It is an evil that manipulates Anthony away from his God of Peace and toward a god of destruction as he seeks revenge for the murder of Valentina. Anthony is ultimately plagued with one final question: In his quest to be his family's greatest ally, did he become their fiercest foe?

Two, in One Heart

(Until Death Do We Part)By Peter W. Carbone

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Peter W. Carbone
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-2947-9

Chapter One

Present Day Just Past Midnight October 14th 2011

I abruptly awake in my bedroom. I cannot catch my breath; I can feel the warm beads of sweat dripping from my head. My heart rate is in pursuit of its normal rhythm but it can find no reprieve; in its quest, its rate quickens.

"My God, why can't I stop shaking? It was only another nightmare!" Groggy and in a state of perplexity, I must have murmured aloud because I suddenly become horrified when I hear a voice emanate from the darkness.

"A nightmare? You fool, welcome to your new reality!"

I instinctively yank my body away from the voice only to feel a sharp pain around my throat. I begin to choke and, without pause, I attempt to reach for the pain. I cannot reach it; both my arms and legs are tightly bound.

"Just where do you think you are going?"

The voice gradually sounds hauntingly familiar. I shriek, "Lucile, what have you done?"

She reaches over me and turns on the light. I can see that my presumption was an unfortunate miscalculation. The moisture I feel is not sweat but blood, which continues to slowly drip from my head onto a blood stained pillow. It is this moment that my "new reality" rushes toward me at a velocity that would spawn great fear to even the likes of Ares, the Greek god of war.

Within these past three years, my happiness has been eroded like a glacier that is under a vicious attack by the sweltering heat of the summer sun and the constant pounding of the salty, ocean waves. I now realize that I was not at all dreaming and that Lucile had orchestrated this new reality of mine. I look to her for compassion but her brow translates her cold indifference. In fact, her face lacks lines of expression while she demonstrates not a dram of sympathy. I can feel her imprecate my home. I reluctantly exhale because I fear the pain I will endure when I have to inevitably inhale.

I begin to panic as I look toward my abductor and force myself to screech, "Help, I can't breathe! I can't breathe! I feel as if my heart is going to explode." I attempt to scream but the rope suppresses each painful word. The words come out as a low, hoarse whisper, "Please help me!" Each word is dripping with bloody torment.

With neither a flicker of compassion in her eyes nor her unemotional voice, she coldly responds, "Help me with my heart, and I will help you with yours."

She appears to be a woman of stolid temperament who doesn't allow a heartfelt plea for kindness to affect her judgments. Her facial gestures express an odd disinterest to my reach for compassion. I am a mere object whose relevance is narrowly defined by her self-interest; as if the purpose of my existence was meant to equal her need — no more and no less. She mechanically turns away, walks out of my bedroom and nonchalantly closes the door.

I could only think of my fragile little Gabriella and how helpless I am to her. Again, I weep into my bucket of blue tears. As for the pain, it encircles me. It ruthlessly jabs various parts of my body with fire-tipped spears. I hear my cracked voice fade in the darkness, "First Thomas, then my wife, now my little girl."

Chapter Two

Early next morning 7:00 A.M.

I was awoken by a deep sense of despair. Once I became lucid, I attempted to assess the length of time that had elapsed since the kidnapping of Gabriella. It appears to be morning. I hear the cackling of the birds as they join in song the sibilant whispers of the cool, morning breeze strolling sluggishly through the palm trees that surround my Miami home. In the past, I would wake up, get dressed and dart out the door with undue eagerness. At the moment, I listen intently as I anticipate the calm, early morning breeze to strengthen into blustery winds of anguish that will again blow through my soul. It is only now that I realize the solace that has escaped me all these years. It is ironic that it would take a tragedy such as this, to slow me down long enough to learn of the beauty and comfort of those birds.

"Valentina! Valentina!" I moan as I bring to mind a mixture of fond memories with violent acts of transgressions. It is those bird sounds that evoke the sweet images of our first, loving interaction that guided us to our tragic, ill-fate. These are the memories that warm my heart but anguish my soul.

Indeed, many a man has sought counsel from his impassioned heart and, as a result, subjects his soul to self-revelations. I should like to confess my self-revelations and the days that led to my acts of malevolence. One's desire to act maliciously on another human being seldom stains one's soul as it did mine. Although every one of us accepts he is a sinner, my hope is that my soul is not foreordained to damnation as a result of my ruthless acts. My hope is that my unclean soul will become, once again, clean. With that said, some may consider my acts justifiable, a mere victim of circumstance. Others may consider my acts reprehensible, a willing participant of undue force in an unwelcome world of evil. And, of course there will be some who simply don't give a damn. Still, I confess.

It was February fourth, two thousand and three, over eight years ago at the University of Miami in South Florida. It is here that I attended medical school. After four years of medical school, I completed the three year internal medicine residency program. And, although Valentina would like to deny it, she and I first communicated on the seventh level of the UM/Jackson Memorial Hospital parking garage during my final year of the residency program. Later, we did our cardiovascular fellowship at UM. It was a program of sound pedagogy principles but a program that would soon be dwarfed by the lessons I would learn from Valentina within the ensuing years.

It was a beautiful, sunny Miami morning. I was early so I purposefully drove by all of the vacant parking spots of the first six levels and settled on the top level of the garage. I discovered this "sanctuary" upon the first day I visited the campus, when I searched and searched for a vacant spot but with no success. That first search brought with it, much frustration. All of the spots in the lower level of the parking garage were already occupied. I continued my quest one level at a time but there was not one empty spot to be had. Ultimately, I was forced to park on the seventh level, which, incidentally, has no roof. It is this vantage point that enables one to see much of Miami's beautiful buildings, as well as the hospitals, medical towers and palm trees comprising the Miami medical campus.

My first visit to the campus, to which I am referring, I parked my car, slammed my door out of frustration, took a deep breath and looked up. That was the first time I noticed the jets from the Miami airport soaring overhead. It was a sight that captivated my imagination. I am amazed that man has the ability to create a large vehicle that can gracefully climb into the heavens. Every time I see jets soar as they do, I find that I am enchanted by man's imagination, which has the keen ability to unmask boundless possibilities. I find myself wondering: What's next?

It was a matter of moments when I realized that this would eventually be my safe haven where I can peacefully enjoy my coffee, scan the UM medical campus below while I intermittently gaze in wonderment at the jets that soar above. Day after day, year after year, this...