7. Matteo
My security guardshave given me an update on Renata. My private investigator still has her on his books, but for now my security are following her every move.
Renata either regularly spends her time pampering herself, or she’s putting a lot of effort into this date. She’s been to the mall twice. The hair salon, and the nail salon. The woman spends a lot of money on herself. That’s fine. If she were mine, I’d spend a lot of money on her too. She’s like a work of art, and great works of art require upkeep.
The car glides through the streets, and they are unusually quiet for a Friday night. Sometimes, sitting in the luxurious interior of this car, I feel like I own the world. Of course, I don’t, but I own a nice big chunk of it, and soon, if all goes to plan, I’ll own some of the Andrettis fortune as well.
Sometimes, I wonder why I’m so determined to fuck them over. Why not leave all that in the past? Move on. But then I think about Nico sending that fucking attack dog of his to threaten my cousin, Bianca. A woman. That’s against our code, and it’s pissed me off ever since. Although, Aldo and Alberto shouldn’t have been fucking around with the Andretti business shares the way they were.
I sigh and scrub my hand over my face. I want to forget all of that for a while and simply enjoy spending some time with the woman who has become my obsession these past months.
I’m not driving myself tonight as I want to drink, and while a drunk driving offense is the least of my worries, I don’t want to give the police any reason to look into me.
I’ve washed our families reputation sparklingly clean, the way I launder our money, but it’s a dazzling lie on a dank underbelly of crime.
We still do very illegal things, but we simply do them much more secretively.
Yes, best not to get any police attention I don’t want. So tonight, I sit in the back of the Mercedes as my driver takes the wheel. The SUV is behind as always. My driver pulls up outside Renata’s building, and I walk to the door and press the buzzer. The man at the desk answers, and I tell him that I”m here to meet Renata and ask him to call up to her flat. Of course, I could just ring her apartment number, but I”m still acting as if I don”t know everything about her.
The man places a call, and a moment later the door buzzes open. I walk into the foyer and take a seat on the leather sofa. I brush my fingers over the material and realize it”s not real leather but vinyl. This apartment building is nice, but it”s nowhere near as opulent as I would have imagined for Renata. If she were mine, I’d never let her live somewhere with fake leather sofas.
I tap my foot as I wait for her to arrive, and when the elevator dings, I stand. The doors slide open on a silent swoosh, and Renata steps out.
Holy fuck.
I stare at her for a long beat. Wow. The time and money she has spent this week has not gone to waste. She”s not dressed up, but she overshadows a woman wearing the finest couture.
Renata stands in front of me looking like a fucking queen in jeans that hug her hips like a caress and are cinched at her waist with a brown belt. Finishing her outfit is a silky shirt, and the way it clings to her full breasts has my mouth watering. She’s undone the top two buttons, and a thick gold necklace rests at her throat.
Her belt and bag are by Hermes and amusingly costs more than her car. She walks toward me, and I take my time to admire the way her hips swing. She isn’t putting on that sexy strut—that”s all natural.
She offers me a smile and tilts her head to one side. Her hair is thick and falling over her shoulders in glossy brown waves. I want to wrap my fist in it and bend her over these fake leather sofas and fuck her. Instead, I push down the primal need and offer her a polite smile.
“Shall we?” I suggest.
“Yes, I”m famished.”
I like that about her. Renata doesn”t seem to be one of those women who claims not to like food and will only ever order a salad. Francesca was always on a diet, and her life was ruled by what she could and couldn”t eat or drink. It made going out an ordeal rather than fun. Not that we ever had much fun. Our marriage was a business arrangement and nothing else. Thank God we never had children. It would have been a tragedy to bring a child into such a loveless marriage, and for them to then lose their mother at such a young age.
Not wanting thoughts of sickness and death clouding my mind this evening, I stride to the door and hold it open for Renata. Once she”s through the apartment building doors, I jog down the steps to get ahead of her and then hold the car door open as she slides in.
Her scent caresses me on the soft breeze as she passes by, and I marvel at how every little thing about her has me on the edge of losing control. This could be a wrinkle in my plan. If I keep losing it around her, how am I going to stay cool and focused?
Fuck her, use her, bring her brother down, and discard her.
That was always the plan, but these days a part of my mind seems to be a throwback to our ancient past as cave dwellers keep saying there should be a new plan.
Fuck her. Keep her. Put a baby in her. Make her mine.
Jesus Christ, I need to get a grip.
Once I”ve taken my seat beside her, I order my driver to take us to the restaurant and try to act as if I’m not having an existential crisis.
“You look beautiful,” I tell Renata truthfully.
“You don”t look half bad yourself,” she says in reply with a cheeky smile.
Her damn perfume drives me half mad, and it fills my car as we drive. It”s heady but not cloying. It”s one of those scents that”s very distinct and warm, but in no way makes you feel sick or will give you a headache. My mother used to wear a perfume that made me want to vomit every time I rode in the car with her. It was something strong and musky. This is so different. It’s juicy, like Renata.
Her hands are folded over her lap, and I notice she”s wearing a three-diamond ring on her right hand. I wonder if that”s her engagement ring and if she”s wearing it on her opposite hand now. She doesn”t strike me as the sort of woman who would do that. She got more than enough money to buy herself a new ring if she wanted one when she got divorced. And I can”t see her wearing her ex-husband’s ring out of any sort of sentimentality.
She glances at me and then down to her hand. “It was my grandmother”s ring,” she says.
That makes sense. The style doesn”t really suit her taste, if I compare it to the other jewelry she’s wearing. The necklace around her throat is big, chunky, and modern. Her earrings are the same, and almost look like something from an art gallery. The ring is traditional, and now that I look at it again, I can see it has a vintage appearance.
“I loved my nonna on my babbo’s side,” she says.
Her words strike me as incongruous. Not that she loved her grandmother; there”s nothing strange in that. She”s saying it, however, as if her grandmother is the only person she”s ever really loved. She”s saying it as if her loving someone is an unusual thing, a rarity. I don’t say anything to her about it, but I file the information away for later.
We arrive at the restaurant, and our driver parks right outside the front door. I jog around the car and open the door for Renata. We head inside the small, warm space and the owner, Luigi, greets me enthusiastically with a hug and a slap on the back. I”ve been coming here for many years, since being a young child when my father first brought me.
“It smells absolutely delicious in here,” Renata says with a soft groan.
Although I”m aware that her groan is for the food, it goes straight to my dick. We are shown to our table, which is tucked away in an alcove by a window. It”s practically hidden from the rest of the room, which gives privacy and has a view out over the street. Not that this is an especially pretty part of town, but it”s a nice evening, and the street is tree lined. Opposite is a small cafe bar with people sitting outside sipping at drinks.
Luigi seats us and whisks away, returning a moment later with two menus. “Would you like some wine?” he asks.
“I would love a glass of Prosecco please?” Renata says.
I order a beer for now, and then we both sit in silence for a moment as we read the menu.
“What”s good here? What would you recommend?” Renata looks at me over the top of her menu.
“It”s all excellent,” I say. “I can definitely recommend the braciole,” I add.
She hums under her breath.
“The other thing they do very well is pizza. Best pizza I’ve had outside of Naples.”
Her eyes light up at that. She glances back at the menu and reads for a moment, then she looks back at me. “I love pizza,” she says. “I feel like I should order something a bit more sophisticated, but I really do love pizza.”
I laugh and shake my head at her. “Order what you want. I love the pizza here too. Why don”t we have a pizza each and share a big salad and maybe some nibbles? Maybe some olives and grilled artichokes.”
She claps her hands together lightly, and the action reminds me of a child. Something about seeing her like this, a moment of unbridled happiness, makes my heart ache a little. It makes me realize how very few times I”ve seen Renata this way.
Fuck her, use her, discard her and teach her a lesson for screwing your best friend, asshole.
Or, I argue with myself, keep her, make her mine, whether she wants it or not.
“I would love that,” she says with relish. “Seriously that”s my favorite kind of food. Little bits to pick at here and there, and then pizza as well. You can”t go wrong. I’ve always wondered why we Italians never took up the Spanish or Greek habit for a mezze style meal.”
“They do in Venice,” I tell her.
“Really? I”ve never been.”
I blink at her in mock disbelief. “You”re telling me that you”re Italian, and you”ve never been to Venice? That”s almost a crime. You should travel and see it; it”s a wonderful city.”
“One of my friends went when we were in college, and she said it smelt really bad.”
Luigi returns with our drinks, placing Renata’s fizzing glass of Prosecco carefully on the table, and then doing the same with my glass of beer.
“Are you ready to order?” he asks.
“Can we do something a little bit different than starters and mains? Instead, can we order a pizza each and then some side dishes to go with it, such as olives, salad artichokes; that kind of thing.”
“Of course, whatever you would like,” he says genially. “What pizza would you like each?”
“Margarita for me,” I say. I don”t mind a pizza loaded with all sorts of things, but the pizza here is so good that I always stick to the classic.
“Same for me please,” Renata says.
Luigi writes down the order in the small waiters pad he always carries and scurries away.
“This place is so charming and old school,” Renata says.
She genuinely means that too, rather than being snotty about the place because it isn”t upmarket; she seems enchanted.
“I love it here. I used to come often with my family. But going back to what you were saying about Venice...” I turn the conversation around to what we were discussing before. “Maybe your friend went after a storm because it doesn”t always smell. It’s an amazing place. You really should go. Where else have you been in Italy?”
“Not that many places to be honest.” She shrugs. “Maybe I should do a European tour, like old timey rich ladies. What was that film about it?” She drums her fingers on the tablecloth and then clicks them. “A Room with a View. The one where all those rich British people are traveling around.”
“I’ve never seen it,” I confess. “But a European tour would be a blast.” And suddenly, I can see it. Me and her. Traveling. No politics between us or family power dynamics; just us. Her looking so fucking delectable that every man stares at her. Me wanting to fuck her every chance I get.
I shake my head. I need to remember that I don’t know her. The time we had together as teens was years ago; she’s a different person now. Then she was a bratty teenager, and I was broody and collected, maybe a bit overly cautious too, but I also understood we had to wait. Bide our time. She was the one who seemed to be so persistent about us getting together before we were ready. Maybe that’s why it shocked me and hurt so much when she slept with my best friend.
Or maybe, just maybe,a small, insistent part of me whispers, you felt more for her than you ever admitted.
“Where”s the best place you”ve been?” I ask her, keeping the conversation light.
“There’s so many, but honestly, and I know I should lose my Italian card for this, but I like Paris the best. There”s just something so romantic about that city.”
“I”ve never visited Paris before.”
“It is wonderful,” she says. “The buildings are beautiful; the art galleries are fantastic. Of course, there”s the shopping.” She gives a small self-deprecating smile.
Yeah, I know all about how much she likes to shop. I see her credit card bills. I merely smile at her.
Luigi reappears and places various dishes on the table. There are olives, roasted artichokes, a plate of thinly sliced Italian meats, and a bowl of salad. Beside him a waitress appears and places a pizza in front of me and then one in front of Renata.
“Oh my God, we’ll never eat all this.” Her eyes are wide as she stares at all the food on the table.
“We don”t have to clear our plates,” I tell her with a smirk. “It”s not like when we were kids and we were told to eat or we couldn’t leave the table.”
“Oh, Lord, did you get the you better eat everything on your plate lecture too? Nico got that most meals.”
“You bet I did. We weren’t allowed to leave until we’d cleared our plates.”
“What kind of torture is that?” She shakes her head. “Forcing kids to eat everything on their plate when they don”t want it. It’s one of the few things I feel sorry for Nico for. He had it at many meals.”
“You didn’t?” I ask. “Did you clear your plate like a good girl?”
It’s a light, throwaway comment, but her face darkens, her blue eyes suddenly looking like deep, dark pools. “No, I didn’t. I was told to leave some of mine. I was given smaller portions than my brother because Mamma always said I was prone to being chubby.” She attempts a smile, but it’s stiff as if she’s an actress who can’t quite get into character.
What the fuck? Her parents told her that as a child? That’s a ready made eating disorder right there.
Renata shrugs. She downs half her glass of prosecco and then takes a bite of pizza. Her eyes roll back in her head as she chews. She swallows and daintily dabs her mouth with a napkin.
“Oh my God. That is literally the best pizza I”ve ever tasted. You said it was as good as in Naples, but that”s better than the slice I had in Naples.”
“I”ll tell Luigi. He”ll be over the moon with that praise.”
Luigi brings us over a bottle of white wine to go with the food, and at some point, the conversation turns more serious.
“So how have you been?” she asks me out of the blue. “It”s been a long time.”
And here we are, right back on landmine territory again.
“It has been a long time,” I say carefully. “I”ve been good; thank you. Busy. Work is always crazy, you know?”
“Not really,” she says with a hint of frustration. “I”m not allowed to work in the family business. They say it isn’t a place for women.”
“They’re not exactly wrong,” I say, risking her wrath. “It isn’t safe.”
“That means it isn”t safe for you either, or my brother, or my father. Why does it only matter that it isn”t safe for me?”
Is she being purposely dense? “Because you”re a woman,” I say.
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaims. “I”m glad you finally explained that to me. I understand it now. I was always so confused, but now you”ve made it very clear. Because I don”t have two balls and a dick, then I”m inherently in more danger than anybody else.”
I dab my mouth with a napkin and consider her for a moment.
I like feisty Renata, but I also want to spank the sass right out of her. “You do understand that if you were taken, there are things that could be done to you which would be much worse than anything they might do to me?” I fix her with a serious glare.
“See, I don”t think that”s true.” She takes a sip of wine and steeples her fingers in front of her face. I get the feeling I”m about to get a lecture. “Firstly, there are plenty of things that can be done to you which will be terrible, painful, and traumatizing. Secondly, just because you”re a man doesn”t mean you can”t get sexually assaulted, which is what I presume you are alluding to.”
I had forgotten how determined Renata can be when she gets angry about something. Not that I mind; in fact, I find it amusing. Sometimes when I was younger, it did irritate me. I was young and stupid then, though. I used to think why can”t I get someone as beautiful as Renata, but as compliant as one of the DeLuca sisters. I now understand that part of Renata’s appeal is due to that independent, fierce streak she has within her. It shines out of her and adds to her alluring appeal.
After all, there’s fun to be had in taming all that wildness.
She lifts her gaze to mine again, and in the dim light of the restaurant, her eyes look deep blue. They change so much with the light and her emotions. Renata”s eyes are dangerous. A weapon she could use to get a man on his knees for her. It isn”t just their color; they are large and almond shaped, with thick lashes that even without makeup form heavy, dark curtains that only serve to highlight the beautiful color of her irises.
“I understand what you”re saying, but you can”t expect the men in your life to be as blase about your safety as they are about their own.”
She snorts a little, and it”s so unladylike it makes me smile.
“I don”t think for one minute that the reason I”m not on the board of our family business is because of my safety. I mean, they don’t even give me security.”
“You ought to have a detail,” I growl. “I wouldn”t let a female member of our family of your standing be wandering around without security.”
She sits back in her chair as if satisfied with my answer and takes a sip of her wine. She swallows and nods. “Exactly. They don”t give a damn about me.”
Oh, my little fish, you are going to be so easy to reel in.
She licks her full lips, and I follow the motion, suddenly hungry for something other than food.
As if she”s reading my mind, her eyes widen, and her pupils darken.
The air between us seems to grow heavy and expectant.
“I”m stuffed,” she says.
“Do you want to look at the dessert menu?” I ask.
“No.”
She doesn”t give any other explanation, but the way she”s looking at me so intently makes me believe she wants to get out of here as much as I do.
I wave Luigi over and tell him we”d like the check please. I reassure him that everything was wonderful as he fusses over the partially filled bowls of nibbles. I can”t exactly admit to him that it”s hard to eat when lust is racing around your body like cocaine, but I reassure him that the food was excellent.
I pay and then we”re leaving, my blood singing with lust. “Would you like me to take you home?” I ask.
“Not really,” she says and glances up at me, a whole world of emotions swimming in her gaze.
“Would you like to come back to my place?”
“Yes, that would be nice; thank you.”
We”re both being so damn polite when the tension between us is screaming that we want to screw.
No, that’s not happening tonight. If I want to get Renata to do my bidding when it comes to her family, I need her to fall for me. She might hate them, but I believe she’ll need that extra push. I want her to fall for me as revenge for what she did to me.
That”s not going to happen if I screw her the first night we spend any time together. Or maybe it will because she”s a woman. My father always told me that women fell in love when they had sex. I don”t really think that”s true. I had plenty of sex with my wife, and she hated my guts most of the time. Not that the sex was amazing. It was like scratching the most basic itch. In the end, I got my fun elsewhere.
I’ve never felt this unrelenting driving need to be with someone, though, like I have now for Renata. The ride back seems to take forever, and I”m hyperaware of the space between us. Every rise and fall of Renata’s chest, every little movement of her fingers as she fusses with her bag, and every shake of her hair, are all things I”m cognisant of.
I realize with a jolt of adrenaline that I haven’t felt this way with anybody for such a long time. This is how I used to feel when I was a teenager, this kind of heady, all-consuming awareness of another person in your space.
By the time the car pulls up at the house, it”s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bedroom.
Instead, ever the gentleman, I open the door for her and let her into the house.
I”m also aware that we”ve entered land mine territory again. The last time she was here, she thought she witnessed my betrayal of her, and she left my gift in the bathroom before wrecking the place and storming out.
With bated breath, I wait to see what her first words will be.
“You redecorated,” she says.
She’s not wrong, but I wasn’t expecting that to be her first words in this house where so much happened between us.
“I have to say, I prefer this to all that gilt-edged stuff your family favored.” She saunters past me, her hips swaying as she walks straight into the living room and turns to me. “Are you going to fix me a drink?”
I laugh softly in relief and head to the bar. So no land mines tonight. Good girl, Renata.
I fix our drinks and wonder where this evening will go next.