Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
July, 2025
Calabria, Italy
We landed at Lamezia Terme International Airport at 10:30 a.m. local time.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I realized everyone we passed was looking at me. Or at us. Or athim.
Camillo Vicari was a towering man and liked to dress well. Before we landed, he’d thrown on dark jeans and a black polo shirt. It was the first time I saw him in such casual clothes, and I found it impossible to remain unaffected. The man was impressive in any outfit. And in short sleeves, with tattoos running down his arms, he drew attention.
As we passed through some glass doors, I caught our reflection and blushed. Our height difference made me look like a kid next to him. But that wasn't all. The further we walkedthrough the airport, the more evident it became how different I was from the Italian women.
Brunettes, beautiful, discreet, elegant... Most of them with curves in all the right places. Then there was me. Blonde, no curves, and wearing clothes that didn’t belong there. I felt out of place, although that was now the least of my problems.
Camillo walked ahead with one hand on my back, but it was clear he wasn’t worried I’d try to run. When we left the airport, he led us toward a line of black SUVs, and I froze when I saw a group of men waiting for us. They dressed casually, however, the expressions they wore on their faces were far from friendly.
“Buongiorno, Don Camillo!”
“Buongiorno, Luca.”
That much I understood, but you didn’t need to be a bilingual genius for that. However, I couldn't make out anything else that was said. Camillo was talking to the man who greeted him, a bald man with alert brown eyes and a broad, hooked nose. The other men said nothing, standing in uncomfortable silence, and it was obvious that they were sizing me up.
I couldn't tell what was going through their minds. They all looked stern. That’s when I realized that if I saw them on the street, I would never associate them with a criminal organization. Yes, they looked unfriendly, but not in a ‘I’m going to shoot your brains out’ way. They dressed casually, their body language quite relaxed. Nothing gave away their profession. You’d sooner think they worked mall security than for the mafia. And that was what made it all the more frightening.
There were no men in suits, or dressed in black, or with tattoos like Camillo's. I didn't see any weapons or anything else that would indicate that these individuals were mobsters who could kill me at any moment. But they were. The mere way they welcomed Camillo told me everything.
“Signorina Parker.” Camillo's voice pulled me out of my thoughts and made me focus on the other Italian. “Thissignoreis Luca Condello. The head of our security and my right-hand man.”
“Uh... Nice to meet you.” I forced myself to say, extending a hand to the man. To my shock, instead of taking it, he stepped forward and kissed me on each cheek.
Damn Europeans.
“Piacere, Signorina Parker.”
“You can call me Daisy.” I managed to say, unsettled by the familiarity.
Then, Camillo introduced me to the other men, and to my horror, each of them kissed me on both cheeks.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?
I was as polite as my embarrassment allowed, but I was unable to memorize the names of the four men. I was too busy trying not to die of mortification.
Once the introductions were made, Camillo guided me to the back seat of one of the SUVs, and I saw one of the four men get into the driver's seat. He was a chubby, short, extremely sullen figure with greasy, graying hair tied back in a ponytail. He askedCamillo something in indecipherable Italian, his ill-tempered eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
“Castello dell'Fiero,per favore, Martino.”
Martino.The driver was Martino. I forced myself to make a mental note.
“Take the opportunity to sleep off your jet lag.” My captor's suggestion surprised me, and I looked at him closely. He seemed serious, and too attentive. “It will take us an hour to get to Castello dell'Fiero. When we arrive, we need to settle some matters, and I want you to pay close attention.”
“What matters? The time and date of my execution?”
Camillo gave me a dirty look, his jade-green eyes too threatening for me to dare make another snide comment. “For starters, setting boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” I repeated.
“My men can't call you Daisy.Capisci?”
