The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 03

The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 03

I looked at the scratched gemstone on the floor. I said nothing.

Fabrizio stood in front of me. “Marcella still has old injuries on her hands. You grabbed her wrist just now.”

Marcella hid her hand behind her back, eyes rimmed red.

“Don, I’m fine. That knife wound I took protecting you from the assassination attempt healed a long time ago.”

I lifted my gaze to Fabrizio. “You believe her?”

“I believe what I saw.”

“And what did you see?”

“I saw Marcella stumble back in shock. I saw the necklace on the floor at your feet. Satisfied?”

Under the cold authority of the family’s Don, no one in the dining room dared to speak.

Fabrizio bent down and picked up the necklace. “Send it to the jeweler for repair. Charge it to my personal account.”

His mother waved dismissively. “Don’t bother. I’ll have Marcella take me to pick out a new one.”

Marcella lowered her head. “I’m sorry. It was my mistake.”

His mother patted Marcella’s hand. “You’re just too kind for your own good.”

I stood there.

And suddenly, everything in front of me felt like a play that had been rehearsed a thousand times.

“I’m done eating.”

His mother erupted. “Then get out. Go back to Catania and reflect on yourself. Don’t come back until you’ve learned how a Donna is supposed to behave.”

Fabrizio shot me a look of irritation. “Go wait in the car.”

Marcella followed me out. Her voice was soft.

“Donna, don’t blame the Don. After all, the Santapaola family owed me a marriage arrangement. It’s only fair that he treats me a little better now, isn’t it?”

I stopped walking.

“A marriage arrangement?”

She seemed to realize she had said too much. “It’s nothing. Just an old joke between the elders.”

Fabrizio came up behind us. “Marcella, go inside.”

I turned to face him. “What did she mean by a marriage arrangement?”

“The Don of the Santapaola family and the Don of the Mazzei family once got drunk and mentioned the idea of an alliance through marriage. It was just talk.”

“And last night, when she sat in the seat that should have been mine, that was also because of that talk?”

Fabrizio lowered his voice. “Marcella’s father was just killed in a family vendetta. Her marriage fell apart. The only people she can rely on now are the Santapaolas. Taking care of her is my responsibility.”

I ignored him and got in the car.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, clearly wanting to say something but holding back.

After we had driven a long way, he finally spoke in a low voice. “Donna, yesterday a lot of painting supplies were moved into the east wing room. Miss Mazzei said she wanted to restore the old studio.”

My fingertips went still. “The old studio?”

As soon as I got home, I went straight to the study.

Every drawer in Fabrizio’s desk was locked.

I found the spare key and opened the bottom one.

Inside was an old tin box. On the lid was a cake sticker, its edges faded to white.

I recognized that sticker. Five years ago, the first time I tried to bake Panettone for Fabrizio, I burned an entire batch.

He had laughed and stuck this sticker on the lid, saying he would save every first failed attempt I made, year after year.

I opened the tin box. Inside was nothing but a stack of old photographs.

In the photos, a teenage Fabrizio stood in the east wing room. Beside him was Marcella in a white dress.

She was holding a Panettone, smiling radiantly.

On the back of the photo, someone had written a single line.

[Christmas wish: Fabrizio will only spend Christmas with me from now on.]

Beneath the photos was a renovation contract. The client listed was Fabrizio Santapaola.

The project address was the east wing room of the Noto Valley estate.

The purpose read: Private studio restoration for Marcella Mazzei.

The contract was signed one week before our wedding.

I was still holding the contract when Fabrizio’s voice came from the doorway.

“Who gave you permission to touch my things?”