Mia Figlia

Chapter 31 ✔️

PoV Stella

I stared thoughtfully out the side window. Francesca was sitting next to me on the back seat. Her husband Mario and Romano, as our companions, sat in front. Buying a dress for the engagement party was on the agenda today. I sighed softly. What was this man doing to me? His behavior after the casino visit had taken me completely by surprise. When he joined me in the shower, I was afraid that he was going to make use of his right that he was entitled to at the latest after the marriage. When he began to let his hands glide over my body, my breath caught. I obeyed his request to trust him, hoping that he did not want to cause me pain.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the moment when he carried me to the bed and laid me on it. First his fingers explored every inch of my body, then his lips and tongue. It was enough to think about it and my panties got wet. Bastard. But a lovable one.

I sighed again. We had not slept together, and I was grateful for that. He had not tried once to convince me otherwise. After he had made me climax twice, he had pulled me to his chest, and I had fallen asleep in his arms.

I had to admit that it was nice to wake up in his strong grip. Warm, safe, protected. I could not describe the feeling any other way. Even now, just thinking about it, my body was tingling, and I felt like I was smelling his bewitching scent. Reluctantly I admitted it. I had fallen in love with that darn mafia boss. Why was this happening? I had sworn before Isabella's birth that I would never develop a crush on a man! All these years it had gone well, but I could not resist the pull that Riccardo had on me.

The car stopped in front of a boutique, thus saved me from further reflection. Curious, I looked at the old façade of the small store, which, with its red bricks and wooden windows, seemed out of place in this world among the modern buildings made of concrete, plastic and triple-reinforced glass. This was where the best dressmaker in town did her work? If she designed such expensive and elegant clothes, as they said, then she needed far better protection than this house provided. Or was I mistaken?

"Camille's Boutique. Here we are." Romano opened the door for me, and I hesitantly got out, my eyes fixed on the shop windows. Solely simple dresses were on display there. This awakened in me the hope that I would actually find a dress that I liked. Admittedly, that would be the second one, because the first one from the casino visit, I loved as well.

Francesca pulled me behind her into the store. The employee shouted something in Italian to the back, which was covered with a curtain. A charming looking middle-aged woman stepped out and examined the newcomers closely.

"È questa la futura moglie del nostro don?" She glanced curiously at me. Although my language skills were far from sufficient for this, I could roughly imagine her question. She wanted to know if I had anything to do with Riccardo. She had mentioned the don. So, I could assume that her store had something to do with the mafia's business. That would be the answer to why she did not have more sophisticated security. Except for a camera pointed at the door, I could not see anything. But who would be stupid enough to rob someone who belonged to the mafia anyway?

"Sì Camille, è lei," replied Francesca, a big smile on her face.

"Welcome!" The slender black-haired woman, who was a good four inches shorter than me, pulled me into a hug. Completely taken off guard, I stood motionless. Someone laughed softly in the background, followed by a clap and restrained cursing in Italian. Francesca stepped up beside us.

"Stella needs a dress for the engagement party." I saw Camille's eyes light up and suspected something terrible. The next moment, she was pulling me toward the back of the store as well. Surprised, I looked around. The dresses certainly were a lot more high-end here than they were on the sales floor.

"What kind of dress are you looking for?" She pointed with a sweeping motion to the dresses that hung neatly arranged by color and length on countless clothing racks. I swallowed the rising nausea and squinted inconspicuously at the passageway through which we had entered this room. My gaze fell on Romano, who now stood there demonstratively and thus blocked my escape route. I was not surprised, since he had noticed how much I hated shopping. Particularly when it came to clothes. Sighing, I turned to the two Italian women, who were looking at me with amused smiles.

"Someone wants to escape," Camille remarked. She took me by the arm and led me to a comfortable dark sofa. "Have a seat, ragazza. In the meantime, we will pick out some clothes for you." Grumbling inwardly, I sat down. I knew the women meant well; they could not help it that every fiber of my body wanted to escape. But stores like this reminded me of the days when my stepmother dragged me to boutiques and forced me to try on candy-colored scratchy dresses. A cold shiver ran down my spine and I winced. A questioning look pierced me right after. Romano, who had not left his spot, was now watching me with his head tilted. Barely noticeably, I shook mine. He did not need to know what was bothering me.

"I think that is enough for a first selection." Camille wheeled a rolling rack of different dresses under my nose, which I promptly curled. Pink everywhere the eye looked.

"Pink? Seriously now?" I stood up and pulled out a fashionable atrocity. It was a long dress, cut wide in the back, that I would in all likelihood drag across the floor as I walked.

"I would prefer a dress that covers my back and shoulders. Also, it should be about calf-length. I am on strike with something like this." With that, I waved the garment around in front of the Italians before hanging it back on the clothes rack. Romano chuckled softly, earning a nasty stare from Francesca. I ignored them both, looking at the clothes instead. Either too long or too loose. I already knew that from the previous shopping with Riccardo, but in a different store.

The more I sorted out, the more frustrated the faces of my companions became. I paid it heartily little attention and went on and on. In the end result, nothing remained.

"I did not think you would be this difficult!" Camille slapped her hands over her head, Francesca was stunned, and Mario muttered something unintelligible to himself in Italian. I glanced at Romano, who had left his spot and was instead perusing a rack of clothes on one wall. Grinning, he came up to me with a lilac dress, pressed it into my hand, and pushed me toward the dressing room.

"Do not argue, Stella, or I will call Riccardo to come here."

"You would not dare," I hissed at him. Grinning mockingly, he raised an eyebrow, awakening in me the desire to shorten his hair, which was as usual styled into hedgehog spikes, to millimeter length with a pair of nail scissors. Convinced that he would squeal on me, I grumbled and disappeared into the changing room.

I discontentedly tried on the knee-length cocktail dress, which at least covered my décolleté as well as my shoulders. But the neckline at the back pleased me heartily little. I looked at my back view frustrated in the mirror, when Francesca joined me in the dressing room.

"Bellissima!" Her eyes skimmed the dream of lace and beading, lingering enthusiastically on my slender waist. "Riccardo will only have eyes for you, ragazza." She looked up into my scowling face. "What is wrong, cara?" I turned around, pulled my hair to the side, and showed her my scarred back.

"Do not worry about it. Your hair is long enough and covers everything," she tried to convince me. Knowing that the other dresses were even less to my liking, I agreed to buy it.

Camille promised us that the altered dress would be ready the next day. As we parted, she pulled me into her arms once again and assured me that I did not have to worry about the back, after Francesca told her the reason why I had been this picky. Easy for her to say, I thought to myself. After all, I had to walk around with it. What if my hair did not cover the scars enough? I did not like the idea that someone might see them. My past was my business, no one else's.

Outside the store, before we could get into the car, a strange feeling overwhelmed me. A tingling sensation spread over my entire body, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was watching us. I shook it off, hoping it was just more family bodyguards keeping an eye on us for our safety.

********************************************************

What do you think? Who's watching them? Or is Stella maybe a little bit paranoid?