The local police arrived almost immediately – but as soon as they heard what had happened, they called Florence. No one else was qualified to investigate such a brazen assassination.
The detective who showed up two hours later, though, seemed bored. Perhaps he felt that a killing in the middle of nowhere was beneath him.
He asked me what had happened. I told him everything, but said that I had only seen a man in a black trench coat and hat – that I hadn’t seen his face.
After I finished speaking, Papa gave me an encouraging smile.
I felt guilty for lying, but I persuaded myself that it was more important to obey my father.
The detective searched the ugly man’s clothes and found a pistol in his jacket pocket.
So he had been scrambling for a gun when the blond stranger had shot him…
The detective ordered the local ambulance to take the body away. Then he had the man’s car towed back to Florence.
It was nearly 11 o’clock at night when they all departed… and I was left with the horrible task of cleaning up the blood on the stone floor.
“I’ll help you,” my father said quietly, and went to the kitchen to get buckets and brushes.
While he was gone, I heard the door open behind me.
I thought it was one of the police returning, so I wasn’t afraid.
But I became afraid as soon I turned around.
Three men stood by the doorway.
All three were relatively young – in their mid- to late 20s.
All three wore expensive dress suits, and all three were incredibly handsome in their own way.
Their features were close enough that they seemed to be related –
That was where the similarities ended.
To the left was a mountain of a man – at least 200 centimeters, or 6’6” for you Americans. He had massively broad shoulders and enormous muscles beneath his dark suit. He reminded me of a circus strongman from old black-and-white movies. He had a full head of brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. I thought of him as an orso – a bear. Despite his imposing size, his warm brown eyes were kind.
To the right was a shorter man, though he still stood at least 6’2”. His hair was dark brown and slightly curled, his face had just a bit of scruff, and he wore a flashy blue suit with a silk shirt. He was trim and muscular.
Though not nearly as big as the Bear, he was more threatening. His handsome face was furious, as though someone had insulted him, and he scowled like he wanted to kill me.
I immediately thought of him as the Hothead.
But he was not the most frightening… or the most handsome.
That was the man in the center.
He was in the middle as far as height – about 6’4” – but his shoulders were almost as broad as the Bear’s.
His jet-black hair was swept back from his face, and he wore a short black beard trimmed to perfection.
His cheekbones were like a fashion model’s. Piercing black eyes stared out from under his furrowed brow.
He wore a navy blue suit with a light blue shirt open at the throat. I could see tattoos at the top of his chest, extending up his neck.
He appeared to be the oldest of the group, possibly close to 30.
The thing that stood out about him – other than his devastatingly good looks – was the sense of authority that emanated from him. The other two men seemed to be his subordinates.
The Bear looked threatening because of his size…
And the Hothead looked unsafe because of his anger…
But the man in the middle was mysterious and calm… and that made him all the more dangerous.
Not to mention that he stared at me like a hawk looking at a baby rabbit.
I stared back at him, my mouth slightly agape.
Then he smiled the tiniest bit… just a slight upturning of the corner of his mouth…
And my heart skipped a beat.
“I understand something happened here tonight,” he said in a deep, smoky voice.
I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak.
I felt like I was drowning in his eyes – and then his voice mesmerized me even further.
Just at that moment, my father emerged from the kitchen. “Excuse me, we’re clo– ”
But the words died in his throat when he saw the three men.
Actually, when he saw the man in the middle.
The handsome stranger looked at him. “Do you know who I am?”
“O-of course, Don Rosolini.”
As soon as Papa said the name, my blood froze in my veins.
Don Rosolini.
Il Mostro.
The Monster.
The Rosolinis were a family of mafiosos, and they had controlled this region of Tuscany for over 50 years. The grandfather had come from Sicily half a century before and staked out his claim with blood and fire.
The name inspired fear. No one crossed the Rosolinis – no one.
Those who did either lived to regret it… or disappeared without a trace.
The head of the family was often referred to as il Mostro for his horrendous acts of violence against his enemies. The don did not hurt innocent local folk, who fell under his protection – but he destroyed other mafiosos who dared infringe on his territory.
But the name il Mostro was always whispered, as though speaking it might summon the devil himself.
Certainly my father appeared terrified. He trembled slightly as he said, “I was so sorry to hear about your father, God rest his soul.”
…your father?
God rest his soul?
This was news to me.
“Grazie,” the mystery man said. “What’s your name?”
“Enzo Calvano. May I offer you a drink, Don Rosolini?”
“The only thing I need is information. I understand that a man was killed in your establishment earlier tonight.”
“Yes,” my father said as he gestured at the curdled pool of blood on the stones.
“Did you see the killer?”
“No,” my father said. “I was in the kitchen.”
Don Rosolini turned his dark eyes to me. “Did your… daughter see him? I assume she is your daughter?”
“Yes,” both my father and I said at once.
The mafioso smiled as he stared into my soul. “Did you see the killer?”
Before I could answer, my father hastily interrupted. “No, she only saw a man in a black jacket and hat.”
The Hothead spoke for the first time. “He asked HER, old man, not y– ”
Don Rosolini held up one hand, and the Hothead immediately stopped talking.
The mystery man turned to me. “Well? Did you see him or not?”
I glanced at my father –
“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” the mafioso ordered.
I gazed into his eyes, which seemed to pull me into their depths.
“And I warn you,” he continued, “you should always tell me the truth. Because you have no idea what I know… and if I catch you in a lie, the consequences will be very unpleasant. Do you understand?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Did you see the killer?”
“…y-yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was tall… blond, with a beard… blue eyes. He might have been Swedish.”
I glanced over at my father, who looked absolutely terrified. I wondered if I had done the right thing.
When the don spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Why did you lie to the police?”
I frowned in astonishment. “How did you know that?”
He smiled, and it sent shivers down my spine. “I have friends in the Questura.”
The Questura was the police department based out of Florence.
So the devil had infiltrated law enforcement, as well.
“It was my fault, signore,” my father said in a pleading voice. “She is my only child, and I did not want her to get wrapped up in this… this – ”
“Situation?” Don Rosolini finished for him.
“…yes.”
The mystery man regarded my father for a long moment before he spoke. “Understandable. She is, I am sure, your most treasured possession.”
“I am no one’s possession,” I snapped –
Which caused quite a response.
My father looked like he might have a heart attack.
The Bear looked surprised.
The Hothead got even angrier.
But the mafia don regarded me with amusement.
“Of course not,” he said in that deep, smoky voice. “I only meant that your father treasures you… and should not lie to me again in a wasted effort to ensure your safety. Would you not agree, signore?”
“Y-yes, padrone,” my father stuttered.
“Good. What was the victim doing in your café?”
My father gave a forced laugh that was full of fear. “Why, the same as anyone else, I suppose! Just having a meal.”
“Your café is rather off the beaten path. He didn’t come in for another reason?”
“No! I mean… not that I know of.”
Suddenly I thought of the ugly man’s strange words:
Tell your father my compliments to the chef.
I also thought about how I had suspected the ugly man knew my father –
But I was afraid to voice those suspicions.
I was also afraid of lying to the mafioso again –
But he hadn’t asked me anything.
So I wouldn’t technically be lying if I held my tongue… which I did.
The stranger looked at my father like he was trying to see deep into his soul. With those piercing eyes of his, I almost believed he could.
“Let me take him out back,” the Hothead snapped. “I’ll loosen his tongue.”
The don raised one hand, and the Hothead went back to seething in silence.
But the handsome stranger never looked away from my father.
Finally he said, “The man who visited your establishment tonight… the one who died over there…”
He gestured to the curdled pool of blood.
“…I received word that he was part of a plot against me and my family. But I don’t know what the plot entailed.”
“That’s horrible,” my father said earnestly.
“Indeed. If you hear anything of interest, you should contact me immediately. Massimo, give the man our number.”
The Bear reached into his suit and produced a business card. It looked ludicrously small between his giant fingers.
So the Bear’s name was Massimo…
My father took the card and nodded. “Of course, padrone.”
“I would greatly appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”
“Absolutely, Don Rosolini.”
“And until I am sure I have your utmost cooperation… I’m going to take your daughter with me as collateral.”
The words stunned me – and they equally surprised my father.
Papa blinked. “Um… excuse me, padrone?”
“Are you deaf?” the Hothead snarled.
The mafioso glared at the Hothead. “Adriano.”
So the Hothead’s name was Adriano.
After the one-word rebuke, Adriano fell silent.
Then Don Rosolini turned back to my father. “I repeat: I’m taking your daughter as collateral while you gather more information for me.”
“What?!” I cried out angrily. “No!”
All four men – the mafioso, Massimo, Adriano, and my father – looked at me in surprise.
Of course, my father’s surprise was more like horrified shock.
The mafia don’s expression was far more amused.
“I am afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” he informed me.
“Is that so?” I snapped.
I turned to walk out of the room –
But Massimo the Bear stepped in front of me. His speed was surprising for a man of his size.
He looked down at me and gently shook his head like, That wouldn’t be a good idea.
I stepped back and didn’t move.
“Padrone… please, I beg of you, not my daughter,” my father whispered.
“Don’t worry – she’ll be well taken care of. You may have her back when you have more information about your visitor this evening.”
“But sir, I know nothing – ”
“Which is why I know you’ll find out something for me.” The don turned to Massimo. “Take her to get her belongings.”
“Sir – ” my father said as he stepped forward abruptly, which I guess was slightly threatening –
Because Adriano shot forward, grabbed my father by the collar, and pushed him back.
“NO!” I screamed.
The head mafioso tilted his head to the side, and Adriano relaxed his hold.
“Don Rosolini…” my father whispered, “Alessandra is a good girl… she goes to mass every Sunday… she’s a virgin, padrone…”
My face flushed scarlet.
I was a virgin, it was true – because of my religious beliefs.
…but also partially due to a lack of opportunity in the small village where I lived.
To hear my father say it out loud was mortifying.
The handsome mafioso fixed me with a stare like he was about to tear off my dress. “Interesting information, to be sure – but what does it have to do with me?”
“Sir, your reputation precedes you,” my father whispered. “You are a worldly man… and you reap where you do not sow. My daughter is an innocent…”
The mafioso spoke to my father, but he walked slowly towards me. “Are you suggesting that I might take advantage of your daughter?”
I felt fear at his words – but my face blazed even hotter.
The horror of this stranger and my father discussing me this way – it was too much to bear.
And yet, as I looked into the stranger’s mesmerizing eyes, I felt a different kind of heat bloom between my legs.
“I…” my father said, then stopped. He was obviously afraid of offending il Mostro.
“I give you my word,” the mafioso said as he stopped just inches away from me. “I will not take your daughter’s virginity…”
The smile he gave me was both seductive and terribly cruel.
“…until she begs me to do so.”
My father didn’t know what to say to that. He was stunned into silence.
I, on the other hand, was not.
“I am not a whore to be bargained over,” I snarled.
With lightning speed, the mafioso pressed against my body and grasped the hair at the back of my neck.
He pulled my head back with a gentle tug so I was staring up at him.
I could feel him against me – his muscles beneath his suit as they pressed against my soft body.
I was terrified –
And yet at the same time, lust seemed to engulf me like fire.
Other than my father, I had never been this close to a man before in my life –
And certainly not the most attractive and powerful man I had ever seen.
My heart hammered in my chest from both fear and excitement.
He was pressed so firmly against me that I was sure he could feel my heartbeat.
Then he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
I caught a whiff of his cologne – subtle, expensive, and overwhelmingly masculine.
His lips brushed my ear, and my eyes half-closed in a haze of desire.
“You will be my whore,” he whispered. “But only for me… and no one else.”
Then he let go of my hair and pulled away from me.
I was furious –
I was afraid –
And yet there were stirrings inside me more powerful than anything I’d ever felt before.
“Massimo, take her to get her things while I talk to her father,” the stranger said.
Massimo gestured with his head like, Come on.
I looked at my father.
He glanced at Don Rosolini… then looked back at me and nodded.
I angrily went to my room upstairs with the Bear trailing along behind me.
