I quiet him with a glance. We still have to be careful what we say. We don’t know where all his men are, and some could be the wait staff. I wouldn’t put it past him, because I would do the same if I wanted intel.
I turn to Riccardo after the elevator doors close and I feel that it’s safe to speak. “He’s smart for keeping the port, so he can squeeze anyone, even if he’s in business with them. I don’t relish doing business with him, but since we can’t use the port on the other coast due to the earthquake last year, he’s got us over a barrel, and he knows it. But like I said, let him enjoy it. We have the one thing no one else has . . . and he loves his wife,” I say with a sardonic tone. “You do know how much he loves his wife, right?”
Riccardo smiles. “Yeah, I picked up on that. Too bad he’s never stopped fucking around on her. Imagine a man his age with a—how young is the latest one—twenty-five?”
“Yeah, everyone knows that but his wife. We, however, have the holy grail in Juliet.” I smile at last, showing my straight pearly white teeth as we climb into our waiting limo.
“Oh yeah, we do.” Riccardo texts the guys back home to make sure they are still sitting on the girl and not raising any eyebrows as they do so. The last thing we need is a fuck-up.
It’s getting too hot to wear this jacket outside, but the cold air from the vents keeps me comfortable in the limo. I’m no global warming expert, but I swear the summer heat starts earlier every year and lasts longer.
I decide that today wasn’t a defeat but pretty much what I expected. Conti is cocky. I’m good at chess and this was my opening gambit. It’s a game of strategy.
Getting off the plane in Prato, Riccardo wants to eat dinner, so we stop at the piazza in Fiesole and stop at my favorite local Italian restaurant. I love that families are still hanging onto their restaurants even though we have chains like American sub shops and Irish pubs popping up like garden weeds.
When it comes to food, I never skimp on quality. I would have preferred to eat near the university as I’m curious about Juliet, but I can’t risk being seen again. It’s bad enough I went there earlier this week.
Hot rolls are brought to our table and I break off a piece, dip it in the olive oil and let it melt in my mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating, but now, I feel like having two meals. The antipasti arrives followed at a leisurely pace by the entrée of veal and a side of pasta. I eat till I’m satisfied, content. My day is complete.
But I can’t get Juliet’s dark eyes off my mind and I don’t know why. She’s so young, early twenties if she’s a day, and way too innocent for a man in his prime surrounded by guards and living the life I do.
The next dayis Sunday and I head to Mama’s house for family day. She spends the entire day preparing dinner with the help of her long-time friend and maid, Isabelle. Mama always says we are her reason for living, especially now that she’s alone.
Mama is adamant about everyone attending Sunday dinner and trust me, it’s not worth crossing her on that. Given that I live alone, and Riccardo is the only person in the world I interact with outside of a quick lay, spending Sundays with family isn't really so bad.
I pull up to the large circular stone driveway. This old Tuscan house is really too large for her to take care of, even when Dad was alive, but we all know better than to even think of suggesting she move somewhere else.
I walk in and Mama rushes to give me a kiss on one cheek then the other. She immediately starts rattling on about the food and how she doesn’t think she made enough for everyone, even though she’s never once run out of food. She’s wearing an apron just like when we were kids, even though she’s always had a housekeeper.
“Relax, it’s fine.” I kiss her on both cheeks before she takes off for the kitchen in the back of the house.
“It’s a nice night. Everything is set up outside,” she says, pointing at a long table on the patio as she scuttles away.
I walk out back and greet my brothers, Sal and Marcello. I guess after three sons, Mama gave up on having a girl.
Isabelle has been with the family forever and she brings out a platter loaded with slices of fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomato, decorated with basil leaves and drizzled with a balsamic glaze made from what’s left over in the wine barrels.
After I greet my brothers, I notice the table is missing someone.
“Where’s Carla?” I ask, turning to Sal as he pours us each a glass of wine.
He shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “Women. She’s upset. She heard I kissed her best friend.”
“Did you?”
“Eh, I’m Italian, aren’t I?”
I knock him upside the head, lightly, not to hurt him but still make my point. “You’re an idiot.”
He looks back at me innocently. “What was I supposed to do? Carla said I didn’t kiss all that well. I had to defend my honor.”
“What honor?” Marcello pipes up, taking a sip of wine.
“What about you, Dante? God, do you ever get laid? You never have a girlfriend. I’m tired of Mama nagging me with a million questions.”
“You know I’ll never get married. I have limits on how long I see someone before that’s that, on to the next one. It keeps my head in the business. As long as I’m in charge of that, there’s no room for anyone else in my life.”
“Yeah. Dad never had time to play with us. And then there was that time we had to leave town in the middle of the night . . .” Marcello’s voice trails off.