Chapter 3
We rolled into Florence an hour after we’d left the mansion.
As the money man, Roberto had been in charge of the financials for Bianca’s shop. He’d looked for a location on the Via dè Tornabuoni, the most famous street for shopping in all of Tuscany. That’s where you’d find Gucci, Balenciaga, Hermes, Prada, and the like.
But the rents were sky-high, so Roberto had leased a space off the main drag – at least until Bianca proved she could succeed in the world of fashion.
Her boutique was in a piazza with a lot of foot traffic, along with shops that had a slightly funkier, more alternative vibe.
Bianca didn’t care.
“I’d work out of a cardboard box if that was the only option,” she said happily.
Of course, when your husband ran Florence and your in-laws ran Tuscany, you were gonna get significantly better than a cardboard box.
But she deserved to get her shot. Ever since Rome, she’d been working day and night with a team of seamstresses to get all the clothes ready for the grand opening.
I didn’t know anything about fashion, but even I could tell they were amazing. They looked like they belonged on the front cover of magazines.
Not only that, but a lot of really expensive fashion was just fuckin’ weird.
Not Bianca’s stuff. Hers was super feminine and really beautiful – something I’d want my girlfriend to wear.
If I had a girlfriend, that is. I hadn’t had a spare moment since I first got hired by the Rosolinis.
Hell, I hadn’t gotten laid once in the last seven months. Too busy getting shot at.
I pulled up in front of Bianca’s shop and parked by the curb.
As we were getting out of the Mercedes, I glanced at the café next door –
And froze in my tracks as an absolutely gorgeous woman walked inside.
I only caught a glimpse of her, but that was enough to set my heart racing.
Her hair was the first thing I noticed.
Almost every Italian in Tuscany was brunette, and usually dark brunette. If a Tuscan woman had blond hair, it almost always came out of a bottle.
This woman had long, golden blonde hair – and as far as I could tell, it was completely natural.
Which meant she probably wasn’t from around here.
Lots more Italian women had blonde hair in the north, up around Milan and the border with Switzerland.
I only saw her face from the side, but she had flawless skin and gorgeous cheekbones.
She also had killer curves, which I could see even though she was wearing black pants, a white blouse, and a maroon apron –
A uniform.
So she worked at the café.
I’d been driving Adriano to Bianca’s shop for the last month, and I’d never seen her before.
I was thinking about following her inside when Adriano barked, “What’re you doing?”
I glanced around to see him waiting for me, arms out like What the fuck?
I immediately walked around the car and followed him into Bianca’s shop.
Maybe I could go over to the café before we left, though.
Get an espresso, say hello, chat her up –
Who knows, maybe even get her number.
But that would have to wait, because I liked being employed.
When we entered the shop, it was like stumbling into a weird dream.
Mannequins loomed all around us: faceless, bald, curvy white statues in various poses.
Some wore slinky dresses. Some had on silk blouses but nothing on the bottom. Some were completely naked.
A couple of workers were going back and forth, arms full of clothes, hanging them on racks lining the wall.
Adriano put a finger to his lips – shhh – and the workers nodded and smiled.
In the center of the shop, Bianca had her back to us. She was looking up at Lucia, who was standing on an elevated platform.
Of all the Rosolini brothers’ new wives, Lucia was the craziest. She swore like a sailor and said whatever came into her head without any sort of filter.
I often wondered how she and Massimo had ended up together. Not just because he was a fucking giant and she was this tiny little chick, but also because he was so laid back and she was –
Well, she was a handful.
Not that I didn’t like her. Totally the opposite. She was hilarious and really friendly to me.
But she thought nothing of busting Adriano’s balls, which would normally mark her as having a death wish.
Thankfully, Adriano seemed to think it was funny. The two of them would insult each other back and forth and then break down laughing in the end.
Lucia was wearing two of Bianca’s designs – a frilly red dress with a black leather jacket – and a black and grey silk scarf tied around her neck.
“This is awesome,” Lucia said as she held her phone above her, watching herself on the screen. “My followers are gonna go nuts for this.”
Lucia was also a big social media influencer. She had half a million followers on Instagram or something.
“You think?” Bianca asked, sounding unsure. Even though she was insanely talented, she was also incredibly humble. She worried all the time about whether people would like her stuff.
Lucia was not humble, and she didn’t worry about shit. “Abso-fuckin-lutely. Can I post it?”
“If you think it’s a good idea…”
“It’s a GREAT idea.”
“What is this,” Adriano shouted as he strode through the mannequins, “fuckin’ fashion week in Milan?”
Bianca whirled around, a delighted look on her face.
Lucia burst into a huge grin. “Heeeey – it’s my sixth-favorite brother-in-law!”
“You like Niccolo better than me?” Adriano said in annoyed disbelief.
“…okay,” Lucia said with a ‘you got me’ voice. “My fifth-favorite brother-in-law.”
“What about Lars?”
“He’s not technically a brother-in-law. If he was, you’d be back to sixth.”
Bianca laughed as she ran to Adriano. He caught her and twirled her around as they kissed.
“Everything goin’ okay?” he asked.
“Everything’s great,” she said happily. “Lucia’s going to do a big social media push before we open.”
Lucia nodded. “When you open, you’re gonna have lines around the block to get in.”
“Seriously?” Adriano asked, obviously not believing her.
“Yeah, man. I got, like, 57,000 followers.”
“I thought you had half a million,” Adriano said, confused.
“I did, back when I was Principessa puttana della mafia,” Lucia pouted. “But Massimo made me change it after we got married.”
Principessa puttana della mafia meant ‘Mafia princess bitch.’
“Probably a good thing you changed it,” Bianca said.
Lucia snorted. “My grandmother thinks so. Which means it’s a bad thing.”
“What are you now?” Adriano asked.
“Principessa puttana della moda.”
Fashion princess bitch.
“That’s not a big improvement,” Adriano said in a deadpan voice.
“At least I’m not advertising I’m in a mafia family anymore.”
“Okay, I take it back,” Adriano said. “It is a big improvement.”
“I’m glad my fifth-favorite brother-in-law approves.” Lucia looked past Adriano and over at me. “What up, Gorgeous George!”
I sighed. “Could you not call me that?”
“Don’t worry, Massimo won’t beat you up.” She clasped her hands to the side of her face in a parody of a love-struck schoolgirl. “He knows he’s the only one for me.”
“Awesome. Can you still not call me that?”
“Why not? It’s a damn sight better than Curious George.”
I frowned. “Who’s Curious George?”
“A monkey in little kids’ books. He follows around a man in a yellow hat.” Lucia suddenly clapped her hands. “That’s what you need, Adriano – a yellow hat! Then Giorgio can follow you around and be Curious George!”
“I’m not wearing a fuckin’ yellow hat,” Adriano snapped.
“Not even if your wife makes it?”
Bianca played along and gave him sad puppy eyes.
“Not even then,” he growled.
Lucia looked at me and shrugged. “Guess you’re stuck being Gorgeous instead of Curious. What’s he got you doing today – puttana duty?”
“Lucia!” Bianca scolded her.
“What?! It is what it is. No use sugarcoating it.”
“That’s what I said!” Adriano shouted as he pointed at Lucia.
She nodded somberly and winked. “Great minds think alike. So, how many ladies of the night are you talkin’ to today, G.G.?”
“…G.G.?” I asked, confused.
“Gorgeous George. Keep up. How many?”
I shrugged. “As many as I can fit in before dinnertime, I guess.”
Lucia frowned. “Why dinnertime?”
“Oh my God!” Bianca said, clapping one hand over her mouth in shock. “I forgot about my parents!”
“See, that’s why they like me,” Adriano smirked. “Because I remember dinner with them when their daughter doesn’t.”
“I’ve been busy!” she protested.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Jeez, calm down.” He turned back to me. “Remember – pick us up at the apartment at 6:30.”
Adriano and Bianca had a ritzy penthouse apartment in one of the most expensive buildings in historic Florence. They’d gotten it specifically because it was close to Bianca’s new shop.
“Oooh – can I come to dinner, too?” Lucia asked.
“No,” Adriano said flatly.
“Why not?!”
“‘Cause I want her parents to keep liking me.”
“See? You keep that up, you’re gonna be back to sixth-favorite brother-in-law.” Lucia looked at me. “Well, Giorgio, I don’t want to keep you from your whores.”
“Lucia,” Bianca snapped.
“Jeez, it’s like my grandmother’s right here,” Lucia said, then called out to the rest of the store, “Where are you, Nonna? I can hear you, but I can’t see you!”
Bianca rolled her eyes, then turned to me. “Don’t be late. You see what I have to put up with.”
“Yeah,” Lucia said, “a marketing genius.”
“Six-thirty sharp,” I promised Bianca with a smile.
“You two keep doing Milan Fashion Week,” Adriano said. “I’m gonna talk to Giorgio for a second.”
Lucia waved. “Say hi to your whores for me, G.G.”
“Lucia!” Bianca yelled.
Lucia looked around again, like she was searching for someone. “Nonna?! Nonna, where are you?!”
As the women traded quips back and forth, Adriano took me to the front of the store and held out three thick wads of cash wrapped in rubber bands.
From past experience, I knew that each bundle had 5000 euros in 100-euro bills.
“I’m probably not even gonna need one of them,” I said, “much less three.”
“Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it,” Adriano said as he handed me the money.
I stashed it inside my jacket. “Hope springs eternal, I guess.”
“For my brother, anyway.” He meant Don Rosolini. “Go cover Isolotto today.”
“Okay.”
“And see you at six-thirty.”
“You got it, boss.” I looked past him and called out, “Ciao, Signoras!”
“Ciao, Giorgio!” Bianca replied.
“Don’t fuck any whores!” Lucia yelled. “Not unless they’re really good-looking! But wrap your jimmy! We don’t want any little Gorgeous Georges running around! Not unless you put a ring on it!”
I shook my head as I exited the shop…
And decided to make a quick detour for an espresso.