Chapter 4 Charlie #2
“Let me be clear, Principessa,” he snarls, his voice showing hints of danger. “My brothers and soldiers are off limits. They’re not toys for your amusement. If you want fun, buy yourself a pretty little vibrator to fuck, or if you think you can handle it, come find me. But LEAVE my men alone!”
With a scowl, Luciano pushes away from me, shoving me aside like I’m nothing but an irritation. His boots thunder against the pavement as he storms towards the mansion, leaving me breathless and slightly drenched. What just happened?
“Come on,” he snaps, his impatience cutting sharp. “Ho cose migliori da fare che farti da babysitter.” I have better things to do than babysit your ass.
I scramble on my feet, stepping in rhythm beside him as my eyes sweep over the mansion in front of me, my dress blowing gently with the breeze.
More soldiers stroll along the driveway and two more stand guard at the front door.
All the soldiers nod to Luciano as he leads me through the heavy oak doors, their creak announcing my arrival.
Inside, the vast foyer opens, polished marble floors gleam under the weight of the crystal chandelier, sparkling like a million stars.
The wealth of the Carlisi family, on full display at the front door, leaves me breathless.
It’s crazy to think this could all be mine in a year. I twirl around, taking it all in.
Luciano veers sharply to the right, and the air grows thick with the scent of herbs and roasted meat as we near the kitchen.
A hive of activity can be heard. There, standing with the command of someone who’s seen it all, is an elderly woman.
Her silver-white hair pinned back flawlessly, as she’s deep in conversation with the chef.
Without turning, she speaks with a calm, steady voice to us.
“Luciano, my dear, is that Charlie with you?”
My eyes snap wide open, disbelief anchoring me in place. I stare at her, searching for some clue. Luciano takes that as his cue to leave and strides out of the room without giving me so much as a glance or responding to this lady.
“Wait,” I blurt out, holding my hands up in the air. “How did you know I liked being called Charlie?”
She taps the side of her nose, as if that alone explains everything. Taking my hands in hers, she squints closely, as if trying to peer through me, and murmurs, “I can feel the Carlisi blood in you.” I’m not quite sure what to make of that.
She shakes her head like she’s trying to get rid of a bad smell and smiles. “I’m Rosa, sweetheart. If those boys give you trouble, you come find me. They might put on a tough front, but I’m not afraid to put them in their place.” Her hand pats mine gently, like a mother soothing a child.
I smirk. “Does that include Luci?”
Rosa shakes her head softly and steers me away from the kitchen, back down the quiet hallway. “Don’t close your heart to Luciano so quickly, my dear.”
“What?”
She ignores my response. “That is Pietro, our chef,” she says as he waves hello to me and continues to prepare dinner. She ushers us out and gestures to the room beside us. “This is the formal room.”
I peek inside to find a blend of old and new. Plush velvet sofas sit against walls draped with rich tapestries that whisper the family’s long history. Yet the space feels undeniably modern, a seamless blend of tradition and today. She moves us along the hall.
“This is the dining room,” Rosa says, pride in her voice. “The chef has dinner ready by seven sharp every night, unless he has been asked to delay it.”
The room is enormous. You could easily sit thirty to forty people in here. A sleek mahogany table stretches beneath the contemporary chandeliers, its surface set meticulously with gleaming silverware and fine china. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the perfectly private, maintained gardens outside.
“Who comes here for dinner?” I ask, curiosity pricking at me.
“All the boys, my dear.” Rosa pats my hand once more to signal we’re moving on.
“All the boys?” I press, but she smiles and ushers me to keep moving, like we’re wasting precious time.
The next room on the ground floor meets us with a library. Towering shelves of books reach up to the roof, a mix of old and new, neatly organized in rows. My eyes gape. I’ve never seen this many books in one place other than a public library.
Across from the library stands a set of double doors. “What’s in there?” I ask.
“The office,” Rosa says quietly. “You can see it another day. If the door is shut, Luciano’s not to be disturbed.” Curiosity chews at me, but I keep quiet, letting her guide me further into the mansion. “Down that hallway,” she points ahead, “you will find the gym, media room, and billiards room.”
“Seems like we have it all here,” I laugh.
Rosa guides me up the grand staircase in the foyer, its wrought-iron railing twisting upward like a dark ribbon, both elegant and imposing. I can’t help but run my fingers along it as we ascend.
“The master suite and west suite are this way,” she says, gesturing to the right, “but your room is to the left, in the east suite.”
“Was the master suite my mother’s?” I ask hesitantly, looking down the right hallway towards the master suite.
“Yes, it was. We haven’t touched anything in there since she left.” Her eyes glaze over slightly, but she shakes her head and pushes the feeling back down.
I wonder why not, but don’t dare to ask out of insincerity.
When she pushes open the double doors to my room, I hesitate at the threshold of the east suite, taken aback by the sheer luxury that unfolds before me—it’s nearly bigger than my entire apartment.
Velvet drapes hang heavy around the windows, a fireplace in the corner, and an adjoining balcony offers a view over the sprawling estate.
As I step into the walk-in closet, my breath catches at the layout—but the shelves are glaringly empty, a stark reminder of where I come from.
The bathroom is a sanctuary of indulgence. A freestanding spa bath overlooks the estate, with a large shower with twin heads that transforms into a sauna, and a makeup desk bathed in perfect lighting.
“Thank you, Rosa. This is… too much,” I sigh, turning towards her. This suite is every girl’s dream.
She smiles softly. “Just call if you need anything, dear.” She turns to leave, but curiosity pricks at me again, halting her at the door.
“Whose room is that?” I point across the hall to a slightly ajar door, although I can’t quite see through the gap.
Warmth flickers in her eyes. “That’s Luciano’s.”
“I thought I’d be alone in the mansion,” I exclaim, surprise sharpening my voice.
“No, my dear. Luciano’s lived in that room for twenty-three years.”
“How old was he when he moved in?” I ask.
“Thirteen. Your mother took him in shortly after she returned to the family estate.”
A storm of emotions crashes inside me: hurt, confusion. She had left me, yet raised someone else. Why didn’t she want me? Was it because I was a girl and not a boy she clearly wanted?
“How old is he now?” I ask.
“Thirty-six, my dear.” Ten years older than me. I can’t believe he’s lived here and with her for twenty-three years.
I feel myself becoming more desperate for answers. “What happened to his family?”
Rosa’s face darkens ever so slightly. “That’s not my story to tell.” She turns away and retreats down the hall before I can ask anything else.
Alone and unsure what to do, I wander through the mansion’s vast hallways, taking in every feature from the intricate moldings, family portraits, to cutting-edge technology found in nearly every room. Laughter drifts from down the hall. Drawn to the sound, I find myself outside the billiard room.
“Come in, Red!” calls a familiar voice.
Cautiously, I push the door open and slip inside. “How did you know I was there?” I ask, slightly startled when I notice Mattia isn’t alone.
“Because he’s an assassin. He heard you coming from halfway down the hall,” a man I haven’t met says without looking up from his tablet, his fingers flying across the screen.
His words are met with a glare from the other two in the room before they say, “Stai zitto.” Shut up.
Mattia’s voice cuts through the room, and my eyes land on him over near the pool table. “Red, meet my brothers: Gabriele, Stefano, and Carlo. You already met Luciano,” he says, pointing at each man with his pool cue.
I nod at the familiar names, but these men are vastly different from each other, like pieces from a different puzzle that just don’t mesh.
Stefano is a fraction smaller than Carlo, but only just. His black hair streaked with silver hints at years of hard-earned experience.
His beard is meticulously trimmed, each hair in place, like he’s got a personal barber on call.
There’s a quiet discipline about him. I’ve met the type before; a man who thrives on order and control.
I glance back at Mattia, curiosity bubbling up. “Why are you calling me ‘Red’?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of me.
He chuckles, the sound like a blade twisting in the dark. “You’ve got my older brother seeing red like I’ve never seen before,” he says, eyes razor-sharp as he tilts his head to the side. “Hell, you might just rock the redhead look too.” He winks, now pouring himself a drink.
I head towards the massive bar at the back.
Scanning the shelves, everything seems to be old or expensive—I guess wealth and power can buy you anything you want.
I grab a bottle of vodka, my usual go-to drink because it’s cheap and used to be the only thing I could afford, and pour myself a shot.
I down it without hesitation, letting it burn down my throat.
“So, how are you brothers? You look nothing alike,” I ask, pouring another shot.