Chapter 43
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
Reggio Calabria, Calabria, Italy
“Traitor…” I growled, just as I stuffed my mouth with strawberry gelato.
Glancing sideways at the man next to me, I saw his hand freeze in midair, his spoonful of pistachio gelato melting.
He stared at me with a dejected expression.
“Why didn’t you tell me your boss was arranging a marriage between Francesca and Fabiano? ”
Luca set his little box of gelato on the bench and pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his beige polo shirt. Wiping the beads of sweat from his tanned bald head and the moisture beginning to drip from his hooked nose, he looked at me like a war criminal.
“Signorina, I can’t discuss Don Camillo’s private affairs!
” He apologized, and the only reason I didn’t throw the gelato in his face was that I couldn't bring myself to lift a finger against those amber eyes of his, just like the ones of an abandoned puppy. They were even round and enormous. “Since Don Camillo told you, you should also know that the engagement hasn’t been celebrated yet, so you can rest easy.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Good to know who I can count on,” I muttered and turned toward the sea in front of us. In the distance, the Sicilian coast beckoned to me like a promise of something grand, just as it had the first time I saw it.
Luca whined beside me, waving his hands and making his thick gold bracelets jingle on his wrists. “Don’t be unfair, Signorina. You know I’ve always been on your side!”
I answered him with nothing but a grimace.
After a few more minutes of exchanging barbs, he led me to what they simply called the Corso.
Corso Giuseppe Garibaldi. It was a huge street, lined entirely with shops.
After walking down it for a few moments, with Luca pointing at every shop window we passed and asking me if I wanted to buy anything, I was grateful for the contents of the bag Camillo had left on my bed that morning.
In addition to a canary-yellow bikini with ruffles on the straps, I’d found a pair of denim shorts, a white tulle top that left my shoulders bare, and comfortable flat sandals. Those very sandals were a godsend for my feet right now..
We continued our walk, and I was grateful for the shade we found along the way, because even though it wasn’t even noon yet, the sun was already unbearable.
“Calabria at this time of year, it’s got to be the beach. That’s why Don Camillo wanted to bring you here,” Luca remarked at one point.
I looked at him with a twinge of pity. His bald head was getting sunburned.
“Speaking of which, how’s the… ‘business’?
Has the situation improved, or shouldn’t we be here at all?
” I asked and saw his anxious expression.
Luca used to be quick with his answers, but now he was even avoiding looking in my direction.
I took a deep breath and couldn’t help but widen my eyes.
Oh my good Lord. “How bad is it, really? Don’t lie to me. ”
He paused, pretending to look at the window of a clothing store, and put his hands on his hips.
Seeing us in the reflection of the glass, I couldn’t help but find it funny that in his jeans and polo shirt, with sunglasses hanging from his collar, Luca looked just like a father out for a walk with his daughter, and not a mobster.
“Discreetly. Signorina, I repeat, discreetly, if you look to our left, you’ll see a group of ‘friends’.
” Scratching my head and looking like a lost tourist, I did as he asked and spotted a group of men who must still be in their twenties, chatting cheerfully.
When one of them locked eyes with me, I turned back to the shop window and cleared my throat, feeling a chill run down my spine.
“They’re ours,” Luca clarified, and I was relieved to realize they were Camillo’s soldati.
“But here, on the Corso, you don’t have to worry.
No one does anything stupid in front of so many people. ”
“Does that mean, you know, pew-pew?” I mimicked the sound of a pistol under my breath.
Luca cleared his throat rather unpleasantly. “Yes, at any moment. That’s why I’m here with you.”
I nodded slowly, taking in that information. My gaze wandered over the shop window, and suddenly a face came to mind and fear filled me.
“Camillo.” I gasped. “Luca, you should be with him. Not with me.”
Horror overwhelmed me. If what Luca was saying was true, Camillo could be shot at any moment, and that was enough to send me back to the past, to that damned night.
In a split second, the image of Lester flashed through my mind, and I needed every ounce of strength I had to keep the tears from spilling over—tears that were now burning in my eyes.
Although there was no train track, nor a frightened boy, there was a strong man walking with a target right in the middle of his back.
Camillo could die, and that was a reality that filled me with the deepest horror.
A horror one only feels at the possibility that a man who seemed unshakable could crumble at any second.
“Hey, hey…” Luca’s gentle hand resting on my back made me realize my lips were trembling. He wiped away a stray tear as if I were a lost little child. “Don Camillo is always accompanied. Besides, I want to see someone go through Martino. Tutto bene, sì?”
I nodded yes, furrowing my brow and swallowing the urge to cry. After taking a few deep breaths and regaining my composure, Luca guided me and we started walking again, so as not to arouse any suspicion.
We reached a display window full of dresses when he stopped me once more.
“Come in, Signorina. We have to buy something. Otherwise, it’ll look strange!” he said with a wink, his arm already stretched toward the open door.
I didn’t want to go shopping. I wanted to get this over with and meet up with that cruel, idiotic Italian, and make sure he was still alive and well.
Noticing my apprehension as we entered the store, Luca whispered another barrage of reassuring words, assuring me that the car was armored, that there were eyes in high places, and more than a hundred friendly heads near him.
Somehow, that relieved me, because Luca didn’t mess around with anyone’s safety.
Inside the store, I glanced at a few dresses, and Luca dismissed the salesgirl—a young woman who couldn’t have been more than nineteen—who tried to help us. They had bought me everything I needed when I arrived in Italy. There was no reason for me to…
“Oh my good Lord.” I gasped, loud and clear, stopping dead in front of a mannequin. A piece of dark green satin formed a simple yet elegant dress that hugged the body and ended just above the knee.
Luca stopped beside me, a broad smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Do you like it, Signorina?”
Did I like it? I loved it! It was probably the second most beautiful piece of clothing I’d ever seen in my life.
The first was the dress I'd seen the afternoon I broke into the west wing of the villa and came across that picture of Camillo’s parents.
I would always remember the red satin dress his mother wore.
“It’s so beautiful…” I muttered, running my fingers over the fabric. In a reflexive gesture, I looked for the price tag, and when I found it, my joy vanished. “Eighteen hundred euros? For this?” I grunted softly, looking at Luca with a disgusted expression.
He shrugged. “I don’t know much about clothes, Signorina. But money is no object! Don Camillo gave orders to buy whatever the Signorina wanted.”
Pride demanded that I refuse and leave without the garment, but instead, a mischievous smile appeared on my lips. “Everything, huh? What if it’s a house in front of the sea?”
Luca narrowed his eyes and muttered through clenched teeth, “Don’t push your luck, Signorina.”
Dress bought, and matching shoes too, we hurried through the streets. The crowds had thinned out, and Luca didn’t want to take any risks, but despite the danger that seemed to lurk everywhere, I smiled simply because we were going to find Camillo.
I’d only be at ease when I saw him in the flesh, alive and well right in front of me.
We entered a building and Luca pressed the button for the top floor in the elevator. Before the doors closed, I saw how the group of soldati in plain clothes stood casually outside the building’s glass doors, pretending they were just smoking a cigarette.
Clever.
The elevator doors opened, and I found myself in front of an absurdly spacious penthouse.
Of course Camillo had a penthouse.
I stepped inside the apartment, with Luca leading the way. Everything there was the opposite of the villa in Castello dell’Fiero, and it was clear it had been decorated to a man’s taste. The furniture was modern, the decor abstract, and the only colors visible there were shades of gray.
When we entered an open-plan space with a living room, kitchen, and dining room, Luca pointed to our left, toward a massive glass wall.
As I walked with him in that direction, I soon spotted a spacious terrace, and at the far end of it, under an awning, next to a sort of white wall, stood a glass and wrought-iron table, and sitting at it, Camillo.
With a knot in my stomach, I walked forward, my sandals echoing against small white squares that formed a path in the middle of the pebble floor. I felt relieved to see him looking well, but his indifferent expression tormented me and brought me back to reality. To the way he had treated me.
“Did you have a good time shopping?” he asked, his jade-colored gaze resting on the bags hanging from my hands.
“Yes.” I merely murmured, paying attention to the way his massive body was leaning back in the chair. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and white linen pants. Clearly summer attire. He wore black sandals, and his sunglasses lay nearby on the table.