Chapter Two
For twenty-eight hours she and her team worked. Nothing would be missed. Determined, committed, she fretted over her final choices for her collection. Her line had been inspired by autumn’s seasonal colors she’d often watch bloom out of her bedroom window over the rolling hills of Virginia. It had better translate well for her showing.
Fabiana’s voice rose above the chorus of staff members buzzing around half-clothed models and cosmetologists. Each one marched to an explicit directive from Mira on how they were to serve the needs of her big event. Through it all she remained frazzled and over sensitive when mistakes or accidental mishaps occurred. The last thing she needed or desired was Fabiana ‘her bossy best friend’ Girelli inserting herself in the midst of pandemonium.
“Where is she?” she heard Fabiana’s voice crack like a whip over the apologies of an assistant. Mira cut her gaze away. On her knees with pins in her mouth, she hand stitched a ruffled hem that unraveled along the train of the evening gown.
“Mira! What are you doing? Let Eduardo or Angelique handle the retouches. We don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be in hair and makeup.” Mira glanced up. Her vision blurred a bit, and her stomach rumbled. She’d survived on 3 to 4 hours of sleep at a minimum. The day of a show often became this melodrama between them. Fabiana would harp on how she needed to be cared for, and Mira would escape her tyranny to tend to the necessities often forgotten before her clothes graced the runway. Food, even grooming herself, all came in second to last on her list of priorities.
“Drink this. You look like death!” Fabiana held out a cup of coffee.
Mira ignored the order. After she added the ruffle, she wanted to revisit the straps and loosen them a bit to ensure the fabric fell low around Zenobia’s breasts.
“You’re going to make me hold you down and pour it down your throat.” Fabiana half-teased. Mira knew that her friend wasn’t opposed to trying. “If you don’t eat or drink something, you won’t be standing by the time Zenobia hits the catwalk. Now do it.”
Mira glanced up. She was pleased Fabiana had worn the dress she made for her. It was a tangerine linen summer dress with a low back line, which crisscrossed with a multitude of tiny straps in a web-like design. The front of the dress had a scoop neckline and plainly slimmed out her curves with the hem rising two inches above her knees. She liked the understated look that turned sexy when her friend walked off and a person caught a glimpse of her backside. It complimented the multifaceted layers of her friend’s personality to a tee. Fabiana’s hair flowed in scarlet waterfall curls and bounced on her shoulders.
“Enough!” Fabiana stomped her foot in protest. She tossed her locks and scanned the crowd for someone to seize. Mira continued to sew the inseam of the train.
“Angelique!” Fabiana barked to one of the better seamstress. “Finish this hem, please.” Fabiana reached for Mira. Spitting the pins out of her mouth into Fabiana’s hand, she sulked as her friend passed them off to Angelique. With no other choice available, she allowed Fabiana to help her rise.
“Look at you!”
Mira lowered her gaze down to her khaki pants and all white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the bend of her elbow. Her hair had undergone a hot press and curl earlier but she had smoothed her tresses into a ponytail.
“Once again my designing diva looks more like an apprentice instead of the brilliant starlet she is.” Fabiana frowned at her disapprovingly. “The show starts in less than an hour, and you aren’t dressed!”
“Stop talking so loudly. I have a headache.” Mira accepted the cup of cappuccino. The roasted bean aroma opened her senses. She inhaled deep before taking a swallow of the scorching bitter liquid. A shot of espresso is really what she needed.
“Let’s go, and I mean now, Mira.” Fabiana gave her a gentle push. They passed models lined up in studio chairs getting their makeup and hair done. She walked through the heavy black curtain heading to her trailer with Fabiana on her heels. Behind her she could hear her friend speaking through the headset clamped down on her head like a pair of iron earmuffs. Mira flung open the door and suddenly her frustration had a name. It was her bossy friend coming between her and what could be the critical minutes of work to be done before the show. She had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from voicing her anger. Besides, the fatigue had depleted her of energy. She craved sleep, though it wasn’t an option. She had another four hours of preparation to look forward to, though her runway event would last no more than twenty minutes. And when it was all said and done, her fate as the new international sensation would be decided.
She wanted to throw up.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that in front of my staff again,” she grumbled.
Fabiana nodded, “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you say. Are you hungry?”
“Don’t patronize me!”
“Mira,” Fabiana removed her headset. “I don’t have time for this shit. I know you’re stressed, but it’s my job to get your ass in line, to keep this operation from falling apart. So drop the attitude okay?”
She groaned an apology, which Fabiana waved off. “You’ve been wound so tight since we got to Milan you’re going to make yourself sick. I’ve checked and triple checked everything. You and I both know there isn’t a garment out there that you couldn’t find a flaw with. Trust in what you’ve created.”
Mira pulled her shirt over her head, turning she walked toward the back of the trailer intent on washing up and appeasing her friend. “You know what they said about my fall collection last year Fabiana.” She called out from the bathroom running the water. “That bitch Gale Greene and Henry Sutherland had the nerve to call me stale, unoriginal. One of them said my collection had no harmony.”
“Two critics hated your line while the other sixteen loved it. True to form you would only focus on those two hacks. You need tougher skin. Not everyone is going to love what you do. If enough people in the industry respect your talent, it validates your work.”
“It’s not just that they didn’t love it.” Mira stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “They said Kei was the only reason I had a place in New York. Well, his money was the only reason. Now, we’re flying solo and that bitch in Variety put it on the front page. Everyone is going to be critical. If we fail, they will say it's because Kei and I are done, and—.”
“Oh who gives a shit what the supposed ‘they’ think? Sweetie, the bottom line is Kei could write you a million dollar check, and if your designs suck, they suck. You and I both know what you do is fresh. It’s innovative and so is that killer ass runway show we got planned. Did we get this far doubting ourselves? Hell no. This time you will knock them on their collective asses! And I promise to make sure that bitch at Variety does a retraction!”
Mira appeared from the back in her bra and bikini panties brushing her teeth. “Did you make sure Zenobia tried on the apricot chiffon dress again? This morning I touched up the waist, she’s lost more weight.”
Fabiana nodded. “Yes. Zenobia’s got all three dresses fitted.”
Mira headed back to the cramped bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. The phone rang inside the trailer.
“I’ll get it. You hurry up and finish dressing so I can work on your makeup and get you in the chair to do something with that pretty hair of yours.”
“Fabiana Girelli speaking,” she said.
“Ho bisogno di te,” A deep yet smooth voice whispered through the receiver. The underlying sensuality of the words spoken to her made her heart flutter. It was Lorenzo. He said he needed her. How did he get the number inside of Mira’s trailer? She was certain the man on the other line was him. The call couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Being needed is what she thrived on. After they parted she was a bit disappointed over the brief time they spent together. Now he was calling? It had been several days since she last saw him and she hadn’t even had the chance to thank him for helping them.
“Hello?” Lorenzo said.
“Hi. How’d you know it was me?” she asked, feeling her cheeks flame hot with a blush.
“I’d know your voice anywhere,” he answered.
Fabiana sat in the small booth seat. She couldn’t help but smile. “You say that to all the girls.”
“You look amazing in that dress. Bellissima!”
Immediately her gaze flashed upward. “What?”
“Bellissima? It means very pretty…”
“I know what it means.” She exhaled a nervous chuckle. She hustled out of the booth seat and pulled the phone cord over to the window. She drew it back and scanned the people bustling about. “Mira and I wanted to thank you and your family for having the doors to our boutique reopened. You saved us a lot of grief. I called and… well you didn’t call me back.”
“Forgive me. There’s been a lot of business to tend to recently. It couldn’t be helped.”
“You’re here?”
“Yes, I’m here. You’ve been working, so I decided to wait.”
How was that possible? Security was gridiron tight. She should know, she paid a fortune to keep Mira’s designs under lock and key. No one was allowed in or out without her approval. And he was there, watching her? “Where are you?”
“The phones outside your tent. I want to take you to dinner tonight, afterwards.”
Fabiana looked over to where she could hear Mira dressing. “I can’t. I have this press-op to oversee and the after party. Why don’t you come?”
“An invitation, to another man’s club?”
“It’s a party I’m throwing. Surely you can make an exception this time?”
“I think I can.”
“You’ll need VIP passes to get in. I can get them to you.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “That won’t be necessary, a presto.”
“Bye,” she said, and the phone clicked off.
“Who was that?”
Mira held out for the small chance Kei would call to wish her good luck. She peeked out at Fabiana. Her friend’s face was red as a tomato. Fabiana looked like she’d explode into a rainbow of happiness. She jumped up and stomped her feet shaking her head in triumph. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“He called. That’s what! Wait a second, what are you wearing?” Fabiana frowned.
“Who called?” Mira tucked the blouse into her slacks. She’d chosen a neutral color of bone for her business suit.
“Never mind that. I left a dress in there for you to put on.”
Mira looked down. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Stop with the games, and put the dress on.”
“For Christ’s sake, Fabiana, I can’t walk around in that thing!”
“You designed it!”
“It’s a party dress! I can’t –”
“You can’t work in it? Exactly my point.” Fabiana dropped her hands to her hips. “The work is done. Now I need you to shine like the designing superstar you are. Please with sugar on top. Put it on.”
Mira threw her hands up in defeat. She marched to the back of the trailer to change. “Who was that on the phone?” she called out.
“Lorenzo. He’s coming to the after party.”
“Oh? Did you tell him thank you for helping us with our store?”
“Yep, and he wants to celebrate!”
“Oh goodie!” Mira sassed. She found the dress Fabiana had chosen and froze. A Spanish style emerald-green glamour dress she had decided not to include in the collection. The top fit like a corset and would push her breasts tastefully upward. This corset however had ties to either side instead of the back, which was done to accentuate a trim waistline. The hem of the dress was raised higher in the front above the knee, with ruffled slips of chiffon underneath to give it a whimsical flow when the person wearing the garment made a step forward or backward. It hung silkily low to the back in a train of fabric that swept across the floor. She could object. Fight with Fabiana until they were both hoarse and stressed to the limit. Or she could concede and get the hell out of the trailer and back out into her operation before her line was called to grace the catwalk.
She gave in.
Mira slipped the dress on and did her best to tie the corset strings on either side. She eased her feet into three-inch high heels and stomped out.
“Brava!” Fabiana clapped.
“It’s too much and you know it.”
“This line is going to take Milan by storm, and you will be an even bigger success! You need to dress like one. When Kei picks up the morning paper in New York and sees you on the cover dressed like this, he’ll finally call you and beg you to reconsider. Isn’t that what you want?”
The question hit her hard in the throat. Her stomach clenched over the mere thought of Kei trying to force another proposal on her again. No. She didn’t want him back. She just wanted to know he didn’t hate her, and he didn’t think she used him for her success and abandoned him. Maybe someday they could be friends.
“Now, about this make up.”
“I can let one of the makeup guys do it.” Mira groaned.
“Nonsense, no one can do your makeup like me. Sit down.”
****
The techno swing beat thundered around the audience and nervous designers backstage. Statuesque models over six feet tall climbed up a set of small stairs to the runway. Mira checked the girls lined up for the final display of eveningwear. Each model sported the very best of her creative expression with their hair styled in a 1920’s motif with deep finger waves. Some over accessorized with long waist length pearls and orchids behind their ears.
Zenobia, a six-foot two model from Ethiopia would be crowned the darling of Italia. Mira dressed her in an apricot and golden yellow, flat shift dress with a wide circular neckline that stretched past her collarbone circling her shoulder blades. A wide belted trim gathered the material tightly just below her hips, allowing three chiffon ruffled layers to flow just above her knees and drift to the back of her calves. She flipped the rest of the style by making the top so sheer you could see the dark points of Zenobia’s nipples and adding iridescent golden stones in the fabric to give a sparkle from every angle.
Proud of Zenobia’s beauty, she stepped back nodding. The model winked and took to the runway. The roar of applause from the spectators let her know that the audience loved it. Mira glanced over her shoulder for Fabiana who appeared magically at her side. Her friend put a protective arm around her, and they embraced.
“You did wonderful, sweetie.”
“We did it, Fabiana. Without you at my side, I could never pull this off. I love you.”
“I love you too. And I got the easy job. You my dear are the visionary!” She kissed her cheek. The models from her line began to circle to do a final runway walk, and Mira wiped at the tears she held back. Her dreams had become a reality. Each time she successfully launched a collection felt like the first time. This was her passion.
Fabiana patted her on the back. She gave her a gentle push, and Mira grabbed Zenobia’s hand to step out on the runway with her after the last piece of her collection returned. The crowd seated on both sides stood, clapping once she headed down the shiny catwalk with Zenobia at her side smiling.
Camera bulbs flashed and clicked at every side of the runway causing her to blink, and her heart pounded. This part of the show was hard to do when all the focus narrowed in on her. Zenobia let go of Mira’s hand allowing her to strut down the runway alone. Mira sashayed the rest of the way, the train of her dress moving fluidly behind her, catching the breeze with each step. Tossing her long curls she smiled and blew a few kisses at the press and some fellow designers she recognized.
Once she neared the end her eyes locked with the bluest pair in the room. He sat front and center watching her. He wore all black, even his tie. It had to be close to eighty degrees, but he looked untouched by the humidity. His dark hair was tapered low to his ears and a wave of thickness was combed back from his face. And his eyes. Jesus, the man's eyes were as blue as rain. Even from the elevated point of the catwalk she couldn’t get past his eyes. Mira’s steps slowed, and then she stopped. In this crowd of celebrities, dignitaries, the richest of the rich, he claimed an air of authority. Those around him, and it had to be at least seven men seated, all wore tailored black suits like his. Mira swallowed down a breath and felt her heart hammer hard and fast in her chest. She tore her gaze away from his beautiful stare and shifted it to the stunningly gorgeous raven-haired brunette at his side. What is she nineteen, twenty? This woman should be on the runway not her. She had the same devastatingly blue eyes, and golden olive skin. A burn of envy for how she sat next to Giovanni broke the spell he cast over her and severed the glimmer of attraction they shared. Was she a girlfriend, or worse, his wife?
Lorenzo leaned in and whispered something in Giovanni Battaglia’s ear. Neither man looked away. They were definitely discussing her. As if she were in a display window and Giovanni was deciding whether to make the purchase. A man seated behind him touched his shoulder and Giovanni nodded. He stood. Her breath hitched in her throat. He extended his hand to the brunette and the woman accepted it graciously. Together they turned and walked out. He never glanced back. Lorenzo followed with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the clapping and camera flashes returned her to reality.
Realizing she lingered far too long at the end of the runway, she gave a slight bow, and blew a few kisses to her audience, before turning and heading back. Hurrying down the steps behind the curtain, she nearly collided with Fabiana who was making a beeline to her. “What happened at the end of the runway?” her friend whispered, concerned. Everyone behind the curtain applauded her for a job well done.
“Huh?” Mira asked confused.
“At the end of the runway you froze. Something wrong?”
Mira blushed, “I did? It must have been the lights.” She walked off to thank her models and staff.
****
The circus behind the curtain came to a close. Several head designers gathered in a conference room to do a Q&A with the press. Once it concluded, they filed out exhausted. Fabiana saw to the business of securing their equipment and garments to be shipped back to Naples. Mira wandered through the thinning crowd headed for her trailer. She daydreamed throughout the interviews of how wonderful it would feel to release the ties to her corset and shed her dress. The sun had set and the after parties in Milan were in full swing. She needed to put her feet up before making her appearance then retire for her much anticipated vacation.
“Signora?”
Mira turned and was greeted by a dozen long stem, blood red roses held together by a black silk ribbon in his hand.
“Yes?”
“Signore Battaglia wishes you congratulations.” A very handsome young man said.
She accepted the flowers. The man gave her a single nod then turned and strolled off. Mira inhaled the flowers and the strong aroma filled her with a slight buzz. Reaching in between she pulled out the tiny card. She struggled to open it retrieving the card.
Bella,
I am sorry for the unfortunate way we met. I wish to reintroduce myself properly.
You are as talented as you are beautiful. Congratulations on your success.
I look forward to getting to know you better as we conclude our business.
Giovanni
“Wow. They’re gorgeous!” Fabiana gushed walking up behind her.
Mira spun around holding the card, confused. “Business?”
Fabiana took the card from her and read it. “Giovanni? Lorenzo’s cousin? What business do you two have?”
“I guess he wants a thank you for helping us?”
Fabiana smirked. “Uh oh, how do you plan to show your gratitude?”
Mira laughed. “Please. Not that way,” she rolled her eyes, shoved the flowers on Fabiana and walked off.
****
Nephenta
The in-town nightlife buzzed with the excitement of a thousand honeybees. Each side of the narrow cobblestone street was congested with models and other beautiful wealthy people enjoying Milan in springtime. The private after party thrown by Mirabella Couture was an all-white affair and the ladies had dressed accordingly. Her best friend chose to wear a white halter, jersey material dress that clung tightly to her curves. Oh, how Mira tired of dresses; she’d been on her knees for weeks working on one design or another. This evening she wore slimming white jeans that molded her backside, thighs, calves and complemented how athletic and shapely they were. A wide white rhinestone leather belt looped around her low-waist jeans with a slant at the rise of her hip as if she was a futuristic gunslinger. Her sleeveless white top slimmed down snug to the waist to give her breasts an appealing lift.
They were late. Fabiana had to help her press out her hair. She needed to look fresh and revived for the fashion critics awaiting her arrival. Her hair was silky straight, parted down the middle. Her smoky earth tone eye-makeup and lip-gloss enhanced her natural beauty tastefully. She accessorized with oversized rhinestone hoops and matching bangles.
“So did I mention that Lorenzo was coming?” Fabiana asked. The driver navigated his way along the single lane road to deliver them to their event.
Mira smiled. “Yes, you did.” She stiffened remembering the woman she saw Giovanni with, and sobered the spark of interest burning in her chest. And to think she flirted with the two-timing jerk. What did his brunette wife think of him kissing her hand?
The car stopped. “You want me to ask about his cousin? The man did send flowers.”
“Oh good grief. Please don’t. Our business with the Battaglia’s is done.”
“Hey? You sure you’re okay? You seem tired. I promise we won’t make it an all-nighter.”
“Thanks. I really am wiped out.” Mira sighed. A slender long fingered hand eased inside the car to assist her with exiting.
“Wait.” Fabiana grabbed her arm. “We keep our deal.”
“Which deal?” Mira yawned.
“Two weeks’ vacation starts tomorrow. Everything is set. The team has assembled in Napoli, and Angelique is going to deal with the American offices to handle all of the orders. Let’s do Tuscany; really get the feel of Italy. We’ll get you rested and ready for business, and after today it’s just us having a bit of fun. You need it sweetie, and to be honest, I do too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mira nodded. After the past four weeks she craved a break. Solace and solitude sounded so yummy to her now. The wine villages in Tuscany would be great. She and Fabiana talked about taking a few cooking classes, too. The possibilities of waking up and sketching her designs under the Italian sun made her giddy with excitement. Oh yes, she wanted this vacation most of all.
Careful in her four-inch heels, Mira eased out of the car like a lady and shed her fatigue. They entered the club both wearing warm smiles. The place looked fabulous! Illuminated by the large blue lanterns hanging from the drop ceiling, the décor mainly consisted of white walls and white floors with electric blue tables and chairs. The dance floor had a checkered white and blue pattern and a bluish colored, mirrored disco ball spinning above it.
Music blared from a wall to floor speaker system. “Wow, you did a great job.” She yelled back at Fabiana who followed her closely.
“Thanks, sweetie. Just promise me to have some fun. You do remember how?” Fabiana yelled in her ear over the music.
Mira smirked. Carole Montague, a rival, and fellow designer, rushed to her and kissed both sides of her face. The haughty Susie Chu, a fashion critic from China who used to date Kei and who wrote an unfavorable review of the event before it started, trailed her. Susie glanced her way but didn’t smile. Carole gushed over Mira’s show. They chatted up the event and the fantastic designs that graced the runway before promising to do lunch in New York if she returned this year.
“C’mon, I think Armani’s here. Let’s go say hello.”
“No. I can’t. I want a drink and to unwind first. I’m going to the VIP for a bit and sit down. Where is it?” She glanced around.
“No, Mira. Business first.”
“Please greet everyone for me. I’m just not in the mood for the crowds.”
Fabiana studied her for a moment. She relented. “Go ahead, I’ll bring him to you. The top level has several sections roped off. Security will take you to ours. Over there.”
Mira glanced to the left of the club. She squeezed Fabiana’s hand before pushing her way back through the crowd. Several people stopped her as she passed, congratulating her. The head designer of Deveraux kissed her on both cheeks. She smiled graciously and made small talk. Finding an opening she escaped with the promise to meet him on the dance floor. Nothing was marked off or designated for her section. There would be no escape this evening so she might as well make the most of it. She headed toward the bar.
“A martini, three olives, extra dry,” she said while nodding to someone who went on and on in Italian about her show. Mira blushed over the flattery and waited patiently for her drink. Accepting it, she moved away from the crowded bar, sipping, careful not to spill a drop. The music tempo changed to American rap and she grew even more tired of the atmosphere.
“Can you? Per favore? Follow Signora?”
The deep commanding voice spoke clearly above the music behind her. He spoke directly in her ear so he could be heard over the music. Her head turned and tilted back at his towering presence. She was reminded of the popular series she watched a couple of years back, The Incredible Hulk. Except this man wasn’t green. He was darkly tanned and gorgeous, with the body of a giant. The alcohol lingered on her tongue and she swallowed. Her voice came out weak and unsure. “Excuse me? Follow?”
“Venire… this way.”
He gave a nod to the roped off destination she intended to make her way to. She frowned at the giant’s attire. His dark suit was a striking contrast to everyone around her who wore white. Then it dawned on her. He must be the security Fabiana hired. “Oh, yes, I was looking for our section. Fabiana sent you to find me?”
The man blinked at her. He didn’t appear to speak English that well. A woman passed by them really close, taking the time to run her hand over the giant’s arm. She referred to him as Nico. He ignored her. His hand swiped left and forced three to four people to stumble back with a squeal of protest. He had cleared the path for her. No one dared challenge the blatant rudeness. She noticed the stairs he wanted her to climb. She nodded and headed in that direction.
Careful of her martini, she ascended the velvet blue staircase.
Fabiana kissed Armani on the cheek and said goodbye. The crowd had thickened to the point of claustrophobia and she had to turn sideways to escape those clamoring for ten seconds of the designer’s time. Just as she emerged she felt a large calloused palm capture her hand. Her head turned to offer a polite refusal of the unwanted touch, only to find Lorenzo staring down at her. She had to blink to be sure it was him in the dim lighting of the club. But how could she miss those eyes, and that strong determined handsome face of his? He wore all black to her all white party. Fabiana shook her head smiling. Gently he pulled her through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor to an open space.
“I found you.”
“Yes, you did. I had hoped you would.”
She made sure to leave his name at the door. But when she glanced down he wasn’t wearing the card that would grant him access to all the private levels. She glanced around at the security and wondered how again he had made it in without being stopped.
“Really?” His dark brow arched.
“Of course. I’ve been in your country for four weeks now and only seen you once.”
Lorenzo smiled. “Let’s change that. Tonight you and your friend should come to my villa, Lake Como.”
“Tonight? I don’t think we can.”
The strong arms circling her waist drew her in closer and his palm slid down the curve of her backside. It was a bit forward for him to touch her so intimately so soon, but pressed against his hard frame with his jeweled eyes shining down on her, she couldn’t summon an objection. “I want to know you better,” he said softly before brushing her lips with his, then licking her gloss from his mouth as if it were honey. Fabiana raised her arms around his neck. Fuck it, why not? She rose on her toes because he was indeed that tall and brought her mouth up to his. Parting her lips she intended to entice his tongue to slip inside. He tasted of mint, and the feel of his hand easing slowly down her hip sent shivers of excitement up her spine.
“Mmm, okay. I have to convince Mira,” she grinned.
Lorenzo brought his mouth to her ear and kissed it before he spoke. “Trust me. I think she’ll agree.”
Mira scanned those gathered. She didn’t recognize the faces staring back. None of the familiar people who frequented her circle of friends were present. Most of the ladies were in white, but the men weren’t dressed appropriately. Their dark suits separated them from all the others.
“This way.” Her escort said in an exact firm manner, which drew her attention to the opposite side of the roped off room. Two menacing looking men stood on either side of the table where Giovanni Battaglia waited. His gaze travelled over her face and searched her eyes to see if she would join him. Her curiosity as well as her vanity was aroused, silencing the warning voice in her head. The men seated at the table with him rose as if it were expected. Two of them silently walked away. The third stepped to the back of his section and stood silent. Mira forced her legs to move. When she reached the table, he stood to greet her.
“Ciao Bella,” he smiled. The pronunciation of the word was near perfect. The man had definitely lived abroad. She was grateful that she didn’t have to struggle with an interpreter for this conversation, but even more nervous that despite her strong willed personality she saw no way to avoid a sit down with him. Giovanni extended his hand. She extended hers. He again kissed her knuckles tenderly. He lifted his eyes to hers, and the firepower made her cheeks warm. “Please,” he said gesturing for her to sit.
The wait had been far too long. He’d sat in the noisy club for nearly two hours before his men told him that she arrived. He sent for her over twenty minutes ago. It was ridiculous! Then she appeared. He’d never seen a woman make white look so damn sexy. Those pants of hers were painted to her curves and the rhinestone belt made her hips sparkle as she approached. Her smoky brown eyes fell upon him, and he was captive again. This he liked. It was a bit more subdued than the flash and glamour he saw walking down the catwalk. Don’t get him wrong, he liked her sexy dress, but preferred a woman of her caliber not reveal so much cleavage and legs to an undeserving audience. If she were his woman, he’d never let her flaunt for others what was his only.
There appeared to be a problem with his greeting. She didn’t look please to see him. In fact her smile was thin, and she hesitated with her martini before she even accepted his hand. It made him a bit nervous. And Battaglia men were never nervous. Had she not received his flowers?
Nico pulled out her chair and she sat, placing her martini gingerly on the table, causing the olives to stir in the cloudy drink.
“You sent me the flowers?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Why?”
A soft chuckle escaped him. “This is different. I’m rarely questioned by a woman as to why I would send her flowers.”
She cleared her throat. “What I meant to say is I owe you gratitude.”
His brow arched.
“I know you helped us gain access to our building. I appreciate your assistance.”
He gave her a gracious nod. She swallowed and her gaze darted everywhere but his face. In a moment she would rise and end their meeting. He felt the decision brewing inside her. “I make you uncomfortable?”
“Your note did.”
“How so?” he asked.
“You said we had unfinished business? Other than the favor asked, I don’t know you.”
“But you do. We met.”
“Briefly.”
He tried to understand the reason for her open hostility. “Why are you so distrustful? Have I done something to offend you?”
She looked a bit thrown, then recovered. Her pretty eyes lowered to her martini when she spoke. “No.”
“And the flowers?” he asked. “Were they upsetting?”
“No.” She said in a flat tone. Her gaze returned to his and lingered before she spoke. “The flowers were beautiful.”
“Like you.”
A hint of a smile touched the corner of her glossed lips. “Let me guess, you summoned me because you’d like for me to design something for you and your wife, Signore Battaglia?”
Giovanni chuckled as he lifted his wine glass. Her gaze fell upon his ring and lingered. It was his father’s ring. At its center an onyx stone with a gold letter B in the middle. “What makes you think I have a wife?”
“I saw her. She was quite lovely, and young.”
“I’m not married. I have tailors if I want a suit, and she doesn’t need me to negotiate a dress.”
A waiter returned and offered to refresh her drink. She declined. He ordered his brand of malt, and the man slipped away. There was laughter from a neighboring table. Carlo and his boys were a bit loud. She glanced over causing her sparkling earrings to sway lightly. It gave him the opportunity to study her. She was different than most women. She possessed a gentle calm that mixed in with her beauty. Every man in the room had to lift their gaze when she passed by. He should have had this meeting with her much earlier. After all, she occupied a building that was rightfully his. Mancini was at the bottom of the little coup. He was certain of it. If the old Sicilian Don weren’t a needed ally in Sicily he’d send him a message for interfering with his affairs. But Giovanni was painfully aware of how men looked upon him and his leadership because of the mixed blood in his veins.
Her curious round brown eyes returned to him. “You don’t have an accent. Not as heavy as everyone else, are you—”
“My father is Sicilian and my mother is Irish.”
“Oh.”
She sipped her drink but again she averted her gaze. He’d prefer she look him in the eye the rest of the evening. There were moments when she came across bold and assertive and others when she was shy and uncomfortable.
“Why did you ask to see me?” she asked.
“I enjoyed the show and wanted to know more.”
She smiled. “Oh. I see. You want to know more? Sorry, I don’t entertain strange men.”
Giovanni smiled. “Good. I’m not like those other men,” he said softly.
“That’s right your entourage is quite intimidating. Makes you important doesn’t it?” She asked the question with a sexy smirk. He couldn’t hide his approval in his smile. He studied her lovely face a moment before he answered.
“Am I?”
“Care to explain how you open doors closed to me in Italy and why?”
“No.”
“Oh, c’mon, give a girl a hint. Who are you? Why did Francesco scurry away when you found us in the hall?” she chuckled.
“I’m not sure what kind of explanation you need.”
“I’m new here,” she began. “I’ve heard things about the men of southern Italy. Good and bad. I’m just trying to understand why you look at me the way you do. Why you sent me flowers and summoned me? What is it you expect Signore Battaglia?”
“I’m a simple business man. I’m also a man.” He leaned forward keeping her within his gaze. “A man who knows what he likes. And I have to say Bella, I like you.”
The tense frozen smile on her face and shock in her stare pleased him. She was delicate, but there was fire there. He sensed it. He caught a hint of a smile form over her luscious lips. And suddenly the spell was broken. She collected herself and spoke to him in a direct challenging fashion. “I missed the Italian gangster movie genre, exactly how does this work? Am I supposed to fall to your feet and be flattered that you’re interested? Do I even have a say or will I be tossed in the Amalfi with bricks strapped to my feet if I reject whatever offer I’m sure you plan to make for helping me regain access to my building.”
“Gangster? You Americans and your imaginations. Just because I’m different than you doesn’t make ne nefarious.”
She blushed. She glanced to Renaldo who stood behind him and then lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Giovanni chuckled. “Hardly. I do find it interesting that you feel the building is yours. It’s a lease no?”
“Yes, but our solicitor—.”
“It’s only a lease.” Giovanni said firmly.
Mira sat back. “What are you saying?”
“Protection, security, these are things you will need, Bella, so nothing unfortunate prevents you from conducting business in our lovely city. An investor like myself can prove to be quite useful.”
She paused at the sweet endearment, and he knew she understood what bella meant.
“So your help comes at a price? You want in on my company. No. Absolutely not! This ends here. Do you understand? I want you to stop harassing me.”
“It was you who noticed me if I recall.”
“I didn’t.”
“As much as I would like to make this personal between you and I, we do have business. If you won’t accept my offer to invest, then here is the final deal. You can continue to lease the property with a modest fee for my inconvenience, and I will have full access to the canals beneath your building that run out to the Amalfi coastline. The doors to the cellars in your building will remain under lock and key at all times. Are we clear?”
She blinked at him, a bit thrown by his frankness.
Satisfied, he relaxed his posture. She however, didn’t. This one wasn’t prone to hysterics. Her silence was as much of a warning as the sharp tongue she used when she sat down. He really did find her appetizing.
“How long does this celebration of yours last? I’d like you to join me for a late dinner,” he said.
“No, thank you.”
“You enjoy rejecting me?” he asked amused.
“That surprises you? I think you just threatened me.”
“It’s a first.” He dismissed the comment of his threatening her. If he’d threatened her, she’d know it. She picked up her martini, took a long swallow, and placed the glass back on the table slowly. After a deep inhale of a steady breath, she spoke in that soft voice of hers. “Mr. ah, Signore Battaglia, I understand things are done differently here. I owe you nothing including access to whatever you think is beneath my building. I want you to stay away from my business and me or I will… I’ll contact the authorities.”
Giovanni’s brows lowered.
“I’m serious.”
“I wish you would reconsider. I’m really harmless, until I’m disappointed.”
“It was nice meeting you. Buona sera,” she said rising from her seat.
“Prego. We’ll meet again Bella, and soon,” he said raising his glass and toasting her.
The harsh uneven rhythm of her breathing made her exit less graceful. Still she straightened her spine and walked from his table without looking back. He didn’t try to conceal who or what he was, and she’d known a few dangerous men. Maybe he wasn’t a mobster but she knew a shady person when she met one. Kei had a checkered past before he became the King of Wall Street. And the men he dealt with in business were more ruthless than any Mafia kingpin. Every now and then she’d meet some former clients of his at a party or social event she accompanied him to, and he’d dismiss the dark sinister leers she’d get from these men. Giovanni Battaglia didn’t leer at her. His stare held more warmth than she knew what to do with. But he had made his wishes clear, and that did piss her off. Who the hell did he think he was to try to intimidate her?
In spite of her vow not to look back, when she reached the stairs, she gave a parting glance over her shoulder. He was lighting a cigar and exhaled a stream of smoke when his gaze lifted and connected with her. Two men who stared her way as well had joined him at the table. He spoke to one of them, and the man nodded with his eyes locked on her. Mira passed her empty martini glass off to a passing waiter and quickly went down the velvet steps. Fabiana was off to the side of the dance floor with a deep blush to her pale cheeks, and her large green eyes blinking up at Lorenzo. She marched directly to her friend.
“I must borrow my friend for a moment.” She pulled her away gently. Lorenzo nodded.
“Having a good time?” Fabiana grinned.
“Looks like you are.”
“I have some great news—”
“I don’t. We need to get out of here and talk. I just met—”
Fabiana grabbed her by both hands and shook her head hard. “Listen to me first. We’re going to start our vacation by the lake. Lake Como.”
“What?”
“Tonight. We’ll leave tonight and have so much fun. Ready to go? We need to pack.”
“Well… I…”
“C’mon.” Fabiana blew a kiss to Lorenzo and pulled Mira toward the door.
“Wait, I haven’t said a thing to the guests. Shouldn’t I?” Mira asked.
“The party can go on without us. They barely know what they’re celebrating. Let’s get out of here and pack. We have a car to pick us up in an hour.” She could barely object as her friend dragged her out of the club. She tried to explain about Giovanni Battaglia’s demands. Fabiana laughed. Said he’s a businessman trying to cut a deal. She’d handle it. Mira sighed inside of the chauffeured car and figured she’d reserve the sobering questions for when they were sunning at the lake. She’d also give Teddy a call to look into the lease agreement. Gangster or not, Giovanni Battaglia’s request didn’t seem like one she could ignore.