Chapter 41
Camillo Vicari
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
Fucking Daisy Parker in every way possible was the fastest way to get her out of my system, or so I had convinced myself.
So why did I feel like a piece of shit for leaving her alone in the next room?
I shook my head and turned on the shower, feeling my shoulders burn where she had scratched me. I lathered my body furiously, not wanting my thoughts to take shape. I washed my face, hissing when I accidentally touched the gash on my eyebrow.
Dio. I started a war over that woman.
Washing her scent away from me, I cursed myself. Her expression between agony and ecstasy as I stretched her tight pussy invaded my thoughts and it didn't take long for my erection to reappear.
Cazzo. What was that American woman doing to me? I should end it. Eliminate all evidence and witnesses. But...
You like her, Camillo.
My arms fell to my sides and, defeated, my head drooped forward, water covering me entirely.
I rejoiced in her presence. From the first moment in that Mississippi diner, her thick accent, her sweet smile paired with that ever-mischievous expression on her face, she had brought something in me back to life.
Something that Valentina had cold-bloodedly ripped from my guts.
But what had I done?
I fucked her in every way imaginable and abandoned her in that room after telling her there was no ‘us’, when the truth was very different.
I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, exhausted. Guilt was strangling me, but so was common sense.
That short time had been enough for Daisy to get under my skin and into my heart, and I knew full well what could happen.
No, she wasn't Valentina. She had seen me kill the senator and ran into my arms instead of running away.
She had heard me swear to kill her and lifted her chin in defiance, facing me without fear.
Still, as different as she was from the maledetta, there was no guarantee she wouldn't be much worse.
I pulled on black sweatpants and a dark gray T-shirt. I felt like a piece of shit, because I was one. However, going back to that room would be like ignoring my Mamusia's warnings again and falling to my knees before our doom.
I couldn't repeat past mistakes.
I left the room and paused for a moment at her door, listening intently. Water was running, which meant she was in the shower. My throat tightened. I should be with her, helping her clean up and, in the end, holding her close.
I shook my head.
I couldn't allow myself to be weak. What I had done at lunch was already enough mistakes.
I rushed to the kitchen, thinking that maybe eating or drinking something would be enough to dull the guilt that was eating away at me. But as soon as I walked in, my eyes fell on the table and everything I had done to Daisy there that morning.
I approached it, taking a deep breath. After what happened to my famiglia, I had no right to anything. I knew that. But that American woman had crossed my path and brought moments of pure happiness into my life that I wanted to preserve more than anything else.
Dio, if only my Mamusia was alive to advise me...
I went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water, which I immediately brought to my lips. As I drank, my eyebrows furrowed when I found a covered pot, forgotten on the stove.
I screwed the cap back on the bottle and approached. When I put my hand on the metal, I realized it was still warm. Daisy must have made dinner shortly before I arrived.
This realization made me grunt like the beast I was.
Madonna mia. I was a jerk who didn't know what he wanted.
I took a plate out of the cupboard and a fork from a drawer. I carried the pan to the table and, under the orange light of the ceiling lamps, I froze when I saw its contents as soon as I lifted the lid.
A thousand punches to the stomach would not have had the same effect.
Shaking, I put the lid down, serving myself a cabbage roll, convinced I was hallucinating, and sank into my chair.
I stared at the food.
“Dio santo.”
God had cut me off long ago, but at that moment, I needed Him.
I cut off a piece of food and brought it to my lips, closing my eyes to savor it. Not believing what was happening, I took another bite. Then another. Tears clouded my vision and I put down my fork, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Like the pathetic man I was, I broke down, sobbing, the pain and love coming back to me in waves. I didn't know how it was possible or where she had found the recipe, but Daisy recreated my favorite dish. The recipe my mother had made for me countless times as a child: Go??bki.
No.
She recreated the flavors exactly, and if I hadn't known she made the dinner herself, I would have said it was the work of my Mamusia's ghost.
It was exactly the same, and my sobs increased with that realization. My Mamusia had always been territorial and never wrote down the exact recipes. The odds of Daisy getting those flavors right were one in a million, but she did it.
I continued to eat through tears and sobs, this time because I felt lost. I had begged for a sign, and my Mamusia had sent it straight to my heart, but I received it too late.
I didn't know how to fix what I had just done, nor did I know if I deserved to feel what Daisy Parker awakened in my chest.
My parents died because of me, because I once chose to love the wrong woman. My brother and my cousin were in jail, deprived of their lives. What right did I have to feel anything?
Worse.
I abandoned Daisy in that damn room. Broken to pieces.
I had no idea how to repair the damage I caused, because, it turned out, all I was good at was destroying. And that never hurt me so much until that moment.