The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 07

The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 07

The day my mother was discharged, Fabrizio was standing at the hospital entrance waiting for me.

He still wore that perfectly tailored black coat. The man who had controlled Catania’s underworld for years, the Don that entire families feared.

And yet there he stood, holding a plain pharmacy bag.

“I scheduled your mother’s follow-up appointment. Next Wednesday.”

I took the bag. “Thank you, Mr. Santapaola.”

His face went a shade paler. “Do you really have to be this cold?”

I put the bag in the car. “We’re divorced.”

Fabrizio blocked the car door. “Camilla, I tore down the studio.”

I didn’t react.

He kept going. “I already had Marcella removed from the Noto Valley estate. The tin box is gone. From now on, every Christmas, I’ll spend it with you and your mother.”

When he finished, I said quietly, “You still don’t understand.”

His eyes went red. “Tell me. I can change.”

I closed the car door and spoke in a low voice. “You changed Marcella’s circumstances. You didn’t change yourself.”

—

Fabrizio stood frozen.

As the car pulled away, he was still standing in the same spot.

I moved into a small rented apartment. When my mother saw the tiny dining table, she stared at it for a long time.

“This is where you’re living?”

“Just temporary.” I opened the window. “Once you’re feeling better, we’ll move down south. There’s a pastry shop for sale. I want to take it over.”

My mother looked at me. “You still want to make Panettone?”

I nodded. “I want to make it for people who actually enjoy it.”

For Fabrizio, I had reduced the sweetness to almost nothing. For his mother, I had revised the recipe over a dozen times. By the end, I had forgotten what flavor I even liked.

That evening, my best friend Ruby Marino showed up with a bouquet of sunflowers.

She shoved a folder into my hands. “I looked into that pastry shop down south. Great location. If you’re serious, I’ll go check it out with you.”

Then my phone rang. An unknown number.

I answered, and Fabrizio’s voice came through. “Camilla, it’s me.”

—

He paused, then continued. “I’m downstairs outside your apartment. I’d like to come up and see your mother.”

Ruby snatched the phone from my hand. “Don Santapaola, if you set foot in this building, I’m calling the police.”

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

Fabrizio sounded tired. “Fine. I’ll leave some things with the front desk downstairs. Medicine and a bank card.”

Ruby scoffed. “Save that money for your Miss Mazzei.”

She hung up.

I looked out the window. The black Bentley downstairs didn’t move for a very long time.

The next day, I took my mother to the hospital for her follow-up.

In the hospital lobby, Marcella appeared out of nowhere and blocked my path.

She wasn’t wearing makeup. She looked haggard.

“Camilla, can we talk?”

I walked around her. “No.”

She hurried after me, her voice urgent. “I’ve been thrown out of the Santapaola estate. His mother won’t even take my calls. You already won. Why are you still coming after me?”

—

I stopped and turned, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

She bit her lower lip. “That recording made it to the Mazzei family. Now they all think I destroyed your marriage. Delete the recording. I’ll apologize.”

I looked at her. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

Her face went white.

I took my mother’s arm and walked toward the elevator.

Just as the doors were closing, Marcella called out, “You think Fabrizio actually didn’t want the divorce? He was only afraid your mother would have another episode. He was afraid of what it would do to the Santapaola family’s reputation…”

The elevator doors slid shut.

I watched her face, twisted with fury, slowly narrow to a thin sliver behind the metal doors.

—

My mother squeezed my arm. “She’s lying, Camilla.”

“I know, Mom.”

“She’s just bitter that he chose you in the end.”

I shook my head. “He didn’t choose me. He chose convenience. He chose avoiding scandal. He chose whatever was easiest. That’s not the same as choosing someone.”

My mother was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You always were too smart for that family.”

I smiled. “I learned from the best.”

The elevator opened. We stepped out into the hospital lobby.

Marcella was gone. The hallway was quiet.

I looked down at my mother’s hand in mine. Small. Wrinkled. Trembling slightly.

But still here.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go home. I’ll make us some tea.”

She smiled. “With those Panettone you used to make?”

I laughed. “With those Panettone.”

We walked out into the Sicilian sun, and for the first time in five years, I felt like I was finally breathing.