Chapter 8
I called Adriano’s cell. When he answered, I said, “I’m here.”
“How’d it go? You get any takers?”
“No,” I said in a neutral voice, “but one of them said some things you probably need to hear.”
I could practically hear him frowning over the phone. “What kind of things?”
I gave him a quick rundown of everything Luna had told me.
When I was finished, Adriano sighed angrily. “Great.”
“And there was something else.”
“What?”
“I ran into a couple of drug dealers from le Piagge.”
He sounded pissed. “What?! I told you to go to Isolotto!”
“I did.”
There was a brief pause as Adriano did the mental calculations.
Isolotto was a good eight miles from le Piagge.
“…what the FUCK?!”
“I know.”
“What’d you do?”
“Broke one guy’s nose and sent the other one packing.”
“Jesus… okay, tell me EXACTLY what happened.”
After I was through, Adriano muttered, “Fuck. Alright, not another word of it tonight. I don’t want to bother Bianca with this bullshit.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll be down in five minutes.”
“…five?” I said dubiously, but with a dose of humor.
Bianca was chronically late, even by Italian standards. She always had to make sure her outfits were immaculate.
“Make it twenty,” Adriano grumbled.
Thirty minutes later, the doorman opened the door for them to walk out onto the street – but Bianca looked gorgeous, as always.
I looked at her admiringly as I opened the rear passenger door for her.
Man, ALL the Rosolinis’ wives are beautiful.
Although, for my money, there was a certain barista I knew who could give them a run for their money.
I drove to Fiesole, a rich neighborhood to the north. It was the same place I’d taken Adriano, Massimo, and Lars the night that Mezzasalma killed the Agrellas and burned their mansion down.
A month ago, Adriano had bought Bianca’s parents a very nice house with a spectacular view of Florence. That was where we were heading.
I pulled the car into the circular cobblestone drive in front of their front door. A beautiful stone fountain, probably a couple of hundred years old, trickled water like a stream.
As I opened Bianca’s car door, her parents came out of the house.
“Paperotta!” her father cried out happily.
‘Paperotta’ meant ‘little duck’ – a cute childhood nickname, most likely.
Bianca kissed her parents, and they hugged Adriano.
Then Mr. Lettieri smiled at me. “Come in, come in!” he said as he slapped my arm affectionately.
I liked the Lettieris a lot. They were good people who never put on airs. Even though I was their son-in-law’s employee, they always welcomed me into their home just as they would any other guest.
I followed Bianca and Adriano into a beautiful foyer with high wooden ceilings and tiled mosaic floors. Mr. Lettieri shut the doors behind us.
“You look so pretty!” Mrs. Lettieri said to her daughter as they walked arm in arm. She plucked at the material of Bianca’s dress. “Did you design this one?”
She laughed. “No, Mama, I bought it.”
“Everything going well?” Mr. Lettieri asked Adriano.
“Can’t complain,” he said with a smile.
Adriano was a totally different guy around his in-laws. Always chill, never moody or angry.
Mrs. Lettieri looked at me apologetically. “We’ve only set the table for four, I’m afraid – ”
“It’s fine,” I reassured her. “I’m working.”
“I know, I know – but we have a place set for you in the kitchen. Same food as us – have as much as you want, including the wine!”
“He’s driving,” Adriano said with an arched eyebrow. “So he can have a glass.”
I grinned. “You got it, boss.”
Mrs. Lettieri showed me to a fancy kitchen with brand-new appliances. There was a table in the corner with small plates and bowls filled with delicious-looking food. There was also a bottle of sparkling water and a newly opened bottle of wine – good stuff, too. The Lettieris weren’t holding back.
A housekeeper in a starched black dress and apron stood nearby. She looked to be in her mid-40s.
“Agnese will take care of you,” Mrs. Lettieri said with a big smile. “If you need anything, just ask her.”
“Thank you, Signora.”
“My pleasure.”
Mrs. Lettieri walked out of the kitchen, and I heard her join her husband, Adriano, and Bianca in the dining room.
“I have to serve them dinner,” Agnese said. “You alright?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said as I took off my jacket, hung it over the kitchen chair, and sat down.
While Agnese took the first course into the other room, I filled my plate and tucked in. I was starving.
It was all traditional Tuscan dishes: gnocchi asparagi e pancetta (gnocchi pasta with asparagus and pork belly); tomato, basil, and cucumber in a vinaigrette dressing; white bean and escarole soup; and Florentine butter chicken.
The food was very good. Not as amazing as Caterina’s, the kitchen girl who had married Valentino – but that wasn’t a fair comparison. I’d never tasted anything as delicious as Caterina’s cooking.
And the wine was damn good. I savored my one glass, sip by sip.
While I ate, I heard laughter and bits of conversation from the other room. A lot of talk about Bianca’s boutique… when it would open… how the Lettieris were settling in… that sort of thing.
As they did every time I saw them, Bianca’s parents expressed their gratitude for the new house. Adriano modestly said he was just glad they liked it. He also told them they were welcome to drop by his family’s mansion anytime they wanted. “Just call me first so I can let them know you’re coming.”
At some point, the conversation became a bit more… ‘delicate,’ I guess you could call it. Mr. and Mrs. Lettieri became very careful about what they said and how they said it.
“Is there any more news about… you know… changing up the family business?” Mr. Lettieri asked.
He meant the Rosolinis going legitimate and getting out of organized crime.
“Our plans changed a little after my brother Roberto went to Hong Kong,” Adriano said. “He had a falling out with our business partners over there.”
‘A falling out’ was one way to put it.
The way I heard it, Roberto had been taken prisoner by a bunch of Hong Kong gangsters. He escaped, then came back and threatened to blow them all up – himself included – if they didn’t give him back his money.
Which they did.
Pretty fuckin’ badass of him.
On the outside, Roberto was a quiet guy –
But it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to worry about.
“Are things still on track, though?” Mr. Lettieri asked.
“Well, we’re not involved with the Hong Kong company anymore, so the timeline’s probably going to change. But it’s still Dario’s number one priority to get us out of the family business and into something new.”
Part of me wondered if that would ever happen – and what would happen to me if it did.
But there was no use worrying about it. I had no control over the situation. Those kinds of decisions were way above my pay grade.
I knew that whatever happened, Adriano would take me with him.
But… to be honest… I didn’t really want them to go straight. I’d never seen a bunch of men so good at what they did.
And while things would be a lot easier on them if they went legitimate…
It’d kind of be a damn shame, too.
I ate until I was stuffed, then hung out in the kitchen drinking sparkling water.
Everybody in the other room kept chatting through dessert and brandy.
Finally, 10 o’clock rolled around and Adriano said they needed to go. “I’ve got an early meeting with my brothers tomorrow morning, so we need to get home.”
Huh.
That was the first I’d heard of that.
Mr. and Mrs. Lettieri kissed their daughter goodbye, hugged their son-in-law, told me it was good to see me, and then walked us out to the car. As we drove off, they waved before going back inside.
Bianca and Adriano sat close in the backseat, her head on his chest as he wrapped one arm around her. They talked in low murmurs and occasionally laughed as I drove back down to Florence.
When I dropped them off at their building, I held the door open for Bianca.
“Goodnight, Giorgio,” she said with a warm smile.
“Goodnight, Signora.”
“Hey babe, I’ll see you inside,” Adriano said. “I just need to tell Giorgio a few things.”
“Alright, but don’t be long,” she called out as the doorman helped her into the lobby.
Once she was gone, I asked, “You’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning?”
“We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to tell my brothers everything you told me earlier about the prostitute and the drug dealers.”
I stared at him. “Don Rosolini, too?!”
“Relax. He doesn’t bite.”
“When did this get planned?!”
“Right after you called me, while I was waiting for Bianca to get ready.” Adriano started walking towards the doorman. “8 AM tomorrow morning – sharp.”
“You got it, boss,” I said, then got back in the car.
As I drove home, I was a tiny bit nervous – even though there was no real reason to be.
Don Rosolini had always been kind to me. He’d never been pissed off at me – nowhere near as much as Adriano, anyway. And I wasn’t afraid of Adriano.
But Don Rosolini was an imposing man. He had a way about him that commanded respect.
Plus, it was sort of like meeting with the CEO of a company when you were down at the bottom rung of the ladder.
You’re NOT at the bottom of the ladder, I reminded myself. You’re his brother’s lieutenant – the right-hand man to the capo of all of Florence.
After that, I calmed down a bit.
I got back to my apartment. It was in the historic district, too, about ten minutes from Bianca’s shop.
It was a nice place. One bedroom, a luxurious bathroom, a huge living room, new leather couches, glass tables, and an 80-inch TV on the wall.
Bianca had helped me decorate it, adding a few touches of color here and there: framed art prints on the walls, a light blue comforter on the bed, and some plants that made it feel more homey and inviting.
“So you won’t scare off any women you bring back here,” she’d joked.
Which I’d appreciated immensely.
Once I was undressed and lying in bed, I thought of a certain beautiful blonde…
And decided I would go see her as soon as I could.
And maybe, if I got lucky…
I might bring her back here.
Hopefully sooner rather than later.