I have a trusted housekeeper, Mrs. Koroveshi, who is in her sixties. Samira comes daily to clean and cook and oversee my large property. Her auburn hair shows more grey with each passing year but, to me, she never changes. Her husband was a loyal boss and passed away three years ago. She’s not one to talk about her work. In fact, I love her like I loved my own grandmother and consider her family.
I pay her enough to never complain, even though she never asks for a raise. I like to make sure she’s happy and well taken care of as she lives alone, traveling to me daily. I also have soldiers who keep a low profile on the property, so I don’t worry when I’m not here. It’s always a plus to have outer buildings so they can bunk and take shelter from the weather. I remember those days, as brief as they were, and a bit of comfort goes a long way on the night shift in winter.
I pull my wool trench coat around me as the wind whips around the mountainside. Fuck it’s getting cold. It makes going to Rome all that more appealing. Hopefully the city won’t have a deluge of rain for the event.
The trucks are on the road, job completed. I turn towards my car and take in the luminescent face of the moon giving me light on this cloudless night. Inside my vehicle I crank up the heater for the seat.
I’ve decided to take the easy route to Rome, flying out of here and possibly staying overnight. I don’t care for the commercialization of the city, but I love walking through the ruins. As a large donor, I have special access to the Colosseum. It would be a shame to not use it.
My sources text me earlier. They have seen the list of VIPs and the De Luca family is on it so I will combine business with pleasure. In essence,Prendere due piccioni con una fava. I’ll kill two pigeons with one stone. I’ll view the art and take care of family business.
I’d love to have my own bed tonight, but given the time, and the fact I need to pack, I’ll swing by my mansion and enjoy the comfort of my own bed.
I check in with Tommaso and tell him I’ll be out of town a few days for family and nod to the guards walking my grounds as I put my gun in the clip before attaching it to my belt, making sure it’s covered by my coat.
I love the Berettas. Italians make so many incredible and beautiful items, from designers of top selling clothing to handguns and cars. The only item Italy hasn’t given me is love, which is ironic. Italian men are known to be good lovers and unfaithful to their wives. But Italy, like Paris, is made for love and making love. I don’t make love. I just love to fuck.
The sheetson my bed are crisp and smell slightly of lavender. I pull up the blankets and listen to the wind howl around the house. Unusual as this is more the norm for the dead of winter, and February is wind and rain. The climate isn’t as predictable anymore.
The wind lulls me to sleep, and it’s such a great sleep I don’t want to get up. I’m having a dream, a pretty girl who’s by the ocean and waving at me. I want to know more but my eyes open and I’m staring at the blank wall in my bedroom. I’m alone and the dream ends. Poof. Gone.
I’m sure it’s Grandpa putting the thought in my head. Sure, I’ve dated women, pretty women, but they are all a bit touched in the head at times. Maybe I like women a bit crazy. I’ve never thought about it before.
I shower and dress, having already texted the pilot to be at the airport. I transfer him money, and with my bathrobe on, I open the false bottom on my desk drawer and take a filled magazine clip.
Inside my large closet, I press a small button and the wall slides back. It used to be a hall closet that I had covered, and now I have a safe only I know about. Reaching in, I grab a stack of euros. No doubt I’ll have to procure a ticket with a nice donation, and I’ll use a fake passport for the hotel check-in. Never hurts to be vigilant.
I pack my polycarbonate carryon luggage. On second thought, I head to the huge armoire near the bed and pull out a standard sized umbrella. It never hurts to be prepared and will easily fit inside my coat.
I flick through my dress shirts and pants picking out a dark blue suit for traveling. My local tailor had a tuxedo delivered to my favorite hotel near the Colosseum since I booked the room in advance.
I grab my trench coat that’s good in rain as I head out the door. Good to go.
I stepout of the Mercedes limo. I’m on an opposite the street from the museum and as soon as I close the door of the vehicle I pause, waiting for Savio. I figured he needed a break, as well. His life is mundane, and the money is nothing to me. He took the train down and he’s in a room next to mine.
I glance around for him, and I’m caught off guard by a woman in a long, slinky dress that clings to her curves judging from her turnabout, after she gets out of a SUV. She’s joined by her parents and a man that must be her brother as he looks so much like his father with his dark hair and olive complexion. I can’t help but crack my lips into a grin that’s not forced when I notice her curvy buttocks and ample breasts on display due to the low-cut front. She is a sight to behold and takes my breath away.
Her breasts jet out like firm, round clouds I would love to squeeze. I can only imagine what lies underneath her shimmering dress because there is no room for undergarments. What I wouldn’t do to slip that dress up and. . .
“What’s up? You okay?” Savio asks, joining me at the worst time imaginable as it takes seconds away from admiring her beauty from afar.
“Hold on,” I impatiently respond with a scowl as I notice she has a female companion with her. A young woman who is pretty in her own right, and yet she pales in comparison. The two girls exchange a short sentence or two and smile as they wait for the woman who must be Emelia De Luca. I’ve seen her picture on some charity pamphlets for the event. She’s a chairperson on the committee.
She picks up her daughter’s dress in motherly fashion, no doubt it’s instinctual, and I wonder if she’s married but I don’t see a man by her side. The material escapes the rough concrete as they walk to the red carpet for pictures.
Savio gives me grief over having the best fitted tux. One I picked as it paired with my favorite gold Bvlgari cufflinks nestled around black onyx. We both wear Italian leather dress shoes, what self-respecting Italian wouldn’t?
“Do you know her?” Savio asks, following where my eyes are fixated.
“Not yet, but I will.” I crack a wicked smile knowing I’ve discovered Don De Luca’s hidden gem, the daughter he keeps secret. His weak link even if he is void of emotion. I know she has to mean more to him as his eyes give it away when she’s not looking at him.
I did my homework on the family before I left home, and that is the Don of Sicily himself. Rarely seen but revered.
My impish grin of excitement implies I’m up to no good. Savio takes me in with a long breath. I’m headed for trouble as I rarely show this side to anyone other than him.
My interest is piqued. I can’t wait to enter into the museum and learn more about the mysterious woman.
“Well, just don’t land in jail, that won’t go over well in any of our circles, and it would piss off your grandfather.”