Chapter 30
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
“Luca, I'm sorry...” The Italian avoided eye contact with me. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and sunglasses on, watching people work between the vineyard rows. "I didn't mean to disrespect you!”
Luca Condello was a sentimental son of a bitch, and there was no other way to put it.
He hadn't spoken to me for four days. Whenever it was time for me to call home, he just waved the phone at me like I was some dog, and when I tried to apologize the first time, he replied that he didn't expect me to have the indecency to betray his trust like that after he’d even introduced me to his wife.
“COME ON! You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later!
” I pleaded, grabbing his shoulder. He just turned his face away with a look of contempt.
Roasting under the sun, I noticed his bald head starting to burn, and a mischievous smile spread across my face.
"Okay. Okay! Don't complain later. You heard Olivia a little while ago.
Case officially closed. Soon, you know… Chop chop, head off.
It'll be over! There will be no more Daisy, and you'll regret not talking to me.
“ Luca straightened up, turning to me with a jolt, taking off his glasses and staring in horror. ”Tsk.
My soul will come back to haunt you. That's a promise! "
“Signorina!” He shook his hands and glasses. “Don’t say things like that!”
I laughed heartily and decided to tease him. “Oh...! Looks like the guilt’s already kicking in.”
Luca put his sunglasses back on and cleared his throat, turning back to the vineyard.
“Signorina, you have no word,” he grumbled, and I narrowed my eyes.
Was he really going to keep throwing that on my face?
“You remind me of my daughter Francesca.
That ragazza doesn't know how to keep her promises either.”
I sighed, more relieved than satisfied. “She seems like a wonderful girl to me.”
He snorted and shook his head. “She's just like you, Signorina. A babbea.”
“What does that mean?”
“Idiot,” he muttered, and I chuckled.
I genuinely liked Luca and was glad we were talking again. His expression might be intimidating, but his whole demeanor was paternal. A simple, grumpy Italian whose only goal seemed to be to keep others safe.
“Friends again?” I asked, and enjoyed watching him fight a smile.
“Ma dai, don't you have anything better to do than annoy me?”
“If you answer me, I'll leave you alone...” I replied with a pout.
Luca shook his head and waved his hand in the air. “Va bene. You're forgiven. But no more breaking promises, Signorina. Your word is your bond, sì?”
“Deal.”
I left Luca to his business and returned to the villa to finish my daily chores.
But as soon as I entered and the silence engulfed me, my mouth tasted bitter.
I hadn't seen Camillo since the kiss, and it had been four days.
When he was at home, he avoided me, not showing up for any of the meals, and if I went upstairs to make his bed and he was still in the room, he would lock himself in the bathroom until I disappeared.
That day, he simply left the house.
I sighed, dragging myself to the kitchen, where there were still dishes to wash. I was tired of making lunches that ended up getting cold on the table.
As I washed the dishes, I went over the information Olivia had given me a few hours ago.
After ruling it as a suicide, the police had now officially closed the case of Senator Jones.
It was done. Madeleine Jones committed suicide as far as everyone knew and now, with the case closed, there’d be no more investigation into it.
Which meant that, from now on, I had a countdown hanging over my head.
I put the dry dishes away in the cupboard and thought about my best friend. I didn't feel right deceiving Olivia. After everything we had been through, she didn't deserve that from me. But I wanted to believe it was for her own good. However, there was something heavier in my heart.
All those years, I had aunt Lizzie, Olivia and more recently Oliver.
But Liv had only me to rely on. Even though she’d always been popular, she was unable to trust people after what happened to her twelve years ago.
She cut ties with almost everyone but me, and even though she got along with Aunt Lizzie, I knew she would never trust her.
And that meant I was not only deceiving my best friend, I would also be leaving her all alone in that world when I died.
There would be no more rants in the middle of the night when I was gone. She wouldn’t have anyone to take with her to visit the place where she buried her unborn daughter’s remains. Olivia would be left alone with her demons and her scars, and that hurt me deeply.
Yet, I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t even ask her to trust other people without raising alarms. There was no way I would be risking her life. Not after all I saw.
Camillo killed Madeleine Jones with extreme ease. I had no doubt he would do the same to Olivia if I told her anything or if she suspected anything.
And that was another reason why I felt so guilty.
I couldn't forget the taste of Camillo Vicari’s mouth, or how he made me feel.
After our kiss, I didn't run because I was afraid of the loneliness of the housekeeper's little house. I ran so I wouldn't have time to dream about him, so I wouldn't wake up with my body writhing in the spasms of an orgasm caused by an erotic dream in which he was the protagonist.
I had never desired a man that way before.
Lester was more love than lust. After him, no man caught my attention and I never slept with anyone else.
But Camillo Vicari was different. He was dangerous, unbearable, sometimes cruel.
He represented every risk I couldn’t take.
Yet his scent made my skin tingle and his presence was enough to wet my underwear.
I desired him. I wanted him in an overly animalistic way. And that, for me, was new. And dangerous. And shameful.
He would be my soon-to-be murderer, and if I made a mistake, he would hurt those I loved most. However, I couldn't stop all that immensity he awakened in me. Something forbidden, but truly desired.
I shook my head. There was nothing I could do about that situation, besides accepting my fate and fight off the dreams where Mr. Mafioso fucked me in the most unspeakable ways.
Since I still had the afternoon ahead of me, I decided to change clothes and go for a walk. It was better to keep my mind busy.
I went back to the housekeeper’s house and slipped into some bootcut jeans and a pink lace top, then pulled on a pair of boots. When I was done, I went back outside and circled the house to the front, looking for Luca. Maybe he could keep me company.
Demoralized, I realized there was no sign of him.
He surely had better things to do than stand there baking in the sun.
I wondered if he was in the video surveillance room.
I looked back at the yellow facade of the house and wondered if it would be a good idea to look for him, but I dismissed the thought.
It was too sunny and I was too bored to return to the dark interior of that house.
I looked around. I could go for a walk in the hills, or I could go down to the village and eat a cannolo at Donatella's shop.
Unfortunately, I realized I had no money with me.
My dear kidnapper hadn't given me a single penny, and I still had a shred of pride that prevented me from begging.
However, it was also too hot to go to the hills.
I would surely end up turning into a lobster.
I sighed and decided to walk along the vineyards surrounding the villa. I would wander around a bit and then decide what to do with my free time.
The afternoon was getting hotter and hotter, the air too stuffy to breathe normally in the sun, yet there were people scattered along each row of vines.
The closer I got, the easier it was to see what they were doing.
They were cutting leaves, which they were piling up on the stone road that led to the top of the hill.
When I reached the middle of the road, I smiled at a short, pot-bellied old man with a thick moustache, carrying a basket of leaves.
“Ciao...” I said shyly, because I knew very well that my Italian was limited to ‘ciao’ and ‘grazie’, but also because I was already used to the sour faces Italians made whenever I tried to be friendly.
For example, Martino Accuri. The damn driver hated me and made no effort to hide it.
Every time I greeted him, he muttered ‘stronza’ under his breath, and I was pretty sure it was an insult.
Fortunately, that wasn't the case with that old man.
“Ciao, Signorina!” He replied effusively, and I blushed at the flood of Italian words that followed, because I didn't understand a single one.
“Sorry... I don't speak Italian.” I groaned, my heart sinking as I looked into the man's round, friendly eyes, waiting for an answer.
Not understanding what was happening, he laughed loudly and whistled in the direction of the vineyard, waving his arms at someone.
Not letting my doubt linger too long, a man who must have been about my age appeared with long strides.
He had a friendly expression on his face and was dressed in dirty jeans and. .. no shirt.
I stared as he talked to the old man with the moustache, lingering on his toned body and the muscles of his abdomen dotted with black hair.
The man was a sight for sore eyes...
When he turned to me, I straightened up and smiled awkwardly.
“I'm Fabiano. This gentleman is my uncle Gennaro. He wants me to ask you if you're the new housekeeper at Signor Vicari's villa.”
I smiled, thrilled to find someone else in that place who could speak English.
“Yes, that's me!” I blurted out and extended my hand to the old man. “My name is Daisy!”