Chapter 42
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
Castello dell’Fiero, Calabria, Italy
The second week of August was coming to an end.
Taking a deep breath, I hugged the rough bark of the lemon tree, closing my eyes as the sun began to warm my skin.
Recent times had not been easy, but my love for Calabria grew day by day.
Seeing the sun every morning, among the fragrant tangerine, lemon, and orange trees, and laurel trees that whispered in the slightest breeze, was priceless.
The way the sun climbed the hill and filtered through the vineyards, the sparrows chirping in flocks. ..
There was something very magical about that place.
I opened my eyes and moved away from the tree.
It was going to be a scorching day. It was just past seven in the morning and the sun was already burning my skin.
As usual, I thought about my Papa and made a mental note to ask Aunt Lizzie if he had ever been to Italy.
After all, he had traveled all over the world and my second name, the name he gave me, Peonia, came from the Italian.
I hoped so. That place was too beautiful to go unseen.
It had been a month since my arrival in Italy.
From my situation to what had happened with my soon-to-be murderer, aka kidnapper, aka Mr. Mafioso, everything felt too confusing, and maybe that was why I was increasingly drawn to the natural beauty of the place.
Otherwise, my mind would return to the same dark place it had been twelve years ago.
Camillo didn’t avoid me. After doing everything he wanted to my body and leaving me alone, making me feel filthy, he didn't withdraw as he did when he kissed me for the first time.
He became distant, cold. Like a neighbor you say good morning to just to be polite.
The only elaborate conversation we'd had was about the recipe I found for cabbage rolls.
He wanted to know where I'd found it, and I explained that I took it from under the skirting board in the kitchen, and the conversation died there.
The first few days were painful. Part of me wanted to touch him and be touched, the other part wanted to hide in a deep hole.
When I tried to get his attention, approaching Fabiano one afternoon as he was talking to Luca in front of the villa, I received only a brief glance, followed by utter contempt.
What had I expected? That after a few weeks he would fall madly in love with me? No. Camillo Vicari would certainly not have peach orchards uprooted for me.
I was just the pathetic American woman in his life. A servant. His prisoner. Sooner or later, Camillo was going to kill me. It was with that promise that I went to Italy. But what had I done? I let his good looks and charm cloud my judgment, and my foolish heart rise up on fantasies.
Camillo Vicari wasn't Lester. He would never be, and I never wanted him to be. But for a brief period of time, I allowed myself to believe in a beautiful chapter where love would reemerge as the main character.
But mobsters don't love anyone. They use and discard. Just as he had done.
He used me and left me feeling dirty, curled up in a fetal position under the spray of the shower while trying to erase the memory of what happened. Feeling pathetic, stupid.
That's exactly what I was. An idiot.
I went back inside the villa and followed my daily routine. I laid breakfast on the table before he appeared and ate a piece of fruit leaning against the island counter. He showed up shortly after, dressed in jeans and a dark blue polo shirt.
“Buongiorno, Signorina Parker.”
In the first few days, that greeting felt like a slap in the face, but I had gotten used to it by now. It was a daily reminder that he only emptied his balls on me because there was no one else around, nothing more than that.
“Good morning, Mr. Vicari,” I replied, pretending to clean the sink. I didn't like looking at him, or even acknowledging his presence, and he usually returned the favor.
Not today, apparently.
“I left a bag in your room. I need you to get changed and meet me at the car in about fifteen minutes, sì?”
My body froze.
I turned very slowly to face him, meeting his jade gaze glowing in the sunlight, fixed on me.
Ice spread through the pit of my stomach.
Security at the villa had been tripled, and according to Luca, this was due to ‘business problems’, which I translated as bad blood between mafias.
No one could leave or enter except Camillo, Martino, Luca, and the soldiers.
The place was on lockdown; no visitors were allowed, and even the vineyard workers were forbidden from approaching the house.
I couldn't contain my nervousness. “I thought it was dangerous...” I murmured, wondering if this was the day he intended to kill me.
He took a while to answer me, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
“Sì. It is dangerous,” he confirmed, and I swallowed hard.
“But I have some business to attend to in Reggio Calabria, just a quick trip, and I thought it might do you good to get out of Castello dell'Fiero.” The suspicion must have shown on my face, because he smiled for the first time in a long time.
“Calmati. I just want to give you a little freedom, as I promised I would.”
“And what am I supposed to do in Reggio Calabria?”
He shrugged. “Stroll along Via Marina? Go shopping on Corso? You decide.”
“Ah...” I couldn't help wrinkling my nose at the suggestion. “How nice it will be to stroll around a country where I don't understand anyone.”
I saw one of his black eyebrows arch. “Luca will always be with you. He'll serve as a translator and keep you company.”
I loved Luca. More than that. I didn't know if I would have survived without him after everything that happened. I ran away to the housekeeper's house in the middle of the night after everything, and he had come looking for me, eventually finding me sobbing in a dark corner.
Luca Condello, who was always so cautious, who always had pertinent questions to ask, didn't ask me anything that night.
He sat down next to me in the darkness and hugged me without malice, like a father hugging his daughter.
He let me cry on his shoulder, gently stroking my hair, and the next day he took me to his house, leaving me alone with his wife so I would have someone to talk to.
I didn’t tell anything to anyone, not to Luca, not to Donatella.
No one. Although, something told me that Luca understood everything that happened, or at least suspected it.
Donatella, like her husband, didn’t insist with any type of questions.
She just offered me words of comfort, telling me that life in that world could be difficult, and comforted me in a language I understood well: food.
The Condellos held a very special place in my heart.
Still, as much as I loved Luca, he wasn't exactly my idea of interesting company for a stroll around Reggio Calabria. I was sure we'd spend ninety percent of our time going through security checks. Besides, it wasn't his company I wanted, even if that made me a pathetic little woman.
I rubbed my chest with my fingertips, hoping to undo the pinprick that pierced my heart.
“Is something wrong?” Camillo stared at me with a frown, an expression I would even dare to say was one of concern if I didn't know what an insensitive bastard he was. “Are you feeling something?”
My heart was broken and my dignity trampled on, thank you very much.
“No. No, no. Everything's fine.” I lied, and an idea almost made me smile. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him. “Luca is always very concerned about security. I'm sure he won't have the patience to put up with me.” Camillo's lips turned into a stern line. “Can I invite Fabiano?”
“No.” The curt, sharp reply left me speechless.
I thought he already had everything he wanted; he’d even let me talk to Fabiano again without making a fuss.
However, his heavy expression now told me something very different.
“Allora, I'm glad you mentioned him.” I straightened up, a shiver running down my spine, as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“Soon, it won't be appropriate for you to be strolling through the vineyards with him.”
My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “And may I ask why?”
Camillo shrugged and a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
“The Mancusos, as Fabiano must have told you, have been partners with the Vicari since the beginning of everything you see here.
I reacted badly to Fabiano that night he took you to Reggio Calabria, and I shouldn't have. It was poor judgment on my part.” I forced myself to shrug.
Of course, he now thought he had acted badly, especially since he already had everything he wanted from me.
“So, to show the Mancusos that our friendship remains as close as it always has been and always will be, I decided to arrange a marriage between him and Luca's daughter.”
Francesca. The pride of the Condellos. Their beloved daughter. A young woman of twenty-two, extremely beautiful and, it seemed, a recent graduate.
We had exchanged a few words during one of my visits to the cannoli shop. She was lovely, very much like her mother.
“Fabiano didn't tell me he was getting married,” I admitted. I didn't know why, but I felt a pang of betrayal.
Fabiano and I were friends. After what happened that night with him, Camillo, and me—even though we still feared Mr. Mafioso’s reactions—he and I had started talking to each other again.
It wasn’t rare to spend a few hours in the afternoon exchanging stories and music recommendations since, as it turned out, Fabiano was a huge fan of country music.
I couldn’t understand why he’d kept his marriage a secret, especially when he usually told me everything about his daily life, toenail fungus, hemorrhoids, and all.
The chair squeaked as Camillo got up from the table, pulling me away from my thoughts. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stared at me intently.
“Fabiano hasn’t told you because he doesn't know it yet.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “’He doesn’t know’?”
“I spoke with his mom and uncle. They’re quite pleased.”
Closing my hands into fists, I tried to hold the surge of anger. “You have no right to decide on other people’s lives.”
“I have every right, Signorina Parker. I make the rules around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Oh, I've noticed. Believe me. And it appears you’re quite good at applying those rules and ignoring people’s feelings in the process.”
His expression turned stern, his eyes holding my gaze. “I just… It will be good. Fabiano will benefit from this marriage. And so will Francesca.”
“Oh, right. As if you actually knew him at all. But hey, medieval practices, right? I had forgotten that this is customary around here."
“Call it what you want, Signorina Parker.
His famiglia is very happy, and I know he will be too.
Besides being beautiful and intelligent, Luca's daughter is still a young woman and, as far as I know, still innocent.
Anyone in Fabiano's place would be delighted to have a woman like that in their life.”
Before I could ask myself why on earth that comment stung so much, the words spilled out of my mouth, “Then why don't you marry her?”
His lips parted, but nothing came out, and his hands jumped out of his pockets, hanging limply at his sides. He stared at me as if I were some exotic animal, and I couldn't help but feel my face flush.
“I'm going to get changed,” I said, and bolted out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there.