As soon as word came that Fausto was on the property, all of us – Dario, me, his brothers, and Lars – went out onto the front steps of the mansion.
A small fleet of black Mercedes and BMWs drove up. In the middle was a silver Rolls Royce. The cars parked, and a dozen men in suits got out. They were mostly in their 30s and 40s – unlike Dario’s men, who were almost all in their 20s.
Niccolo read my mind. “When our uncle split off from the family, most of our former staff went with him,” he explained.
“Which is apparently why we had to hire bothersome old maids as servants,” Dario muttered under his breath.
“What?” Niccolo said. “I didn’t catch that – ”
“Nothing,” I said as I kicked the side of Dario’s shoe with my foot.
He just smirked in silence.
The doors of the Rolls Royce opened and two men got out.
One was youthful, maybe five years older than me. He was tall, wiry, and less powerful-looking than Dario. He wore his long, black hair in a ponytail down the back of his neck. His face was cruel, and his eyes were so dark that they seemed almost black.
I shivered when he glanced at me and was glad when he looked away.
The other man was much older – in his 50s, probably. He was powerfully built but with a slight gut that his expensive three-piece suit couldn’t hide. He had a mustache and goatee, and his eyes twinkled mischievously beneath heavy brows. His black hair was grey at the temples, and some of it also streaked his beard.
“Don Rosolini,” he said in a playful voice as he walked towards Dario.
“Uncle Fausto,” Dario said as he embraced him. “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure. Niccolo, Adriano, Roberto – excellent to see you. Valentino, still too damn pretty for your own good.” Fausto turned to Massimo. “You holding up alright?”
“I am – thank you, padrone,” Massimo said warmly.
“Good. I’m glad you took down a few of the bastards yourself.”
Then Fausto turned to me.
“This is Alessandra,” Niccolo said.
“Ahhh… so this is the little girl who’s caused so much trouble.”
I turned to Dario in surprise.
It was Niccolo who answered, though. “Your father’s café is technically in Uncle Fausto’s territory. We had to notify him of our intentions the night we dealt with the intruder.”
“And deal with him you did,” Fausto said. He clapped Lars on the shoulder. “If you ever get tired of working for my nephews, come and see me. I could always use a man like you.”
Lars just smiled politely.
The man with the ponytail walked up.
“May I introduce my son Aurelio,” Fausto said to me.
“Like Marcus Aurelius?” I asked, mentioning the Roman Emperor from almost 2000 years ago.
“Exactly.”
Aurelio said nothing. He just watched me with that cold, unsettling gaze of his.
“Shall we go inside?” Niccolo said, then led the way.
Dario offered his arm to me.
I smiled as I took it, and he escorted me inside.
I couldn’t help but notice that Aurelio never took his eyes off me.
