presents...
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Still Haunted
The farms in Danzetti had good rain; their yield ought to be higher than average. Call it four boatloads. Three and a half would be believable. There's a half-boatload I can spare. Fiora, though, will likely come in low so -
A daughter. A fuckin' daughter.
Antonio threw down his pen, smearing ink across the ledgers. He didn't have time to think about this. And besides, he didn't have a daughter. Angelo had a daughter. He should be grateful, shouldn't he? What the Abyss would he do with Angela's girl? He could hardly stand to look at her.
He pushed back from his desk. It was time to get something to eat. Ham and spring onions, maybe. Sounded good. Fuckin' Teodora. She told Father the baby died. And he believed her, the rat bastard idiot.
...And I believed him, so who's the bigger whoreson idiot?
It was what he'd wanted to believe. Anyway, what could he have done, even if he did know? Hey, Tomasso! I want you to meet my little girl. Don't she look like Angela? They'd have all been dead years ago. Like Angela had wanted.
Angela fuckin' Donati, dead twice and still wouldn't leave him the hell alone.
Servants in the kitchen jumped to silent attention when he entered. He must have his "Vittorio face" on, he thought. "Get me a lunch with some ham in it," he barked, and they scurried to obey. One of the clever ones stepped a little closer and gave a nervous half-bow. "Sir? Where shall we bring it?"
"I can't be in my own kitchen?"
"Oh, no sir!" Antonio knew he was clever because he shut the hell up after that. Didn't apologize, didn't explain.
"Eh. I'll be in the garden." He really didn't want to hang around the kitchen. He just didn't like the staff making assumptions.
"Very good, sir."
He turned and stalked back down the hallway, slamming the door to the garden open. You know what I hate? I got no options. It don't matter what I want. She's my daughter, and I get no say. Maybe I'd say, yeah, Angelo, you take good care of her. It's better that way. Or you know, maybe I wouldn't. But I never got the fuckin' chance. My daughter.
Theus, she frightens me.
It came out of nowhere, so strongly that he stumbled. Lurching, hands out, he found a stone bench and sat. He stared at the ground, not seeing it.
Stop it, stop it. You're not scared of a little girl. She just looks too much like her mother. Who got into your head, messed you up. Scary witch, Angela was, everyone said so. Legion's own fuckin' daughter, and if anyone don't believe that, let them get their strands yanked so hard that... that...
He dropped his head into his hands. She got into my head. Messed me up. Teodora had said it, she had some sort of plan. She had been doing things. Wasn't my fault. It felt like his fault. His desire. Past all reason. Best goddamn lay of my life was with my goddamn sister. What the hell is wrong with --
Looks too much like her mother. Oh. Oh, no.
He didn't even see the servants bringing out his lunch. Their master's attitude perhaps warned them off; they silently set the plates and glass down on the other end of the bench and backed away.
It was several long minutes before he gathered the courage to look more closely at the half-formed epiphany. She's... thirteen. A child. A pretty child, but... no more than that. He closed his eyes. Thank you. Theus, Theus, thank you. Just a pretty child.
For now.
There. There it was. She wouldn't stay a child. He wasn't scared of a little girl. I'm not... not even frightened of her as a young woman. My reaction to her. My daughter. That... that's what... I'm afraid that...
He stood abruptly. Wasn't my fault. Won't happen again. Will not. Will not... because she would be going away. To Mondavi Island, once she married Oreste Mondavi. Or perhaps to Profeta Chiesa or even Agitazione, or to lands not yet under Mondavi's control. But she wouldn't stay in Monfalcone. She'd be sixteen (Angela had been sixteen), seventeen, eighteen, somewhere out of sight and out of mind. He would hear news of the young baronessa and be proud of her, his daughter. Let Angelo have the sight of her, then; she'd be a spirit to him, an unseen source of inspiration and happiness.
Una angela.
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