AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His gaze doesn't linger on me for any second longer than necessary, even though this is the first time he's seen me since my makeover. The indifference doesn't surprise me, but it makes me wonder what the point of it was. I even thought that Vittorio was just sick of looking at my unkempt appearance and, since now we would be some sort of roommates...
“Brigadeiro.”
“Brigadeiro?”
“Brigadeiro.” The slight tilt of his head betrays his typical impatience, and I purse my lips to hide a smile. If I'm trying to get something from this man, laughing at him is not a good idea.
“And what is abrigadeiro?”
“A Brazilian sweet made with condensed milk.”
“Condensed milk?”
“Yes.”
“Gabriella,” he warns, and this time pursing my lips isn't enough, I have to bite my lip to swallow the laughter.
It's my turn to tilt my head, I look at Vittorio and I'm haunted once again by the insistent realization that even though I see how intimidating this man is in every inch, I can't bring myself to feel frightened by him. Even after everything I saw him do, even after everything I was subjected to by him, there must really be something very wrong with me.
“Condensed milk is another Brazilian sweet,” I explain, worried that Vittorio might simply abandon me here alone, without giving me the permission I need, if I spend even one more second making the man wait.
I don't explain to him that this is an alternative version of the candy because, obviously, there was no condensed milk in his pantry. But being poor, I needed to be creative, and I learned a long time ago to make my own version of condensed milk. That's what I did today, but what counts is the intention. Right? Besides, it's delicious, I tried it.
“And why did you make brigadeiro?”
“For you.” Vittorio takes some time to consider my words.
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. You told me I should give something in return. I made brigadeiro.” First, he blinks his eyes, then his lips part slightly and, finally, they stretch before a laugh erupts from his throat.
It's a beautiful sound. I heard him laugh at the event we went to in Rome, but this, this is completely different. It's the kind of sound you would never imagine possible coming out of his mouth. He is simply the opposite extreme of the violence that Vittorio's presence is constantly emanating.
Hoarse, deep, and serious, his laugh is contagious and, in a scene that makes no sense at all, I find myself mirroring it until we are both laughing, in the kitchen of his house, because I made him brigadeiros. When the sound dies in his mouth, Vittorio watches me in silence for almost a full minute before taking a step back, moving away from the counter to which, at some point, he had glued himself.
“You have my permission, Gabriella. I'll tell Luigia to organize this.” And, with that statement, he turns his back and leaves.
Vittorio doesn't even try a single brigadeiro.
CHAPTER 28
________
Gabriella Matos
Vittorio is a man of habit, which is not difficult to assume. It's not even something the people around him are secretive about. But on my third day in the house, I start to feel grateful for it. At seven forty-five sharp, the Don gets up from the breakfast table.
Hiding in the hallway, I wait, feeling my stomach growl. He looks at the table and then around. Finally, his gaze comes exactly in the direction I'm in, and I hide even more, even though the wall in front of me was enough of a guarantee that he wouldn't see me.
The man takes the jacket that was hanging on the back of the chair and puts it on. Maybe I shouldn't watch the banal gesture so closely, the culprit for this is most likely hunger. He finally leaves and I take a deep breath, wait a few minutes to make sure he's not coming back, and only then do I cross the hallway and enter the dining room.
I'm quick to put together my plate and eat whatever I want. A little over half an hour later I'm right in the middle of a duel of accusing stares with the sliced papaya in front of me. It accuses me of gluttony, saying, silently, that I've already eaten too much, saying that the coffee, bread and cereal were more than enough to sustain my body until the next meal.
I accuse it of being too pretty, too appetizing, too colorful, I simply pick it up and put it in my mouth, ignoring the protests that my creative mind imagines it might be making. The table set is a delicious novelty, literally.
I chuckle softly at my stupid joke. I've always wondered how characters in soap operas felt about having so many things at their disposal and, well, it's pretty cool. Even though after watching yourself assemble your fourth dish, the fruits start to judge you for eating too much. I laugh again. Crazy, I'm going crazy, I can tell.
And the sight before my eyes, a few minutes later, makes me wonder how advanced my level of madness is. Led by Vittorio, a line of five huge men, not the ones who are always at his side, climb the stairs, walking towards me.
