Salvatore Dalla Part 3

“Angela!” I shout as I enter the living room, and for the first time, she’s not there, ready to serve me.

“Yes, sir.” She definitely noticed my sudden foul mood.

“Who gave you permission to give the girl my clothes?”

“Sir, she had nothing to wear, and since she was wearing your coat when she arrived, I thought…” she begins to explain, but I cut her off.

“You’ve been thinking too much, Angela. And that’s starting to irritate me. Keep your thoughts to yourself from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” she says with her head down.

“Another thing, she will only eat if she comes down to have lunch with me. Otherwise, she’ll stay hungry,” I warn, and she opens her mouth to question, but one look in my direction makes her remain silent.

“May I be excused, sir? I have to finish serving lunch,” she says, and I know that not even the woman who raised me wants to be around and endure my irritation.

“Yes, Angela. Go ahead.” She starts to leave, but I call her attention again before she exits.

“Yes, sir?”

“Buy her some clothes,” I order, and she leaves after nodding in agreement.

As I expected, Amapola didn’t come down for lunch. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway—she was already used to not having food. My heart tightened slightly at the thought of her going hungry again when I could easily provide her with anything she needed, but I didn’t give in. She would have to learn to respect me, one way or another.