My father was Don Rosolini.
YOU can call me Dario.
His words echoed in my mind as we left the café.
To me he was still il Mostro… the monster of Tuscany…
But maybe that was his father?
Perhaps the son was not as bad…
Then I reminded myself that he was a mafioso and had taken over his family after his father’s death.
Whatever else he might be, Dario was still a criminal and a thug.
If only he hadn’t been such a handsome one…
With such mesmerizing eyes…
We walked out into the cold night air. May in Tuscany is warm during the day but can be frigid at night.
I clutched my clothes to my chest, not wanting Dario to see my nipples beneath my dress.
To be truthful, I was not sure if the cold air was the only reason they were hard.
I silently chastised myself for my weakness and added one more thing to the list I would have to tell the priest at confession.
…although I would leave out the details of what Dario’s gaze did to my body.
The three men led me to a beautiful black Mercedes sedan parked in the gravel outside the café. Adriano went to the driver’s seat, Massimo took the front passenger seat, and Dario opened the back door for me.
“Such a gentleman,” I said sarcastically.
He just smirked.
I settled into the leather seat and marveled at how soft and luxurious it was. I had never felt anything so sinfully delicious before.
Dario closed the door, then went around to the other side of the car and got in next to me.
Adriano started the engine – which sounded more like a purr than a roar – and backed the car out into the road.
“Your phone,” Dario said as he held out his hand.
“What?”
“Your cell phone. Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“I can’t exactly have you contacting whomever you want, now can I?”
I grumbled and handed over my cell phone, which I had hidden inside my bundle of clothes.
It was my single luxury – the one thing I owned that was my connection to the outside world.
Adriano watched from the rearview mirror as Dario powered off the phone. “How old is that thing?! When did you get it, a decade ago?”
“I’m not as well-off as some other little rich boys in this car,” I snapped.
Adriano flushed with anger. I was afraid my temper had gotten the best of me –
Until Massimo snorted in amusement.
I glanced over at Dario as he pocketed my phone. He was suppressing a smile, as well.
Adriano grumbled under his breath, but he went back to staring at the road.
We drove for half an hour. Very little was said. Dario and the others made no attempt at small talk, and I was content to stare out the window at the moonlight on the Tuscan countryside.
Long after midnight, we finally turned off a small two-lane road onto a paved drive. We drove for a couple of minutes through rows of cedars, then came to a ten-foot-tall wall with a massive iron gate. There must have been a camera or some sort of sensor because the gate opened slowly and the Mercedes glided through.
Another couple of minutes went by as we drove past gorgeous vineyards and orchards. The road gradually sloped upwards, and we finally broke through the greenery and reached an open space – at which point I gasped in amazement.
There was a gigantic mansion at the top of the hill, three stories tall with two large wings. Its slate roof gleamed under the moon, and warm yellow light shone from a quarter of the massive windows.
The house looked like something out of a fairy tale… although I wondered if it would be one with a happy ending.
The Mercedes pulled around a circular drive in front of the mansion, where four men dressed in black were waiting. They opened the car doors for us and murmured things like “Padrone” and “Don Rosolini” as we exited. Dario clapped one of the men on the shoulder and nodded to the others as we passed by.
For a moment I thought that perhaps these were the other brothers – but they stayed behind as the four of us walked up majestic marble steps to a pair of bronze doors at the front of the mansion.
One of the doors swung open to reveal a huge foyer decorated with crystal chandeliers.
A handsome man in a white dress shirt appeared in the doorway. He looked closer to Dario and Adriano in coloring and height, though he was clean-shaven. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he looked me up and down.
“Ah, so the master and his useful idiots return with a hostage!” he said in a joking voice. “At least she’s a beauty – thank heaven for small favors.”
He took my hand in his and kissed it.
He was charming, I would give him that.
“Niccolo Rosolini at your service, bella. I’ve arranged a room for you upstairs. Filomena here will escort you and show you to your chambers. Please stow your things and freshen up, then join us downstairs once you’re finished.”
He gestured to an old woman at the foot of a magnificent staircase. She had white hair and a face as wrinkled as a walnut, but she stood straight and tall in her black servant’s dress. She also wore a kind smile.
“Follow me, child,” she said with a Sicilian accent as she led the way up the stairs.
I glanced back to see where the others were going.
Adriano and Massimo were already walking into a parlor off the main foyer.
Dario was watching me with hungry eyes as I mounted the steps…
…and Niccolo waved his hand at me. “Shoo, shoo! We have questions for you, so don’t dally too long!”
I turned and followed the old Sicilian woman up the stairs.
I wondered when Niccolo had learned about me. I finally decided Dario must have called while I was retrieving my clothes in my bedroom.
Filomena led me down a long hallway on the third floor, past paintings that looked like they belonged in a Renaissance museum. In fact, the entire house was like a museum, there was so much art.
Finally we reached a room with wooden doors, and Filomena opened them up.
Inside was the most palatial bedroom I had ever seen. The giant four-poster bed had a bedspread of purest white, which was turned down to reveal silken sheets and half a dozen pillows. There were more paintings in the room, along with an old stone fireplace.
Glass doors opened out onto a small balcony. Through the glass, I could see a gigantic lawn and a beautiful swimming pool that glittered in the moonlight.
I stared at everything in amazement. The room was ten times larger than my bedroom back home and far nicer than any place I had ever stayed in my life.
“Here is the bath,” the woman said, leading the way to a door off the main room. “There are toiletries for you on the counter.”
She flicked on a light, and I saw a modern marble countertop with glittering gold spigots. A new toothbrush sat in a box next to a fresh tube of toothpaste.
When I peeked inside the room, I spied an enormous bathtub with two showerheads in the ceiling.
I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.
“I’ll wait for you in the hall,” the old woman said as she turned to leave.
“Oh, I can find my way back,” I said.
She smiled. “I’ll wait for you in the hall. Don Rosolini’s orders.”
Then she stepped outside and closed the door.
I put my undergarments in a dresser, then hung my other clothes in a beautiful mahogany wardrobe.
I quickly used the bathroom, washed my hands and face, and stared at myself in the mirror.
No makeup… tousled hair…
I looked a mess.
I tried to make myself a bit more presentable – then remembered who I was making myself presentable for. A bunch of thugs and killers, that’s who.
I should have tried to make myself uglier so they wouldn’t touch me…
Although when I thought of Dario grabbing my hair back at the café, my entire body flushed with heat.
I quickly put it out of mind and walked back out into the hall.
Filomena was waiting for me.
“I’m ready,” I said.
She smiled. “You’re so pretty.”
“Thank you,” I said, blushing.
“Would you take some advice from an old woman?”
“Of course.”
“Don Rosolini just returned home after four years in prison. To my knowledge, he has not had a woman to the estate since his arrival.” She looked at me sternly. “Never be in a room alone with him. That is all I will say.”
Her words chilled me to the bone…
But they also made me uncomfortably warm.
I thought of Dario not having touched a woman in four years…
And then I remembered his body pressed against mine back at the café.
I wondered what a brute like that, deprived of a woman’s touch for so long, might do to her in the throes of lust…
I swallowed hard and nodded to indicate I understood the warning.
“Follow me,” Filomena said. “I’ll take you back to the Rosolinis.”
We walked back down the hall and descended the staircase to the foyer.
I could hear voices behind the closed wooden doors of the parlor. One in particular sounded angry, almost on the verge of shouting.
Then Filomena knocked twice.
“Come in,” said a muffled voice.
She opened the door for me and smiled – though there was something in her eyes that gave me pause.
“You’ll be fine,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I nodded, then warily walked into the room –
And came face to face with the blond killer from the café.
