Mia Figlia

Chapter 29 ✔️

PoV Riccardo

Taking two steps at a time, I hopped down the stairs. Stella was changing her clothes. Our kiss had finally convinced her to accompany me, I was sure of it. My lips tingled as if her warm, soft mouth was still on mine. Grinning broadly up to both ears, I arrived in the entrance hall. My future wife did not hate me. That was for once a promising start. With some luck, my father had not ruined it for me this time. All that remained was to hope that my mother did not come here. I could do without that woman for the rest of my life. But my luck ran out just at that moment.

"Stop right there," screeched the shrill voice of the harpy. Fantastic. It had been only a matter of time before she showed up here. She had resented my father's move to a small city mansion when he left me his post. Since then, she rarely set foot on the family estate. The corners of my mouth turned down. Why was the old scarecrow here anyway? She never cared how I was doing, did she?

Something small, brown-haired flitted past me and clawed at my leg. There I got my answer. Shivering, Isabella was hiding behind me. Scared away by the one and only family's scarecrow.

"Get back here right now," the harpy continued to screech. Was she this annoying in the past? I took my trembling daughter in my arms, built myself up to my full height and waited for the disaster. Immediately, it burst upon us. The monster, disfigured with hydrogen peroxide, stormed into the entrance hall. Panting, it stared at me and my little girl, who, terrified, pressed her face to my chest. I could live with the fact that the old terror was causing trouble on my property. But that she frightened Isabella was definitely going too far!

"Mother." My tone was decidedly cool, but I saw no reason to greet this woman kindly.

"Riccardo, you should teach this girl some manners as soon as possible. I brought her a wonderful little pink dress, and she refuses to put it on," the female clown lamented. I squinted my eyes to see better. How many layers of makeup did she apply? Had someone dumped a bucket of paint on her? And most importantly, when had she gotten this old? Or was it the five-inch-thick layers of paint that simply accentuated her wrinkles? From the looks of her, she was more likely to pass for my grandmother. I shook myself in disgust. There were women who grew old gracefully, and there were special cases.

"Riccardo, are you even listening to me? You have always been a naughty boy." Her voice scratched unpleasantly at my eardrums.

"Here we go again," I mumbled to myself. Since I was no good in her opinion anyway, I could act accordingly.

"My daughter is not a dress-up doll that you can put some hideous creation on at will," I growled out between clenched teeth before turning away from her with Isabella and leaving the house with the child in my arms, ignoring my mother's frustrated babbling. With quick steps I ran to an outhouse, in front of which Lucia was standing with her husband. I handed my daughter to my sotto.

"Take good care of my little girl. I do not want my mother to go near her." They both nodded and I walked back to the main house, reassured. Except for my father, no one could stand my mother. No wonder with her behavior.

The hydrogen-blond harpy waited in the entrance hall with her arms folded in front of her artificially inflated chest. As far as I was concerned, she could disappear back into the hell from which she had risen.

"How dare you treat your mother, who loves you, like this?" she continued to nag. With raised eyebrows, I stared at her. With two quick steps, I stood directly in front of her, looking down at her, my lips drawn into a thin line.

"Love, mother? The only thing you love is wealth." She tried to contradict me, but I raised my hand. "Don't interrupt me. Who gave me this nice little scar?" I pointed to the spot under my eye. "And who broke my nose when I was a small boy?"