Lust & Lies Box Set-Sexual Awakenings, Excess, Predator & Prey

by Kate Stewart

  It was around 2:00 a.m local time when I sped into Barga a few hours later. The sleepy town was the perfect place to hide the bad guys. I was clueless to where I was going, and it seemed the whole town was shut down. I needed daylight to begin my search. Daniello’s descriptions of his home were my only guide. I dialed Cedric as I began to circle a shopping area.

  “Where are you?” I could hear the grudge in his voice.

  “I just got to Barga. I don’t think I’m going to find a place to sleep tonight.”

  “Find a shopping center and park there and get some shut eye until morning.”

  “I’m already working on it. I just got a crash course in European driving. I’m a fucking fan.”

  “Speed demon.” Cedric chuckled. “Feeling a little out of place?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  I spotted a row of specialty shops and parked directly in front of a bakery—Pasticceria Celeste Heavenly Pastry—and got out of the car. I looked over the glass and gold-framed menu with satisfaction and returned to my lemon-yellow hatchback.

  “I think I’ve found something. He grew up here, so it’s only a matter of finding someone who knows him or his family.”

  “It’s not too late to turn around.”

  “Drop it.”

  Cedric sighed. “You’ll have mail at Ville Le Pergola in about eight hours. I’ve booked you a room with my card.”

  “I’m not hiding, Cedric, but thank you.” We sat in silence for a few moments. “How is she?”

  “She’s still asleep.” I heard the hesitance in his voice, and dread coursed through me.

  “Tell me.”

  “She’s had another surgery.”

  “And?”

  “She won’t survive another setback.” I swallowed the threatening emotion in an attempt to let the anger resonate.

  “Taylor?”

  “I’m here,” I said hoarsely. “Joseph?”

  “He’s fine. He’s actually with Nina and her brother tonight. I had a job.”

  “That’s okay, that’s good.” I stomped down the guilt at abandoning him. But he was safer without me.

  Cedric kept me in the present. “You want to tell me what your plans are?”

  “Nope.”

  “Taylor, I can be on a plane in a few hours. Don’t do this alone.”

  In a blatant attempt to change the subject, I gave Cedric some truth. “I regret not leaving Dyer with you.”

  He paused, and it made the distance seem more endless between us. “But you wouldn’t have loved me. You would have resented me eventually.”

  I gripped my phone and sank into the stiff seat. “You’re probably right.”

  “You’re an impossible woman, Taylor. But I think that’s what I love about you. You can’t be tamed.”

  “I can’t lose you too, Cedric. I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “If the past has taught us anything at this point, we know there are no guarantees. You can’t make me that promise.”

  More silence.

  I sighed. “How the fuck did it get to this point?” Cedric stayed mute as I rambled through my thoughts. “Why would he go through all the trouble with Laz if he was just going to let me die?”

  “I hate the motherfucker, but I don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

  “Even so, he’s been watching me since we started. If he didn’t do it, he knew it was going to happen, and he let it happen.” I didn’t bother filling him in on the fact that he’d warned me if I got in the way he’d do it himself. It only made me more of a monumental fool.

  “Ask him, and don’t be polite about it.”

  “I don’t intend to. I’m such an idiot. I’ve destroyed everything I worked for. And for what?”

  “Would you give yourself a break? You had started this before Amber came back, before you knew about Joseph. And before you knew the extent of who he was.”

  “I still don’t know who he is, but I should have ended it.”

  “And he wouldn’t have made it in time to get you away from Laz.”

  “Laz wasn’t going to kill me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I let out an ironic chuckle. “Do you see the pattern here?”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  I grinned. “It is a little.”

  “Not at all. Come home. Marry me. I can live with your resentment.” It was said in jest, but I felt the sadness in his tone. The longing. I hated myself at that moment for becoming his headache, his heartache. For dragging him into my mess, for making him a target.

  “I’m sorry, Cedric. Please just know that.”

  “We’ll get through this.”

  I pulled the lever on the side of my seat as I looked at the dimly lit line of shops in front of me. At night, Barga was peaceful. There wasn’t a car or soul around. I rolled down my window slightly and let in some of the air. It was a cool summer night, and the mountain breeze drifted through the car and put me at ease. Though my circumstances were anything but, I felt strangely relaxed.

  “Taylor?”

  “I’m okay. I think I might even manage some sleep.”

  “Tell me his name, Taylor.”

  “No. Cedric, just let me handle it.”

  “I fucking hate this!”

  “So you’ve repeated.” I smiled.

  “I want a check in every hour you’re awake.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  A tap on my driver’s side window woke me, and I shot up in my seat, my body aching from where I solidly slept. I was doing a shit job of keeping my guard up.

  “Scuzie, non volevo spaventarti.” Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you. An older man, who looked to be in his late sixties, smiled at me through the window. I turned the key and let it down fully. He had kind brown eyes and faded olive skin. His hair was solid white and combed back neatly. Underneath an apron, he wore a T-shirt and black slacks.

  “Pardon?”

  He smiled with recognition. “You are American. I was asking if you were okay. I see you alone here.”

  I wiped my hand down my face to free it of sleep debris. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.”

  I glanced at the old beat up pickup truck parked next to me. The tailgate was down, and there were several canvas bags piled on top of it.

  “I got in a few hours ago, and I got a little lost, so I decided to wait here until morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  I glanced at the clock on the dash. I’d only been asleep for a few hours.

  I looked back to him in question.

  He shrugged, his palms open. “Well, it is morning for me. You are here to vacation in Barga?”

  My stomach knotted at the word and the way he spoke it. “Something like that.”

  “Oh, well, I feed you breakfast as a welcome. I am Donato.” He placed his hand on his chest in proud declaration. The man was slightly frail in frame due to his age. And there was nothing threatening in his posture. My stomach had been empty for days, and I had ignored the rumble that reminded me as much.

  “I’m Taylor.” I bit my lip as he stared down at me. “I don’t want to impose, but would it be possible for me to use your restroom?”

  “Of course.” His thick accent was charming and upbeat. “Come.” He moved to the truck and gripped two heavy bags of flour before he headed toward the door of the bakery.

  My excitement spiked. “This is your bakery?”

  “Yes. I opened it fifty years ago.”

  “Wow,” I said as I grabbed two of the bags from the truck bed and followed him.

  He set the bags down at the door and pulled a large chain of keys from his pocket. “I have not missed a single day,” he boasted proudly. The sun was just beginning to light the city and my mouth unhinged slightly as I took my first look around. Barga was nestled in the mountains, and the architecture alone took my breath away.

  “This place is beautiful.”

  “It’s old. There is far better
countryside further south.” Donato turned to see my full hands. “You did not have to help.”

  I shrugged. “I really don’t mind.”

  “You are kind, Bella.” The man had just called me beautiful, and I felt anything but. I was a mess from head to foot. My hair was an unkempt rat’s nest. A far cry from the polished professional I was mere days ago.

  The bakery had an intimate feel. Once through the doors, we walked past several small tables situated closely together so that anyone who dined there never really ate alone. Brightly colored paintings covered every inch of the walls. The residual smell of baked goods invaded my nose and had my mouth watering. We walked past a service counter and glass case to a large kitchen with a huge wooden countertop. We set the bags down, then we walked back to the truck to grab the rest. Once unloaded, Donato pointed toward the restroom. After I took care of business and thoroughly washed my face, I entered the kitchen to thank him.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Come sit . . .”

  He’d already forgotten my name. “Taylor.”

  “Taylor. I had a red-haired wife once. She was very full of life.”

  “I’m pretty boring.”

  “So you say.” He gave me a wink. “Come sit. I make you breakfast.”

  I was at ground zero. The circumstances couldn’t be better. I had no doubt a man who lived in Barga for fifty years knew of Daniello. Even if I wasn’t at the right bakery, I was in the right place. If I played it right, I had a small chance at the element of surprise.

  “As long as I’m not intruding. I would love breakfast.”

  Once Donato had situated his supplies to suit his workspace, he washed his hands and threw an apron in my direction.

  “You help.”

  “Oh. Sure.” I slipped the apron on, tied a bow at my back, and secured my hair in a knot.

  “Wash hands.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I washed my hands and joined him as he flicked flour all over the counter.

  “Let us make a mess.”

  “I’m good at making messes.”

  Donato kept at his task as he planted his hands in the bed of flour and shook off the excess. “Everyone is good at something.”

  “I warn you now, I have never baked.”

  “Ah, but today you will, Taylor.”

  My heart seized at the subtle similarities in speech of my new friend and my lost lover.

  Donato studied me.

  “It has been a long time since I had a beautiful woman to help me in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I see no ring. You are not married?”

  “No.”

  “No children?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m more of a business woman than a family woman.”

  “Ah, but family is everything.”

  “I’m beginning to understand that. I have a sister with a son. They moved to be with me.”

  Kind eyes offered me more solace with kind words. “So, then you have a family.”

  I nodded as I thought of my sister in that hospital bed.

  “She is very sick.” I was so much better at confessing to strangers.

  Donato paused his fingers. “I am sorry for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He drew a handful of flour out of a canvas sack and piled it onto the table. He grabbed a bottle of olive oil and plugged the top of it with his finger as he sprinkled it all over the waiting flour.

  “So you vacation alone?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled out a smaller bag filled with yeast, cupped his hand in careful measure, then tossed it in a bowl before adding some piping hot water.

  “What are we making?”

  “New friends bake bread.”

  Once he had assembled the ingredients, adding everything with a pinch here and there with his hands, he threw the ready dough in my direction.

  “Press with this,” he said as he tapped the fat bottom of his hand above his wrist. “And separate into four.” He placed four glass bowls next to me.

  He cleared his side of the table with the swipe of a towel as I began to start a different dough.

  I let out an incredulous laugh at my circumstance.

  “What is so amusing?” Donato asked as he eyed me with a pinch of salt between his fingers.

  “If you only knew how strange this is after the last few days of my life. Being here with you, in this kitchen. It’s kind of unbelievable.”

  “Did you get on a plane to vacation to Barga?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And you slept outside my bakery alone?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  He tossed the salt into a bowl and began to mix. “Then maybe it is not so unbelievable.”

  Donato moved lighting fast as he lit every oven at his disposal and began to fill baking pan after baking pan with hand measured concoctions.

  “You do all of this alone. Every day?”

  He braided three loaves of bread before I had my sentence out.

  “Every day. I am a bit of—What is your expression . . .? Control freak.”

  “I’m kind of the same way.” He gave me a wink. “You think?”

  I laughed. “I know.”

  “Well, then we both make progress in my kitchen this morning.”

  I watched him, a master in his element, as the room filled with mouthwatering scents of baking bread and sweet pastry. I followed his every order to the letter as he placed my hands in flour and shook them off when the dough began to stick to them. I forgot myself and became immersed as we “made a mess.” Two espressos later, we began to fill the glass cases.

  “You have helped so much,” Donato complimented as he inspected the fruits of our labor.

  “It was my pleasure,” I said around a mouthful of rustic bread and basil/honey-flavored butter. “This is truly delicious.” I set the bread down as he moved to get up from the table and pulled his keys from his pocket.

  “Donato, I am looking for someone.”

  “Oh?”

  “A friend. Daniello Di Giovanni. Do you know him?”

  “Of course. He lives not far from here.”

  My heart spiked as Donato searched through his keys.

  “Can I possibly get his address from you?”

  “Yes, but he is not home. He is away much. He comes to the bakery for Bruttiboni when he is home. He was fat from them as a child.”

  I laughed despite my hopes being dashed. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Donato spoke up, sensing my obvious disappointment. “I’m sure he will return soon. His sister ordered a cake for his niece’s birthday party this weekend.”

  “Thank you.”

  Donato wrote down the address and handed it to me. “How do you know Daniello?”

  “He came to the States. Told me of your Bruttiboni. I had to try it for myself.”

  Donato twisted the key in the door and opened his bakery for business.

  “This is a long way to travel for Bruttiboni.”

  “I wanted to see Barga.” Before I die.

  “Well, you have much to see. I’ll make you a basket. You go enjoy the day.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “It is no trouble, Taylor.”

  Just as he unlocked the door, an older man came in and shuffled his feet to take the table closest to the counter. “Come va, Barta?”

  “Va bene.” The older man said as he looked over to me. “Chi è questo?” I knew enough to know he wanted to know my name.

  “Taylor.” I extended my hand his way as he waved me off.

  Donato snapped, which was unexpected. “Do not be rude, you old goat. She has traveled far to see our Barga.”

  “Espresso,” the old man ordered as if he couldn’t care less.

  Donato shook his head in apology. “He knows he can’t have you, Bella. He is grumpy for that.”

  I shrugged with a wink as Donato moved to grab his espresso
. Once he set it in front of him, along with a paper, he motioned for me to join him in the kitchen.

  “It is probably not a good idea for you to ask for Daniello to other people. He is a very private man.”

  Ain’t that the truth.

  “I am staying in town at Ville Le Pergola. Would you phone me if he returns?”

  Donato grabbed a fresh loaf of the bread we’d made and several containers from the fridge. “Take for a lunch.”

  I moved to grab my purse, and he waved me away. “Bella, do not insult me.”

  “Thank you.”

  I picked up the basket as Donato walked me to the door. “Bella, this sadness you keep with you. Is this what brings you to Italy?”

  Honest with strangers.

  “Yes.”

  “And does Daniello know of this sadness?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Donato waited, his brown eyes searing through my green. A silent understanding passed between us.

  “You come to see me again.”

  It was a polite order. “Okay.”

  His lips twitched in amusement. “Maybe not so early for you.”

  He placed the basket in my hand and gripped my face before kissing me on both cheeks.

  “Go, enjoy Barga.”

  I got in my car and placed the bounty Donato gave me in the seat. I checked into Ville Le Pergola, a postcard boutique hotel with small rooms, frumpy beds, outdated linens, and old box TVs. But the iron balcony offered breathtaking views of the city and the surrounding mountains.

  It was truly magnificent.

  An excellent place to die.

  I laughed at the irony. Only in my wildest dreams could I have imagined a place like this in my childhood bedroom in Dyer.

  I spent hours on the balcony and broke out the basket, munching on bread and staring into space. I decided to drive past Daniello’s at sundown. A knock on my door let me know Cedric had come through as promised.

  I opened the door to the front desk clerk, who wore a warm smile. “Buonasera.” Good evening.

  “Grazie.” I handed him twenty euros and grabbed the massive box from him to avoid conversation. He took the hint and his leave. On the squeaky brass bed, I shredded the brown paper to reveal a Tennessee Vols care package.

  “Funny asshole.”