“Michael,” I nod, acknowledging him and finishing my drink in one gulp. “What’s the word?”
“I found her. She’s in college right here in Florence, studying art,” he replies. His dark brown hair is full and slicked back, but his receding hairline makes him look older than his mid-twenties.
“Are you sure it’s her?”
“I did all the research, just like you asked. No one knows anything, which is why it took some time. I’m the only one who handled it, so there’s no trail to her—or you.” He emphasizes the last word heavily.
I run my hand across my mouth and clean-shaven jaw, something I have a habit of doing when I’m deep in thought, and nod again as I absently play with the tiny spoon on the saucer.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Riccardo lets out a low whistle. “Conti is going to shit his pants. His best kept secret, the jewel of his empire, has been discovered?”
“Keep your eye on her, get to know her routine, but don’t let her see you.”
“Done.” Michael stands, and Riccardo follows suit, slipping him an envelope of cash.
“Mr. Micheli.” Michael nods to me and disappears. He knows I’m a man who prefers results over extended chatter.
“So, what’s your plan?” Riccardo sits down again. He’s fit for a man in his mid-forties. His salt and pepper beard are impeccably trimmed, and his clothing is always a notch above casual wear. Like all Italians, he likes his designers.
“First, I’ll put out a feeler for a meet with Giovani Conti, then we’ll go from there. But not a word to anyone.” I don’t really have to say this as my bodyguard and right-hand man knows me well, yet I say it anyway. “We have no idea what his reaction will be, and we have to tread carefully.”
I know I have to push the issue with Conti to get what’s ours, but there is a fine line between pushing him and making him think I don’t respect him. And since he is a known psychopath, I hate having to deal with him at all.
I’m glad I have good men like Riccardo around me. I picked him based on the fact he knows what to do without me having to tell him, and he worked his way up the ranks. He follows through without flinching at any task, big or small. He also has a military background which can’t hurt.
I see him checking out people walking by and if I asked him what car just passed us, he would give me the correct answer. The man’s memory, like his loyalty, is never in question and he always has my back. I demand loyalty above all else because in the mafia, it comes down to loyalty and trust to stay alive.
2
Juliet
If only my dad liked to travel. But he doesn’t, so I’m stuck in Tuscany. “Stuck” is the wrong word for it. It’s beautiful, but there are so many places in this beautiful country to explore. Pranzano, Rome, and Sienna are just a few I’d love to see. I’ll get there some day.
“You look like a princess!” my roommate, Ava, gushes as she puts a fake tiara on my head like I’m a ten-year-old. When do girls get over this princess shit, anyway? I don’t see it. She’s from the United States and came all this way just for a summer internship in Florence. Now, that’s what I call a princess lifestyle. If one is going anywhere to study art, this is the place for it. Home of the Greats, I like to call it.
Don’t get me wrong, I really like Ava, but she’s only here for the summer and she’s from New York, Long Island to be exact. She says it a bit funny, overpronouncing the last vowels in the word and dragging them out.
She giggles. “Well, in New York, all the girls from wealthy Italian and Jewish families are princesses. Then you have the CAP, the Catholic American Princesses, and the JAP, the Jewish American Princesses. The tiara has become a staple for all teenage girls on their birthdays.”
She snags the tiara off my head and plops it atop her long, blond locks. “We are getting a bit old for it, though, aren’t we?” Her nose crinkles as she speaks.
“I’ll say,” I agree, having never fantasized about being a princess. I’m an ordinary girl in an ordinary world. I never imagine any man is checking me out because they are always looking at other girls, the ones who can curl their eyelashes without poking their eye out and who know how to put together a flawless outfit. Girls like Ava.
Did my father adore me? Yes, of course, and I’m grateful for it. It probably kept me from hanging out with bad boys and getting the wrong kind of attention out of loneliness.
“So, what do you want to do today? Being Saturday and all, we have the whole weekend ahead of us.” She flits excitedly around the room, using her phone to turn up the music streaming from a portable speaker that she lugged thousands of miles to use for just two months.
“Whatever you like,” I reply. I don’t have any plans. I live a pretty quiet life compared to most girls my age. I’m more comfortable being alone than I am with a crowd of acquaintances. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child and the town I grew up in is so small, it wouldn’t even be on a map were it not for our pottery that the tourists stop to admire.
Ava’s company is a welcome change from the girls who are more into their boyfriends than their studies, even if she is just a foreigner who came to paint our jaw-dropping scenery, eat our amazing food, and join me in the dorm to live like a local for the summer.
I like Ava and I’m happy to have her as a friend. The campus thins out in the summertime and the number of tourists escalates to the point it’s hard to walk anywhere as the sidewalks are packed.
I like hearing about America and hope to visit someday, but for now, I’m content to live here. This is my home, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. But some day? Put me on a plane and I’ll go anywhere.
“Maybe we can find a pretty spot and work on a sketch and then practice with oils on it later,” I venture enthusiastically.
“That sounds like fun. It’s gorgeous outside. Afterwards, we can grab a sandwich at our favorite place and have a glass of wine.”