The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 08

The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 08

On the tenth day of the cooling-off period, Fabrizio showed up in southern Catania.

I was standing in front of the pastry shop that was up for sale, going over the transfer details with the previous owner.

The owner’s wife brought out a tray of fresh Panettone.

I picked up a piece and took a bite. It was so hot it numbed my tongue.

Then Fabrizio’s voice came from behind me. “You’re opening a pastry shop?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was an urgency in his tone he couldn’t quite suppress. “Funding, location, renovations, I can help with all of it.”

I flipped the contract to the last page and said calmly, “No need.”

He watched me sign, his eyes going dark.

“You’re that desperate to cut me out of your life?”

I handed the pen back to the owner, then finally looked at him. “Mr. Santapaola, I’m simply refocusing on my own life.”

He was quiet for a moment, then pulled a small box from his coat

—

pocket.

“That gemstone brooch you said you wanted. I found the same one.”

I looked at the box but didn’t take it.

That was three years ago.

I had been walking past a shop window and spotted a red gemstone brooch that I thought would be perfect for Christmas.

Fabrizio had been on the phone with Marcella at the time. Without looking, he said, “That kind of trinket is too cheap.”

How ironic that he remembered now.

I looked him in the eye. “It’s too late.”

The wind chime on the door jingled.

Ruby walked in carrying a bag of renovation blueprints. She spotted Fabrizio and raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Santapaola seems to have a lot of free time lately. No family business to run?”

Fabrizio ignored her. He kept his eyes on me. “I can build a new villa nearby. I can even shift the family’s operations down here.”

Ruby couldn’t help but laugh. “Mr. Santapaola is willing to relocate an entire mafia empire just to win his ex-wife back?”

I closed the contract. “Ruby, show our guest out.”

—

Fabrizio’s voice turned hoarse. “My mother personally apologized to yours. She admitted she was wrong. Camilla, I’m trying to make everything right.”

I looked at him. “Fabrizio, making things right isn’t just painting over the cracks.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Stop showing up in front of me.”

The color drained completely from his face.

Ruby walked over and pressed her fingers against the doorframe. “Mr. Santapaola, please leave.”

Fabrizio stood there for a long time. Then he picked up the brooch and turned to go.

He was almost at the door when the owner’s wife poked her head out from the back. “This gentleman already paid for the shop. He said it was a gift for you.”

I froze.

Fabrizio stopped too.

I looked at him. “What is this?”

His voice was low. “I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

I picked up the contract and handed it to the owner’s wife. “Please

—

void this contract.”

The woman panicked. “I thought you two were married. He said he wanted to surprise you.”

I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer.

“I need you to check whether the title on this property has already been transferred. If it has, I won’t be leasing it.”

Fabrizio grabbed my wrist. “Don’t do this.”

I hung up and said, “Stop arranging my life the way you run Catania.”

A gust of wind blew through the open door, flipping the transfer contract on the counter to its last page.

The ink of my signature hadn’t fully dried.

But it was already fading in the wind.

—

Fabrizio stood there, his hand still reaching for me.

I pulled my wrist free. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to buy my dreams and call it love.”

“Camilla—”

“I spent five years being the Donna you needed. I gave up my name, my work, my identity. I became the person you wanted me to be. And you know what I got in return? Letters to another woman. A studio you gave her. A life that was never really mine.”

His face was pale, his jaw tight.

“I’m not that woman anymore, Fabrizio. I’m not going to let you buy me back with a pastry shop and a brooch.”

The owner’s wife backed away, clutching the contract. Ruby stood by the door, arms crossed, watching.

Fabrizio’s voice was barely a whisper. “What if I had loved you?”

I looked at him. “You didn’t. You loved what I could do for you. There’s a difference.”

I turned and walked to the back of the shop, my heels clicking against the tile.

Behind me, I heard Ruby say, “Mr. Santapaola, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Silence.

Then the jingle of the door chime.

And then nothing.