Chapter 12
ANGEL
That night we devoured a rich, slow-simmered lamb ragù that Mrs. Campanelli prepared from our market haul.
The deliciousness of the meal and the sublime red wine lulled me.
Enough that I almost missed it when the housekeeper insisted on our return to the town the following morning.
‘Daily though?’ I groused.
Mrs. Campanelli nodded with firmness, setting down a basket of warm bread.
‘We Italians insist on fresh ingredients every single day.’
I gave in with a groan as I caught Mrs Campanelli’s dancing eyes meeting Roxy’s.
She really was up to something, and I mulled on it as we rose to put our plates away.
Our second excursion through Anacapri the next day was chaotic and sun-drenched.
Roxy and I went down narrow alleys on a hunt devised by Ms. Campanelli, searching for an extensive list that included olives, capers, cannellini beans, lentils, lemons, vegetables, and protein.
We took turns figuring out which local vendors sold genuine olive oil and which were hawking the freshest fish.
‘The shops are mini markets, so not the super-type we’re used to,’ Roxy warned me. ‘They tend to specialize in one or two items, so we’ll probably have to shop multiple places. All part of the fun!’
Short on patience, I bit back a curse.
‘Where you find the joy in all this, I have no clue.’
‘I love it, it’s like a scavenging hunt,’ Roxy shot back, her eyes sparkling behind her sunglasses. ‘Just keep carrying our haul like a boss.’
I grunted, but a small smirk tugged at my mouth as I pulled her close as the crowds jostled her.
Roxy loved life.
She found joy in the simple, sun-drenched moments, from plucking bouquets of tangled bougainvillea that grew wild along the narrow cobblestone alleys to sipping with pleasure the fresh lemon granita I bought for her in Villa San Michele.
She even won over the local shopkeepers along the Via Giuseppe Orlandi, chatting with artisans in their storefronts alongside the tourists packing the bustling Anacapri piazzas.
Later, we ducked under the awning of a quiet café, settling into a shaded wrought-iron table for lunch.
After we paid our bill, we lingered.
I studied Roxy over the rim of my espresso cup as the hot Mediterranean sun beat down on the cobblestones outside.
She was sweet, warm, and genuine, making me feel like a bastard for my bitter mood.
At the same time, the pull to her was undeniable, yet the sting of Evangeline leaving me at the altar still burned through me.
Roxy deserved a man who gave her a clean slate.
Not a jilted groom wrecked by rejection, torn with desire for the sister in front of him and humiliation over the bride who ran.
‘I saw some silver earrings in a stall back there,’ she said, setting her spoon against her saucer. ‘Mind if I nip back and grab them?’
‘Go for it,’ I muttered. ‘Take your time.’
She rose then checked her purse.
‘Dammit, I’ve run out of lira. Do you have a few? I’ll pay you back.’
I reached into my wallet and produced a slim plastic ebony rectangle, then dropped it in her outstretched hand.
She arched her brow at it.
‘This isn’t several lira. It’s a credit card.’
‘It’s an American Express Centurion, the ultimate Black Card, babe, and I don’t have anything smaller. Most shops will take it; they should, as it has a couple of hundred grand on it.’
She scoffed, tossing the plastic back onto the glass table between us.
‘Don’t need the card now; I’m sure I’ve lost some notes and coins at the bottom of my bag.’
The hell?
‘Eva - I mean, the women in my past were always all about shopping on my dime,’ I muttered, confused at her rejection.
Roxy dug deeper into the corners of her leather bag, finally bringing up a small handful of crumpled bills and coins.
‘Evangeline might have thought a million in the bank was the holy grail, but I’m not her,’ she said, sliding her own cash into her pocket. ‘Material things mean jack to me.’
I narrowed my eyes on her, taking the card back into my palm.
‘So what do you value, Rox?’
She gazed at me straight in the eyes, her expression dead serious. ‘Devotion.’
I arched a brow.
Most women in my orbit saw the stage, the platinum records, and the black cards and swooned.
Evangeline had loved the lifestyle I afforded her.
Roxy, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the fame or the bank account, demanding the one thing money couldn’t buy.
A sudden, quiet wave of respect washed over me, burning through my usual skepticism.
‘Rockstars and their first world problems,’ she added, her face softening as she flashed a smile that sent an arc of need through me. ‘I won’t be more than twenty minutes, promise.’
She moved with an effortless grace, striking in her white linen summer dress as she stepped out into the bright light.
I tracked her until she blended into the thick afternoon crowd.
Around me, the plaza buzzed with tourists, the hiss of espresso wands, and servers navigating wicker chairs with silver trays.
I sat sipping my drink, mulling Roxy’s stance, part in wonder at the fact that I was married to a woman who wasn’t after stripping me bare with her gold-digging ways.
Twenty-five minutes ticked past on my watch, then thirty.
Roxy was punctual to a fault, and her delay triggered every instinct in me.
After paying at the counter, I knifed up in my seat, stood up, grabbed the shopping bags, and cut through the crowd in search of her.
Moments later, my phone vibrated in my palm.
I swiped the screen and brought the receiver to my ear.
‘Where are you?’
‘Angel, I’ve got three guys trailing me,’ Roxy said, her breath coming in short, terrified hitches. ‘They’re speaking Russian, and they won’t back off.’
My heart kicked.
‘Send me your live location ping right now, Rox.’
‘Just sent it,’ she whispered, the noise of a crowded alley echoing through the phone. ‘They’re behind me.’
‘Find an open storefront with a friendly store owner and sit tight,’ I growled, breaking into a full sprint through the narrow market corridor.
‘Can’t, they’ve boxed me in an alley.’
‘I’m coming now,’ I bit out.
Upping my speed, I used my bags to maneuver my way through the slow-strolling travelers.
Her location dot pulsed two streets over, tucked at the back of a maze of leather stalls and ceramic shops.
I rounded a corner and skidded to a halt at the mouth of a shadow-drenched alleyway.
Roxy stood trapped against a stone wall as three burly, shirtless Russian tourists cornered her.
Their sunburnt shoulders glistened with sweat and cheap tattoos.
They towered over her, reeking of stale beer and skunk weed while growling broken English and thick Russian taunts in her face.
‘Get the fuck away from her,’ I growled, my timbre echoing off the brick walls.
The three men turned, blinking in surprise.
Their leader laughed, revealing his gold grill teeth.
‘Look at this,’ the biggest one sneered in a broad accent, stepping away from Roxy and flexing a hairy chest. ‘You want trouble, one against three? Or do you want to just walk away and leave us alone with this beauty?’
I scoffed.
‘I need you to turn around and fuck off before this turns into a medical emergency for all three of you.’
I sauntered deeper into the discarded alley, setting my bags down near a set of abandoned steps with nonchalant ease.
The leader guffawed, then his face transformed into a mask of malice and aggression.
He lunged and took a swing at my jaw, putting his whole body behind a sloppy right hook.
He had no clue he was throwing a punch at a black belt who spent years mastering distance and leverage in MMA rings.
I ducked beneath his elbow, stepped into his guard, and drove a solid palm strike straight into his nose bone.
Blood sprayed as he crumpled, and before the second guy could react, I launched a side kick into his kneecap.
The joint popped, dropping him to his hands and knees while he shrieked in agony.
The third chap lunged forward, but I caught his wrist, twisted his arm behind his shoulder blade, and slammed his face into the stone wall.
All three lay writhing on the ground, their bravado wiped out.
By now, a small crowd of locals was gathering at the alley entrance, whispering among themselves.
Ignoring the gallery, I stepped over the groaning thugs and pulled Roxy hard to my chest.
Wrapping my arms around her, I glided my touch down her spine, double-checking she was OK.
An unexpected wave of fierce, protective instinct surged through me, catching me off guard by its sheer force.
‘You good, Rox?’ I murmured against her hair.
‘I’m fine now,’ she whispered back, her hands clutching the back of my shirt. ‘Thank you.’
I tilted her chin up with a lean finger and our eyes locked, with such intensity I shuddered.
We were still staring at each other when two Capri police officers pushed through the spectators.
The carabinieri took one look at the bleeding men and cursed before approaching us.
‘What happened here, signore?’ the senior officer asked, gesturing toward the bruised trio.
‘They cornered my wife,’ I muttered, keeping my arm around Roxy’s waist. ‘They refused to let her leave and got violent, so I defended her.’
‘Is this true, signora?’ the younger cop chimed in, glancing at Roxy.
‘Yes,’ Roxy confirmed. ‘They chased me down the market street and trapped me here., forcing my husband to do what he had to.’
The officers listened as I added more details before they rolled the men onto their backs to identify them.
‘These idiots have been harassing shoppers all morning,’ the senior constable told us. ‘You two are free to go.’
‘Grazie,’ I said, offering a curt chin raise.
The three half-conscious thugs got hauled away to sleep off their high in a holding cell.
We retrieved our shopping bags and headed out.
I kept an arm around Roxy’s shoulders, clasping her to my side as we navigated the square toward the taxi stand.
Finding a ride, I helped her in, settling in beside her to cover her hand in mine the entire way back to our villa.
She leaned into me, quiet, glancing up at me.
All the while, my mind whirled through every terrible scenario that could have played out in that alley.