The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 10

The Donna’s Stolen Christmas Was For Her Don’s First Love Chapter 10

On the last day of the cooling-off period, I arrived at the Santapaola family headquarters conference room ten minutes early.

Fabrizio was already there. An old tin box sat beside him on the table.

He stood when he saw me, his voice rough. “You came.”

“Yeah.”

The clerk from the municipal office was reviewing the documents when Fabrizio suddenly pushed the tin box toward me.

“I burned all the old photos that were inside. The box is yours. If you don’t want it, throw it away.”

I didn’t touch it. “It was never mine.”

Fabrizio’s fingers stiffened on the lid.

The clerk looked up. “Do you both confirm this is a voluntary divorce?”

I said, “Confirmed.”

Fabrizio looked at me. Two seconds passed before he answered. “Confirmed.”

Five years of marriage, and it ended with two documents.

After we walked out of the conference room, Fabrizio followed behind me.

—

“I transferred the beachfront villa to your name. Consider it compensation. The family lawyers will be in touch. I’ll continue covering your mother’s medical expenses.”

I stopped walking. “I’ll sell the villa. Medical costs will follow the agreement.”

He smiled bitterly. “You won’t even take a single extra cent from me now.”

“What’s mine, I’ll take. What isn’t, I won’t.”

Fabrizio nodded. “Fair enough.”

Ruby honked twice from the curb.

“Let’s go! There are thirty boxes of tiramisu back at the shop waiting for you to save them.”

I smiled. “Coming!”

As I was getting in the car, Fabrizio said, “Camilla, Merry Christmas.”

It wasn’t Christmas.

I knew he was just trying to say the words he owed me for too many years.

As Ruby drove away, I saw Fabrizio in the rearview mirror, still standing in the same spot.

He was holding the old tin box against his chest, like he was cradling

—

a memory that no longer belonged to anyone.

A month later, my mother was doing much better.

Every day she sat behind the register, stacking coins into neat little rows.

Ruby quit her old job and officially became my business partner.

On the day we launched our new menu, it snowed all day in Catania.

I boxed up the first Panettone and placed it in a small basket beside the counter.

It was for the street sweeper who worked the corner.

Every morning when she swept past our door, she would say the same thing: “Whatever you’re baking in there smells amazing.”

That evening, Fabrizio’s mother came by.

She didn’t come inside. She just had her driver deliver a potted mistletoe.

The card read: [Camilla, I’m sorry. I hope you find happiness from here on.]

After that, Fabrizio never came again.

Ruby heard through a friend that he had stepped down as Don of the Santapaola family. No one knew where he went.

Marcella was sent abroad by the Mazzei family. The old alliance

—

between the Santapaolas and the Mazzeis was severed for good.

By the time all this news reached me, I was in the middle of making pastries.

“Is the oven preheated?”

Ruby blinked, then grinned. “Ready to go, boss.”

The following Christmas Eve, after the last box of Panettone sold out, my mother closed the register. Ruby took down the little light-up sign by the door.

I carried a plate of leftover scraps and sat down between them.

Ruby stuffed a piece in her mouth and said through a full bite, “I hereby declare that next Christmas, we’re opening a second location.”

I laughed and poured her a cup of Earl Grey. “Let’s finish today’s books first.”

A few snowflakes drifted in and settled on the windowsill.

The tips of the mistletoe leaves by the door caught the snow, glinting faintly in the cold light.

I used to think the stars played favorites, that all the good luck landed on everyone else.

Now I know the stars were always up there, shining the same as ever.

It was people who played favorites.

—

I picked up a piece of Panettone and took a small bite.

Sweet.

Just the way I liked it.

—

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the streets of Catania in white.

The street sweeper passed by the window, bundled in her coat, and waved at me through the glass.

I waved back.

Ruby leaned over, her voice soft. “Happy Christmas, Camilla.”

“Happy Christmas, Ruby.”

My mother hummed quietly behind the counter as she counted the day’s earnings.

I looked around the shop—the warm glow of the lights, the lingering scent of sugar and butter, the faint flutter of snow against the window.

This was my life now.

A small pastry shop in a quiet corner of Catania.

A mother who was still here.

A best friend who never gave up on me.

And a future that was entirely my own.

I took another bite of Panettone and smiled.

Sweet.

Just the way it should be.