Camilla Donati (Calisto’s Mother)
Camilla Calisto remembered vividly the day she had met Richard Donati for the first time. The meeting had been stiff, awkward even, between the two. Still young enough not to care much for rules or demands, yet still old enough to understand what was happening and what was expected of her, it was bound to be … interesting.
She hadn’t been ready to marry. And certainly not to a man she didn’t know from Adam and Eve.
It also wasn’t her choice to make. Or so her parents explained again and again. Nothing was her choice to make, apparently.
So, she had put on her party dress, brushed mascara on her lashes, set her curls, and painted a perfect red smile on her lips. Camilla couldn’t do a lot of things, but she did know how to be pretty.
Her mother always liked to say that pretty women never lost.
To his benefit, Richard Donati had not seemed particularly happy about that day, either. Like her, he had dressed for the day, but his interest was clearly elsewhere. Not that Camilla blamed him, what with everyone watching the two of them interact like they were some kind of alien pair.
It was always easier on the men than the woman where the mafia was concerned. There were different expectations set out between the two genders, lines that seemed to be polar opposites when it came to behavior, respect, and so much more.
Girls had to be everything good.
Boys only had to be very little.
She knew it was unfair.
She also didn’t know any different.
So, when that meeting of their families had ended with a shiny new engagement ring on her finger, Camilla had done nothing more than smile and say thank you. After all, that was what a good Mafioso principessa did.
And she was good.
“You’re tittering,” Camilla’s mother said.
“I’m nervous.”
Camilla, not wanting to deal with her mother’s hovering and droning on, shooed her out of the private room. Her makeup was already done, her hair had long been set, and her dress was on and buttoned up the back, so she simply didn’t need her mother there.
Especially not if she was going to annoy her and make her nerves even worse. Even with her mother gone, Camilla couldn’t manage to soothe her nerves.
Dammit.
When a knock echoed on the door, Camilla assumed it was just her mother trying to come back. Instead of checking first, she flung the door wide open with a huff. She was doing what her parents wanted and expected from her with this whole marriage and day. The least they could do for her was give her some privacy on her wedding day.
It wasn’t her mother behind the door.
Richard, her very soon-to-be husband, stood there, his eyes wide and a smile already starting to form. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his tux pants. Camilla was struck silent by how handsome he looked, all dressed up and happy.
“Oh,” Camilla said softly.
Richard shot her a sly smile. “Sorry. I thought your mother would be here with you, and that she would answer the door. I wanted to bring you a little gift before the ceremony started.”
It took Camilla far too long to find her voice again. “I kicked her out.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t breathe with her hovering.”
Richard nodded. “That seems like a perfectly reasonable reason.”
“Are you patronizing me?”
He laughed. “No, not at all.”
Then, Camilla had another realization. She gasped, horrified at her stupid mistake. “Oh, my God. My dress; you’re not supposed to see it or be here! Get out!”
She tried to close the door, but he blocked her effort with one strong arm, and another one of his goddamn laughs. “A little late now, isn’t it?”
“It’s bad luck!”
“Nonsense, Camilla. And you look beautiful, by the way.”
Camilla stopped trying to shut the door in Richard’s face, taken aback by the freely offered compliment. “Do I?”
“Yes, very beautiful. Hasn’t anyone stopped moving long enough today to tell you that?”
“My mother, but I don’t think she really counts.”
“What about your father?”
“He hasn’t been around to chat yet,” she admitted.
Richard shook his head. “Well, that’s a goddamn shame. Everyone should be telling you. It’s your day.”
“Funny, it feels more like my—or our—parents’ day.”
He shrugged. “They’re not the ones who get to have all the fun tonight, though.”
Camilla felt her cheeks heat up at his blatant suggestion. “Stop that.”
“Why, is that what has gotten you all worked up today? Sex?”
“Okay, you can go now.”
Richard didn’t move a single inch. “Cam, sex is the last thing you should be worried about, I promise.”
“Says you. You have had all the time in the world to run around with whoever the hell you wanted, sleeping with all of them, for all I know. And me? Not the same. At all.”
“That still makes literally no difference to what I said, though.”
“According to you,” she muttered heavily.
Richard smiled a slow and sinful sight. “Well, I suppose you’re just going to have to trust me, huh?”
Camilla rolled her eyes. “That is a lot of faith to give to a man who hasn’t done more than hold my hand, or kiss my cheek. We haven’t even kissed properly! And tonight, you want me to just—”
“All right. That’s quite enough. You’re working yourself into a fit for nothing at all.”
“Nothing?” she screeched.
Richard let out another dark laugh before he leaned further into the doorway, and kissed Camilla softly on her lips. It stopped her crazy thoughts, her running mouth, and all her worries in one fell swoop. She expected Richard to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved a little closer, his hands gripping tight to her trim waist to pull her into him. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and Camilla opened her mouth to his silent request.
Kissing wasn’t so hard or strange, she found.
Natural.
Instinctive.
Richard led, she followed suit.
He made it easy.
And sweet.
Maybe … maybe sex would be the same.
As Richard finally pulled away from the kiss, he stroked Camilla’s cheeks with his thumbs. His smile had softened, and her nerves were practically all but gone.
“See,” he said thickly, “nothing to worry about.”
Was it normal to have no air after a kiss?
Camilla didn’t know.
“You’ll always be like that … easy?” she dared to ask.
“And slow. Whatever you need, Cam. The only thing you don’t need to do, is worry.”
“Okay.”
“Now, your gift.”
She had forgotten about that. His reason for being there at all when he wasn’t supposed to be.
Richard pulled a hand-sized box from his pocket. Soft, black velvet slid into Camilla’s palm before he opened it up. Inside, a delicate gold necklace waited, resting atop more velvet. Hanging from the chain were a set of small, golden piano keys.
Camilla smiled widely. She loved the piano, and so did Richard. She was not nearly as good as he was, but she had learned more from him in just a few months than she ever had under a formal teacher. It was how he had broken through some of her walls leading up to their arranged wedding, by playing for her and teaching her.
“The keys can be engraved, too,” Richard said, turning the piano keys over under his fingers. There, on one, their wedding date was inscribed. “I thought we could add more dates, and more keys, if we need to as time goes on.”
It was perfect.
He didn’t have to do this at all, and yet, he had.
“Thank you,” was all she managed to say.
“I’ll meet you at the end, Cam.”
I’ll meet you at the end, Cam.
Those words haunted Camilla, now.
She stared at the headstone bearing her dead husband’s name and date of death. She didn’t visit Richard’s grave very often, but sometimes, unknown forces drove her to him, and she talked for hours, not knowing if he was listening or not.
Their marriage had not been easy for a multitude of reasons. She was young, difficult, and stubborn. He was firm, quiet, and had a taste for free women.
But he had treated her well, too. He had never hit her, never hurt her physically. And though it took a while, she did come to love Richard in her own way.
And then he was taken away.
The gentle kicks of her unborn baby drew her mind from the haze of sadness. Camilla rubbed a hand over her nearly nine-month swell. Any day now, and the child would make his or her way into the world.
But the baby would never know, she decided. The baby would never know the truth, if she could help it. Even with him dead, Camilla would rather Richard be seen as the child’s father as opposed to the horrible truth.
Because the truth was a monster.
And no baby deserved that.
“Camilla?” Affonso called from the edge of the cemetery. “Are you ready?”
How nice Affonso had seemed.
How sweet and caring.
How could a rapist hide his monsters so well?
“I’m coming, Affonso.”