2. Renata
I stareat my mother as she leaves the room. I’ve been called to a family meeting where my world has been turned upside down.
My parents want me to insinuate myself with the one man I never wanted to see again. The only man to break my heart. Matteo Mancini. He’s my kryptonite. My weakness. He’s the only man to ever get under my skin, and now my parents want me to become a spy in the Mancini camp.
I admitted that Matteo and I have a past, but Mother insisted I use that to my advantage and seek revenge by manipulating Matteo. They simply see Matteo as the scion of a rival family. The head of the Mancini empire. To me, though, he’s the boy who broke my heart. My first crush. My first love. My first hate.
Now they want me to be with him.
Of course, that means my parents are using me. Like always. They hated the Mancinis, and now they want me to ingratiate myself with them? Fuck them.
They always did see their children as expendable little commodities, though. Even Nico, the son and heir, was forced to marry recently. We might as well be living in medieval times as far as my parents are concerned.
Of course, their suggestion has led to an almighty row, and now Mamma is sulking with me and Babbo is fuming.
My father gets up and follows Mamma out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sip at my drink and stare dully out the window.
I replay snippets of the conversation.
Mamma’s face was stone when she said, “We want you to get into the Mancini camp and worm your way into their family, their business. Gather information. Become our spy. Take them and either become their queen, or ruin them for us. For the Andrettis.”
Ruin Matteo Mancini.It holds a certain appeal.
Control himthey said blithely. Might as well try to control a tornado from what I’ve heard about Matteo these days.
Mamma says she has one of his closest people as a friend now. She swears this Angela character is telling her the truth. So maybe it is the truth?
Maybe the Mancini family is in trouble, but why does Mother assume Matteo will want me? After all this time? Even if he did, why would he ever give me any information on his life and his business?
Stretching it even farther, say I do get into his life; there’s the risk I fall for him all over again.
I don’t know if I can pull this off.
I stalk over to the drinks cabinet and mix myself a strong martini. As I sip at it, more of Mamma’s words come back to me. “He’s not handsome now,” she claimed. What did she call him? A brute.
She saw my lack of confidence in my ability to do this utterly crazy thing they’re asking of me, and put it down to a general lack of belief in myself. She smiled at me and gave me a pep talk.
“Daughter, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You make movie stars seem ordinary. Models, drab. God didn’t make you this way for nothing. It can’t be. We made your brother marry for the family, and now we are asking you to do this. It’s not even a marriage we ask for. Just an affair of the heart. Make him fall for you. Then destroy him.” Her words were determined and strong, but I have no issue with knowing my worth.
I’m not like little Cindy, Nico’s wife. She’s a very pretty girl who seems to suffer from an ability to make herself drabber than she ever needs to be. Cindy doesn’t understand how gorgeous she is or know how to use her looks. I don’t struggle with either of those things.
I understand that I’m beautiful. That’s not being conceited; it’s a simple fact. I am beautiful, and I have a very good figure. I’m not Helen of Troy, the way Mamma seems to believe, but I do know how to make the best of myself. I wear feminine clothes, which flatter my curves. My hair is blow dried at a salon twice a week and has turned heads all by itself.
My feet are pedicured, my nails short, but not bitten or ragged; I just prefer them shorter in length. I nearly always wear my favorite deep red nail polish when I get my gels done. Very Pulp Fiction inspired, I think to myself as I admire my hands.
Top to toe, I’m waxed, massaged, toned, tanned, and frankly, spoiled. I treat my body and face like a work of art. The canvas I present to the world. Will it be enough to make me irresistible to Matteo? I wasn’t enough before; will I be enough now?
My mother’s challenge, thrown down like a gauntlet at my feet before she left the room, rings in my mind. “Of course, you might not be able to pull this off. It’s a very difficult thing we are asking of you. Making a man fall in love with you is about more than pure beauty. Maybe the challenge is too much.”
She knows exactly how to push my buttons, and I hate that I can’t ever seem to resist her little digs and challenges. It’s more than that, though. I want my revenge on that bastard. I want to make him pay.
I might have only been a teenager when he betrayed me, but it still hurts. A lot.
The guy is a fucker. He dumped me when I was sixteen for a DeLuca sister for God’s sake. Those girls were not blessed by the pretty stick, that’s for sure. If he preferred Francesca DeLuca to me then, what’s to say he will want me now? Nothing.
God, my parents are hard faced. I still can’t believe they summoned me back to the family home to basically demand I get into bed with a man whom they’ve spent their entire lives telling me is the enemy.
Footsteps descending the stairs have me on alert. It will be Mamma. I recognize her light tread. She’ll be coming to soften the blow. To persuade me that this is for the best.
I smooth my hand over my skirt and take a breath.
“Darling,” my mother’s soft tone still manages to be imperious. Damn her.
“What?” I snap.
“This is a good idea. Don’t go getting all upset about it.”
“I don’t see how it is a good idea in any way. I shall try; I’ve said I will.” I let her see a tiny chink in my armor, even though I hate myself for doing so. “I don’t understand why you remotely believe he’ll have anything to do with me.” I cross my arms and face her. “He’s probably drowning in women.”
She laughs lightly. “Firstly, you’re insanely beautiful, but secondly, you’re forbidden. From the enemy’s camp, and if I know one thing about men, it’s that most of them want what they can’t have. And they want what they can’t have the most of all things.” She huffs. “Look at your brother. Lost his head over that silly Cindy girl. Why? Is she that special? No. She’s sweet, I grant you, and pretty enough, but nothing so amazing. Yet, she was out of bounds, and Nico decided he wanted the one thing he couldn’t have. Her. Powerful men always want what they can’t have. Tell a powerful man no, and he’ll try to subvert that. They hate being told what to do. Like little boys still. All of them.”
I’m not sure she’s right about that, but she is correct about men liking forbidden fruit. They are suckers for it. Trouble is, Matteo Mancini has already tasted me. Then I gave his best friend my virginity. So how do I make myself desirable to him again? Do I even want to? This could bring me so much heartache.
Then again, I’ve hardened immensely since I last saw him, and my desire to hurt him burns brighter than my fear of being hurt.
“How do I go about it?” I ask, curious as to how she envisions this happening.
“I’ve become friendly, as I said, with a woman named Angela who is high up in the Mancini family gossip tree; a distant relative of theirs but one who it seems has access via her friendships to some interesting inside information. We met accidentally and slowly became friends. She hates them.” Mamma laughs coldly. “I mean, Renata, she really hates them. Aldo used to always try to grope her and harass her, and she simply had to keep her mouth shut. She has been more than happy to spill their secrets to me. I happen to know that Matteo Mancini dines alone every Tuesday evening at the Carlton Bar.”
“Why alone?” I ask. It seems like an odd thing for him to do.
She shrugs. “Who knows or cares why? He does, and that’s useful for us to know. Perhaps next week, you can book a table near to his and you will also be alone. You can approach him, say something friendly, non-committal, and if he has even half the fake manners his stuck up father possessed, he’ll ask you to sit and dine with him. It’s improper to leave a lady to dine alone.”
“Erm, Mamma. Firstly, no one gives a damn about women eating alone these days.”
“They do in our world,” she insists.
“Secondly. His family was hardly stuck up.”
I don’t say it is our family who are the stuck up, pretentious ones, but she must sense it is what I’m thinking because her mouth turns down.
“Matteo is apparently a lot less uncouth in his tastes than his father or his uncle. The business is almost entirely legitimate now. The Mancini name rinsed clean and a part of the wealthy set. Even the house has been entirely remodeled since he inherited. Yes, the Mancinis are a different breed these days.”
That’s interesting. “Clifford too?” I ask. I recall Matteo’s cousin, and he always scared me.
“Oh, he’s another story. Apparently, the man is unhinged. Dangerous. Stay away from him. He doesn’t live with Matteo, and from what I’ve heard, he’s not safe to be near.”
“You make him sound like a wild animal.” I sip at my drink and study her.
Her face is unlined, thanks to her regular Botox, but her mouth is downturned as if life has been one long disappointment. Her beauty is still evident, but it’s fading slowly, as will mine one day.
“I suppose I shall be booking myself a table at the Carlton then.” I sigh.
“Take the family credit card and buy some clothes.”
I laugh at that suggestion. “Mum, I’m not Cindy. I have a closet full of the best clothes money can buy.”
“Yes, but get something new. Something super sexy yet classy. Alluring in an old movie star kind of a way. You suit that style. There’s something of a different era about you, my darling girl.”
“Why would I be eating alone in a super sexy dress? I wouldn’t do that.” I frown at her.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Renata, you wear sexy dresses to put out the garbage. You love nothing more than male attention. Don’t start acting coy now. It’s too damn late.”
“If he wants what he can’t have, shouldn’t I dress demurely. Act shy?”
“Darling. I’ve already told you to wear a sexy but tasteful dress. Think Monroe, not stripper, and wow him. Go take the card and enjoy your shopping.”
She turns on her heel and leaves me for the second time. At the door she pauses. “You might want a touch of filler in your lips. They’re naturally full, but a bit more of a pout won’t hurt, and get your frown lines done. I keep telling you, one can’t afford to wait with Botox; you must start young to maintain your unblemished skin.”
I resist the urge to throw my glass at her head as she walks away.
I won’t be getting filler or Botox, but I do text my facialist and stylist and book with them both.
If I’m going to seduce my nemesis and the one who got away, I need to look my very best.