Filomena led me through a stone hallway to a gigantic patio outside.
In the daylight, the Rosolini estate was astoundingly beautiful. Just beyond the patio was a gigantic lawn that led to a swimming pool lined with lemon trees. Beyond that was a topiary garden which gradually became vineyards.
But none of that was what caught my attention.
Instead, my eyes settled on the two men having a cup of coffee at an outside table: Niccolo and Roberto Rosolini.
Roberto wore another three-piece suit, although this time he didn’t have a tie on.
Niccolo wore a white linen shirt and a pair of slacks. He looked casual and relaxed – but all I could think about was his sinister demeanor when he’d questioned me last night.
I wanted to run back inside –
But it was too late. Niccolo heard our footsteps and twisted around in his chair to see.
“Ah – ciao, bella! Have a seat, have a seat!” he said, gesturing to the empty chair to his left. Then he smiled at Filomena. “Thank you so much, Signora, for delivering our little lost lamb to us. Grazie mille.”
The old woman smiled and bowed slightly at the neck. She gave me one last glance, but it was hard to read her expression – was it a warning? A look of sympathy?
Then she turned and went back into the house.
I sat down in my chair. Roberto watched me closely, as though trying to read my thoughts.
Niccolo, however, was back to his old charming self.
Only now I knew it was the mask he wore over his true nature.
This time I would be on my guard.
“Coffee? Tea? Juice?” Niccolo asked. “We have everything, and what we don’t have, we can get. What would you like?”
I accepted some tea and buttered another piece of freshly baked bread.
“How did you sleep? Was the bed to your liking?” Niccolo asked with a smile.
“It was wonderful, thank you.”
“Good. Alessandra… there’s something I’d like to say to you.”
My stomach dropped. I expected the sinister side of him to come out again – all veiled threats and dark innuendoes.
“…oh?” I asked, trying to control my fear.
“Look at your face!” he clucked. “Did I really scare you that badly last night?”
“Obviously,” Roberto interjected.
“Quiet, you,” Niccolo scolded his brother, then turned back to me. “I’d like to apologize for my conduct. I was under a great deal of stress… but that was no excuse for how I treated you. I was threatening when there was no need for it. Can you forgive me for scaring you so?”
I stared at him.
This was not what I had expected from a mafia consigliere…
…although maybe it was all part of the game.
The spider singing lullabies as it lured the fly into its web.
“…of course,” I said hesitantly.
“I can tell you’re less than convinced, so let me explain a bit more what actually happened. Our father died three months ago – ”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, thank you. He was the patriarch of our family, and as you can imagine, losing him threw our entire world into chaos. We did not just lose our father – we lost our leader. Dario wasn’t even here when Papa died. I might as well tell you since you’re going to find out sooner or later – Dario was in prison at the time. Papa died unexpectedly and my brother didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
I already knew a good bit of that information from talking to Cat and Filomena, but two other questions formed in my mind almost immediately.
Niccolo anticipated them both.
“Dario went to prison on a racketeering charge involved with a bribery case,” Niccolo said. “They nabbed a judge who was presiding over some of our family’s business interests. As the oldest son, Dario took the fall for all of us. I know you were wondering – might as well come out with it and tell you straight.
“And no, our father did not die from a – how would you put it – a ‘mob hit.’ He had a heart attack. He was relatively young – 59 – and there was no warning, so it was quite a shock. He lingered for a couple of hours in the hospital, completely unconscious… and then he was gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Part of me wondered whether anything Niccolo was telling me was the truth – but he genuinely seemed sad. There was real pain in his eyes as he talked about his father.
“Thank you, that’s very kind. At least we got to say goodbye, even if he couldn’t hear us or answer back. But the prison wouldn’t even let Dario speak to him over the phone. Animals,” Niccolo said angrily.
It was pretty ironic to hear a mafia consigliere call someone else an animal over a denied phone call… even if it was a very sad situation.
I kept that thought to myself, though.
“As a result of my father’s death, the family business was thrown into disarray. That’s when the wolves came out. There are numerous families like ours that run things all over Italy. When my father died, they saw an opportunity. We began to have troubles that hadn’t occurred for decades: disputes with former partners, politicians on our payroll turning against us, sabotage in our operations… the truth is, the other families were probing us for weakness to see if they could wipe us out.
“Our uncle Fausto – my father’s younger brother, and his consigliere for the last 25 years – took over half of the family’s territory and business. My brothers and I kept the rest. We agreed unanimously that Dario would be the new head of the family, and he chose me as consigliere to handle things in his stead until he returned.
“But we’ve had our eyes on the wolves, tracking their plots to take us down. The man who was killed in your café last night was one such wolf. We know he worked for a rival family in Genoa, and we established his involvement in the firebombing of one of our warehouses.
“Needless to say, we found it very suspicious that he was in our territory just a week after Dario’s return. Lars tracked him to your café and took care of him for us – but your father’s café is in the middle of nowhere. We can’t figure out why he would have gone there, other than to meet someone.”
I stared at him in shock.
Niccolo had been extraordinarily open with me.
It might not have been the complete truth, but he had been under no obligation to tell me anything. I was their prisoner; prisoners don’t get the luxury of asking their captors questions.
Niccolo seemed to read my thoughts.
“Quite a bit of information to digest,” he said with a smile.
“…yes,” I admitted.
“Well, Dario was quite cross with me after you left last night. He thought you deserved at least a partial explanation for my – as he called it – assholish behavior.”
Dario?!
Dario was the one who had ordered Niccolo to apologize?!
That shocked me more than anything else I had heard so far.
Roberto spoke up. “So you see, we’re trying to ascertain if Umberto Fumagalli – the man from last night – knew your father, and why Fumagalli would be interested in him… or whether it really was just a coincidence that he walked into your café. Tell me – how long has your father had the business?”
“For as long as I can remember – at least since I was a baby.”
“And how did he buy it? Do you know?”
“I don’t…”
“How many customers did you have per day, would you say?”
I frowned. “What?”
Niccolo sighed. “Roberto is the head of business interests for the family. This is his great joy in life, asking nitpicky financial things. Humor him, if you will.”
What came next was a strange barrage of questions: how much money we made in an average month. What our expenses were. If there was a mortgage on the property. Who our suppliers were for coffee and food. (A tiny market in Mensano.) If there were other members of the staff besides me and my father. (There weren’t.) How much of our business was locals and how much was tourists.
Finally Niccolo waved off his brother. “Enough, Warren Buffett – your questions are boring poor Alessandra to death!”
“Whatever, Machiavelli.”
Niccolo stood up abruptly. “Let me take you on a tour of the property, bella, before Roberto begins his stultifying line of questioning again. Hurry – I can see him breaking out the spreadsheets!”
Niccolo whisked me away from the table.
“I can’t abide when he does that,” he grumbled, then added facetiously, “Roberto doesn’t seem to realize that not everyone shares his passion for accounting.”
“Why did he call you Machiavelli?”
“Ah – it’s a joke about my first name. You’re familiar with the Renaissance philosopher Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the political treatise The Prince?” he asked as we entered the house and began to wind through the hallways.
“Yes, of course.”
Machiavelli was known for his amoral advice to rulers: manipulate and lie in order to keep control over their subjects.
“Yes, well, all my brothers love to call me ‘Machiavelli.’ It used to annoy me – but if you’re going to be a consigliere, there are worse nicknames to have.”
“You and Robert look very much alike. Are you twins?”
“Yes, we are – but fraternal, not identical. Thank God I don’t have an exact copy of his genes. The man has boring financial statements written into his DNA.”
“There’s something I don’t understand…”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“You keep talking about your family and brothers… but Lars doesn’t look like any of you.”
Niccolo laughed. “Well, that would be because he’s not related to us by blood.”
“Does he work for you?”
“It’s more than that. When Dario went off to prison, those wolves I spoke of? They tried to make sure my brother died in there, on more than one occasion. Lars was his best friend ‘on the inside,’ as they say, and saved Dario’s life on two separate occasions. Lars finished his sentence six months ago, and Dario sent him to us to give him a job. He’s actually become a seventh member of our family. He got to be around our father before he died, and Papa loved him as a son for saving Dario’s life. Ever since everything went to shit, Lars has become our most trusted ally.”
I frowned. “Even more than your uncle?”
Niccolo smiled wryly. “Do you see my uncle anywhere nearby?”
“Ah. Do you have any sisters?”
“No, alas. Mama had six boys. She always wanted a little girl, but she died when I was 18. Dario’s the oldest, then Adriano, followed by Roberto and me, then Massimo. Valentino’s the baby and a spoiled rotten little brat. But with a face like his, he gets anything he wants from the ladies.”
I was surprised at how open Niccolo was being –
But from what I had seen, he always did everything for a reason.
And it was like he could read my mind.
“You might be saying to yourself right about now, ‘My, but he’s giving me a great deal of information!’” Niccolo said. “And yes, there’s a reason. A couple of them, actually.
“You have questions, I’m sure. Hopefully I’ve answered the most pressing ones. Because there will be many others I won’t answer. There are things this family does that are secret… and it would be best you not know too much about them. So don’t ask.”
My stomach tightened. Even though his tone was much lighter than the night before, the sinister implications were the same:
Step out of line at your own peril.
We reached the foyer of the mansion.
“In addition, there are parts of the house you’re not allowed,” Niccolo said. “Your bedroom is on the third floor. Anything up there is fine. So is the ground floor, unless the door is locked. In that case, don’t pry. But the second floor of the eastern wing – ”
He pointed to the right side of the building.
“ – is completely off-limits. Don’t go beyond the staircase. Ever. Understood?”
His voice wasn’t threatening this time, but it was firm.
I was immediately curious what was up there and why it was forbidden – but I just nodded. “Understood.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Feel free to roam the property, but don’t go beyond its boundaries, either. If you need anything, just ask.”
“How long will…”
I wanted to say, How long will you be keeping me here, but I thought that sounded a bit hostile.
And Niccolo had gone out of his way to be…
Well…
Less threatening.
“…um, how long will I be staying?”
“Still to be determined.”
“I’ll need to wash my clothes at some point.”
Niccolo waved his hand dismissively. “Just give them to Filomena – she’ll take care of it. We should probably get you some new things to wear, as well.”
“Why bother?” a deep voice said behind me. “She wouldn’t wear them anyway.”
My heart skipped a beat.
From fear –
…and maybe something else, as well.
I whirled around to see Dario. He had entered the foyer as silent as a cat, and was staring at me with an irritated look.
“I don’t take gifts from men who intrude on my privacy,” I snarled.
Dario frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The dress!”
He gave me a look of disgust, like I know THAT. “I’m talking about the ‘intrude on your privacy’ nonsense.”
Now I was furious. Just because he could kidnap me and use me as a hostage didn’t mean he could gaslight me. “You entered my room while I was sleeping – ”
“I had a servant leave it,” he snapped. “A servant girl, as a matter of fact.”
Oh.
I blushed bright red.
Now that he said it, a servant made far more sense.
It wasn’t like a mafia don would silently tip-toe into my room to leave a dress.
I felt stupid…
But my embarrassment quickly gave way to anger.
Yes, I had jumped to conclusions – but only because I had felt so unsafe from the night before.
And they weren’t exactly the most outlandish conclusions, given everything he’d already done and said.
Apparently Dario didn’t see it that way, because he shook his head in contempt. “What do you take me for?”
“A kidnapper? A criminal? A man who said he would make me his whore?” I nearly shouted.
Niccolo’s eyebrows shot up. He looked intensely uncomfortable, like he would have rather been anywhere else at that moment.
Dario walked towards me, every step a threat.
I backed away slightly, overwhelmed and frightened by his size and his murderous stare.
You idiot! I cursed myself silently. You KNOW what he is – why would you say something so STUPID?! Why would you provoke him?!
He got right up next to my body and towered over me.
I began to breathe faster as I stared up into his angry eyes.
“If you’re not careful,” he said in a whispering snarl, “I might decide to go ahead and start my plans early.”
Because he was so close, I could smell his scent again – that subtle, expensive cologne he wore.
I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
I stood there, mouth open, almost hypnotized.
Then he turned and walked away without a word, leaving me standing there stunned…
…and more than a little bit turned on.
Niccolo waited until Dario disappeared from the foyer, then he said to me, “Well, YOU certainly know how to poke the wild beast, don’t you?”
“It’s not my fault,” I pouted.
“Not your fault?! Not your FAULT?!” Niccolo said with an incredulous laugh, then began to mimic me in a high-pitched voice. “‘A kidnapper? A criminal? A man who said he was going to make me his – ”
“Alright, so I shouldn’t have provoked him,” I interrupted. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“You’re lucky you got to make it once. Believe me when I tell you this, bella: I don’t know anyone else who could have spoken to Dario like that and lived to tell the tale.”
I didn’t know how I felt about that.
On the one hand, Niccolo seemed to be suggesting that Dario had a certain weakness for me…
…and then he had to throw in some more insinuations about murder.
I didn’t want to think about any of it, so I just ignored it.
As soon as Niccolo said the last bit about ‘living to tell the tale,’ he began to walk away from me.
“Where are we going now?” I asked as I followed in his footsteps.
“We? There is no ‘we’ – I’M going to go prepare for some meetings. You can do whatever you like except for come with me – or go into the second floor of the east wing. Dinner will be served at 8 in the dining room.”
“What am I supposed to do until then?”
“Anything you like – or nothing at all! Just don’t go into the areas we talked about… and don’t try to leave the grounds,” he said with a smirk.
With that, Niccolo disappeared around a corner and left me all alone.
