9. Who Is She?
"Who Is She?"
Alfonso Vitale ran a tight ship. He wasn’t with the bullshit, though he’d never use such foul language. He despised vulgarity as much as he loathed athletic wear and abrupt changes to his daily schedule.
Both were present in the entrance hall, which he’d ordered cleaned less than an hour ago.
“Who is this and why is she asleep in my manor?” If Alfonso’s scowl deepened, it would’ve been in his hairline already receding from age and stress.
He was simply too old for this shit.
Alfonso knew well that the ten-bedroom property near the heart of Catania’s historic center was a far cry from the country home captivating his dreams every night.
The 21,000 square-foot building was more of a compound for questionable activity, but Alfonso had standards.
Standards that left little patience for unexpected guests and shoes scuffing his marble floors.
Scemo was many things—ungroomed and a fool as his name suggests—but reliable wasn’t a trait he possessed.
It was missing, along with his common sense, which never made it past puberty.
The twenty-three-year-old spent more time emulating rappers than paying attention to orders from higher-ranking foot soldiers.
His stupidity would likely get him killed one day. Showing up at Sir Bennici’s house carrying an unknown woman in his arms would do it.
“I picked up the package they told me to get,” Scemo said, like the response made perfect sense. The tiny braids attached to his scalp must’ve been too tight. Or maybe it was the gold chain around his blue-and-white gym suit.
Alfonso’s nepitella tea and brioche with granita would have to wait.
He desperately needed his afternoon break, which was clearly slipping away.
Unapproved alterations to the schedule he managed, without Sir Bennici’s prior consent, disrupted the efficiency he prided himself on since first stepping into the role twenty years ago.
It could also mean his death—and he’ll be damned—though he doubted Sir Bennici would send him on an all-expenses paid trip to his kill container.
There was trust between Alfonso and his employer who was young enough to be his son.
Sir Bennici appreciated his attention to detail, overseeing the Catania property and the staff to keep the grounds pristine.
Alfonso was grateful to the Scilari for giving him a second chance at life after a tragedy that should’ve ended his.
Alfonso eyed the woman whose head rested against Scemo’s chest. Her parted mouth dangled drool over the polished floor that was buffed to catch reflections, not bodily fluids.
“Who is she?” Alfonso ran through the many faces Sir Bennici hosted for an evening, two if he didn’t grow tired of the temporary companion in his personal space. Each one was stunning, but none arrived in public wearing a worn shirt with a bear on it or a bright pink bonnet.
Scemo shared a story where he met a small team at the airport and retrieved a woman absent from Alfonso’s daily notes.
As the butler of the self-proclaimed manor, Alfonso dealt with every issue as it arose.
But a woman cradled in Scemo’s arms in such hideous attire prickled the hairs in his clay hue.
Alfonso had witnessed the ordinary and the unthinkable in his time, but never an unconscious woman who arrived at this property.
“There was a team to escort her. They worked with contractors, outside men,” Scemo revealed, shifting the woman in question in his hold.
“Outside men?” The furrow in Alfonso’s tented gray brows deepened. “Who said for her to travel sedated?”
Why was she unconscious in pajamas?
Who requested her to come to the manor?
Why wasn’t he notified?
These were all questions Scemo should’ve asked before taking this mystery woman into his care.
Scemo was an idiot to the highest degree.
The headache behind Alfonso’s temples intensified. He’d never question Sir Bennici’s affairs, but he would not be an accomplice to any situation that could detonate in his face.
This woman here in the manor was a ticking time bomb.
“All I know is what I heard from Marco, who told Tony, who told Luiggi to tell me the boss called for her delivery,” Scemo said. “Maybe she can’t fly well and needed something in Napoli for the trip.”
“Napoli?”
It was then that Alfonso remembered the woman Sir Bennici had scheduled to spend the weekend at the manor. A woman who’s a day early and improperly dressed. Did whatever men in Naples not give her time to pack?
Her ownership of a mirror was questionable.
“Is this Bianca?” The woman snorted in her sleep at Alfonso’s question.
She was beautiful. Full, heart-shaped lips. Brows with a soft arch. Deep lashes fanned across her cheek. The delicate lines of her face shifted into a pout, but there was no rival to her smooth, golden-brown skin.
“I didn’t get a name.” Scemo winced at Alfonso’s glare. “I was told ‘dine pretty,’ whatever that means. Want me to ask around?”
Alfonso had never killed a man but knew how to make one disappear. No one in the organization would lose sleep if Scemo vanished. Except for his mother, who was a fine cook.
“Take her to Sir Bennici’s quarters immediately. This poor woman will probably complain when she wakes. Babbu!“ Alfonso’s Sicilian rebuke carried up the steps behind Scemo.
Bianca wasn’t one of the women from Eden and was special enough for Sir Bennici to send for her. Alfonso’s employer never mistreated any of his companions, but he was…cold. Many assumed he was heartless, but Sir Bennici cared below the layers of steel to guard himself.
Alfonso made a mental note to call the physician, just to be safe. Sir Bennici was away handling business after another failed attempt to break into one of his facilities. The coincidence of Bianca showing up at the manor initially raised concern, but could it be fate at work?
Sir Bennici did not deserve to be so hardened after years of turning himself off to the world. Perhaps Bianca and her wild bonnet would temper the quiet beast that was just a man who needed love.