La Vita Dolce Ch. 02

The limousine pulled up to the exclusive Hotel Lord Byron in Rome. Natasha was gazing out the window at the once patrician villa when a short balding man in a sharply tailored black suit practically dashed to open her door, even before Alejandro could get out of the car and open the door for her.

Reaching inside he handed Natasha out of the plush leather interior. "Signora Pezzini..." he gave a curt nod of his head, beaming at her.

"James." Natasha corrected absently looking up at the hotel. "Signora James."

"Of course. Whatever you wish." The man looked supremely anxious and not a small bit nervous. She had little doubt that his unease had everything to do with her illustrious last name, Pezzini. "My name is Bernardo Valeriani." His English was heavily accented but impeccable. "I am manager here." He was tense like a child's windup toy as he was fidgeted.and wiped at the perspiration that had broken upon his brow with a white silk handkerchief.

Natasha started up the steps Bernardo trailing slightly behind, Alejandro following behind at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

"Should you need anything...anything at all, you need only to ask, Signorina James."

Natasha smiled wanly in mild amusement. "Thank you Signore." She said, "I am most grateful. My uncle, I am sure, is very thankful as well."

Signore Valeriani's face relaxed visibly and Natasha gave him a genuine smile, feeling sorry for the man, as they stepped into the luxurious lobby.

"My room?" she asked looking around.

"This way. I will show you myself." Signore Valeriani said with a grin.

They followed the manager to the elevator, which rose smoothly to the top floor.

"The suite." Valeriani said proudly as he unlocked ornamental door to her room.

Natasha stepped into a room that was the size of the apartment that had belonged to her and her father in New York. The room was opulently decorated. It radiated privilege and wealth despite the clean lines and almost overt simplicity. The room was immaculate, attention to detail evident in its presentation.

"You will find that there is all you require in the hotel," Bernardo said, watching Natasha walk into the bedroom to see the canopied bed with its suspended deluges of blue satin-silk drapery and Murano art glacé chandelier. "You can charge whatever your costs to the Pezzini account. Everything is covered."

"That is very liberal of you," Natasha commended.

"The generosity belongs to your uncle. But I am pleased you like it."

"Very much so." She said still gazing around. She didn't see Alejandro fish a 100-euro note from his pocket and slip it into Bernardo's palm who quickly ducked out of the room as though he couldn't wait to escape.

For a moment Natasha stood silently comprehending it all. Although she was not unaccustomed to wealth, she was unused to such obvious displays. It reminded her vaguely of living in a museum.

She walked out onto the terrace. Two young men sitting in the café across street the looked up, raising their champagne glasses, with adulation smoldering in their eyes. The sidewalk cafés along the vast Italian street were teeming with people of all walks of life, Italians taking it all in their stride. Rome remained the glittering city of her memorable fantasies.

"Natasha," Alejandro gestured for her to join him on the sofa.

She sat in the chair opposite him across the coffee table.

He removed his sunglasses and he leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. His gaze seemed to penetrate her.

She shifted uncomfortably.

"This is important and I want no mistakes or histrionics from you." He said his voice grave. "Don't leave the hotel without informing me of your whereabouts. Don't tell people where you are staying. You must be careful...who you speak to, who sees you, and never..." he paused. "Never, mention that you are Renoldo Pezzini's niece." His eyes bored into her, dark and intent. "Do you understand?"

Natasha said nothing, just looked at him skeptically. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile.

She started as Alejandro's open palm came down on the coffee table between them with a loud smack.

The smile left her and her brows drew together ominously. "I understand." She said softly.

He stood and strode to stand beside her chair. She glared at him and rose to stand toe to toe with him, not willing to give the advantage of height. They held each other's gaze neither one willing to budge. He reached up and tenderly traced a finger over jaw line before bending and pressing his lips to hers. His arms came around her and crushed her against him.

Natahsa's insides twisted in alarm and with a groan she pushed him away from her, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. He stumbled backwards laughing. There was little mirth in the sound. It was dark and malicious, causing a fission of fear to streak up her spine.

Before she could protest his hand shot out and pulled her roughly against him. As one hand tightly circled her waist the other came up and took hold of her chin. His grip was firm, almost painful. "Don't play games, Natasha. It will only get you hurt and cost me my job."

He viciously crushed his lips against hers and neatly sidestepped the upward thrust of her knee before flinging her down into the chair. He then pulled a fat envelope from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table. He then produced a sleek chrome-looking cell phone and set it on the table. "Everything you need is in there. I'll be in touch."

Without another word he spun on his heel and strode from her suite, slamming the door behind him. Natasha sat speechless, caught between ice and hellfire with indignation. She felt like crying or throwing something. Rather, she snatched up the envelope with trembling fingers.

Inside was a thick stack of euro notes and no fewer than four different credit cards. She drew forth an Italian passport. She opened the laminated cover and was surprised to see her own face looking back at her. Under name it said Natalia Pezzini. She snorted in derision and tossed it onto the table. Her uncle had always thought her name so...un-Italian. The last thing she drew forth was a smaller envelope. A set of keys and a letter were its contents. Carefully she unfolded the letter to read the smooth scrawling script:

Bella Mia Natalia, I am much aggrieved I could not meet you upon your arrival. I am extremely busy at the moment and though I would love to see you, it is not possible at the moment. I will return as soon as possible. Until then, I trust Alejandro, your old friend, with your well being. Perhaps this gift will barter for your forgiveness.

With Much Love, Your Uncle

She let the letter drop to the carpeted floor and studied the keys. A BMW, nice. Her suitcases had been set by the door by some unseen bellhop. She dressed quickly in a black leather jacket over a black lacy camisole and white satin slacks then breezed out of the room.

***

"Miss James! Where are you going?!" Signore Valeriani walked swiftly after Natasha as she was making her way out of the hotel.

"Out." She said simply not bothering to hide her annoyance. She handed the keys to a valet who quickly hurried to retrieve the car.

"But your uncle-"

"Is obviously out of town and I have no intention of sitting in my hotel room 'til he comes back."

Mr. Valeriani wrung his hands in agitation. "Perhaps I should call Alejandro. He would be happy to escort you."

Natasha whirled on him, angry. If there was one thing she inherited from her mother it was the famous Pezzini temper. "Absolutely not." Her tone was frigid. "You will do no such thing. I will not be kept in my room like some grounded little girl. You tell Signore Montelli anything of the sort and I will tell my uncle that you blatantly disregarded my wishes." She stomped down the hotel steps leaving Signore Valeriani to stare after her. She felt a slight moment of remorse—she'd probably caused the poor man a minor coronary—s but quickly brushed it aside.

"What shall I tell your uncle?!" he called after her, voice cracking with stress.

She waved a dismissive hand not bothering to turn around. "Don't tell him anything." Signore Valeriani seemed faint at the idea.

The valet had brought up a gleaming black BMW Z8 with smooth red leather interior. Sitting in the driver's seat, Natasha slid her hands over the steering wheel with an almost feline purr of contentment.

Signore Valeriani watched in dismay as she drove away.

***

Natasha managed to acquaint herself to the Italian way of driving and found a parking spot along the Via Condotti , the high fashion street and shopping Mecca for those who worship the god of exclusive clothing and accessories, among many other Jags, Porches, Beamers, and the occasional Ferrari.

She had just stepped onto the sidewalk when she felt eyes on her. Not unusual; Italian men were never discreet in their attentions.

"Natasha is it?"

Natasha whirled. The man from the airport stood there looking at her one hand tucked into his pocket. The other grasped a black Armani shopping bag. His face lit as a grin of covert amusement animated his lips. He was stunning with piercing grey eyes, dark, precariously coaxed back hair and unfettered shoulders.

Natasha winced inwardly as she felt her heart do a flip in her chest and did a mental eye roll at her reaction to the man. She wasn't going to get excited over some stranger, she decided.

"Yes?" she said uncertainly.

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Gianni Angiolini." There was only the tiniest hint of an Italian lilt to his voice. She tentatively slipped her hand into his.

"Natasha James." She said.

"Il benvenuto a Italia, Natasha."

She grinned. "Grazie."

His eyes met hers. Deep cerulean eyes stared back at him and for a moment he could not remember what he had planned to say. Giving himself a mental shake he smiled a dazzling smile. "I know I have only just met you but was just finishing up here. Would you care to accompany me to dinner?"

Natasha looked about hesitantly, as though she feared someone might see them.

"Perhaps you are busy? Some shopping perhaps?" he asked his voice softening.

Natasha shook her head and smiled. A mischievous look crossed over her face. "No." she said looking around. "That would be great." She looked up into Gianni's face.

"Great!" he said. He had not realized he had been holding his breath for her answer.

"My car or yours?" she asked nodding her head at the BMW on the curb."

He raised his eyebrows. "This is your car?"

She crossed her arms and cocked her head looking at the car. "I guess you could say that."

He walked around to the front of the car and passed a hand over the hood. "It is a lovely car," he said looking at her, "but here in Italy, a gentleman drives."

Natasha lifted one ebony brow. "It that so?"

Gianni came to stand in front of her and smiled down at her. "It is so." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Natasha hesitated. Going off with a strange, although attractive Italian man? Her uncle would freak. Alejandro would lose it. Natasha smirked at the thought and took his arm and they strolled past stores like Versace, Giorgio Armani, Boss, Prada, and Benetton... until they came to a stop next to a sleek black Jaguar convertible.

"Nice car." She complimented looking at it admiringly.

Gianni grinned as he opened the door for her. "Signorina." He then got in himself and they sped through the streets of Italy to come to a halt in front of a 15th century building; Vecchia Locanda it was called.

A man in a perfectly tailored suit strode out of the restaurant and opened Natasha's door. He greeted Gianni enthusiastically by name in Italian then led them inside. The restaurant was softly lit and they were seated in a quiet corner.

They talked about the sights of Italy, the cuisine, the shopping...Natasha carefully avoided talk about her life until Gianni asked of her reasons for coming to Italy.

Natasha self-consciously brushed her fingers over her arm. Gianni frowned and discerned the beginnings of the bruises of fingertips upon her skin. His eyes moved to her face and he then noticed that her lips were slightly swollen. Grimacing, his thoughts flew to the man at the airport and he was immediately livid though he carefully kept his anger under wraps, and schooled his features into an appropriately subdued expression. He was about to question her when she answered his previous inquiry.

"I was born here." She said with a delicate shrug, "My mother was born here but she married my father, an American."

"And they moved to America?"

"Not until I was ten." She said.

"Did you ever come back?" he asked leaning his chin on his hand and studying her.

"No." she said with a touch of bitterness, her lips thinning slightly. "My mother's family did not approve of my father, nor did he approve of them. So I've never been back, until now."

His speculative gaze roved over her face. "Why did you come back?" He caught a flicker of pain in her eyes before it was quickly veiled.

"My mother," she said hesitantly "died two years after we left. It was a complete freak accident. The brakes failed and she ran a red light. With mom not around anymore, my father severed all ties with her family. He didn't even try to keep in touch with her family here. I didn't hear from my uncle for years. In fact I was practically raised to hate him." She looked down at the napkin she was twisting between her hands. "That is, until my father died a year ago. He was..." she paused, "Very sick. I was pretty much on my own until I got a letter from my uncle. He was the only one who even bothered to find me. I had enough money—my father left me well taken care of—but my uncle asked me to come here. I had no one else. I mean everyone wants a family, right?"

Natasha toyed with her napkin upon the tablecloth before decisively setting it down and absently smoothed the stiff wrinkles she had created. Gianni reached out and enfolded her hand in his. She looked up at him startled. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. "I am glad you are here, whatever the reason."

Natasha smiled, exhaling and flushing self-consciously. "So what about you?"

His fingers caressed hers. "I was born here, grew up here, I'm here still."

"Did you ever go to America?" She asked, trying to think straight despite the mesmerizing waves that emanated from his touch.

"New York, L.A., and Chicago on occasion for business. But Rome is my heart. I could never leave it for too long."

"What business are you in?" she inquired.

"Stocks and trading mostly. Investment is a family business." He replied easily.

They talked for what seemed to be hours until a ringing interrupted them. Smiling apologetically, Natasha sought inside her Furla handbag and drew out the cell phone. It was Alejandro. Her fingers tightened around the phone before she silenced the ring.

"Nothing important, I hope." Gianni said scrutinizing her. Her whole demeanor had changed in an instant.

"No one important." She said tightly.

She glanced out the window. It was dark. There was no one in the restaurant. The waiters were cleaning up around them. "Oh my God." She came to her feet.

Gianni came to his feet as well. "What is it?"

"What time is it?"

He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. "A little after twelve."

She snatched up her bag. "I have to go."

"What?" his eyes darted to the window. "What is it? Why?"

"I just have to get home." She said, clearly distraught.

He caught her distress and tossed a wad of cash on the table. "Alright. Let's go."

As they made their way back to Via Condotti Gianni kept glancing at her. Anxiety practically radiated from her every pore. He wondered what could arouse such a change in her. She looked flushed even in the darkness. She looked completely and utterly helpless, as if she really and truly needed to be rescued. But he pushed the thought down. Playing the hero would only get him into trouble.

She practically leapt from the car when he parked behind the BMW.

"Natasha, wait!" he caught her hand as she fumbled with her keys. He gently pulled her to face him. She was pressed between his body and the car. "What is it?"

She didn't answer. She didn't meet his eyes. His fingers tenderly brushed her chin and tilted her face to his. "You can tell me..."

She shook her head. "I'm alright. I just late and don't want anyone to worry about me." She said none too convincingly.

He reluctantly released her. He leaned on the car as she shut the door. He took a deep breath and voiced his concern." The man at the airport..." he ventured. "Is he your husband?"

Natasha's mouth dropped open. She laughed but it didn't reach her eyes. "No. He's an old friend of the family, really. We grew up together. He works for my uncle now."

Gianni nodded. He reached out and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Ciao Bella." He murmured and stepped back from the car as she pulled out and drove away.

***

Natasha pressed the elevator button and nervously tapped her foot as she waited. She rode the elevator to her floor and fumbled with the keys as her hands trembled. She was relieved to find no one waiting in her room. She slipped out of her clothes and into a hot shower. She washed the tension and exhaustion of the day away. She cast aside filmy lingerie in favor of the faded sweatshirt of an ex-boyfriend.

Just as she slipped into bed the phone on her nightstand rang. "Hello?"

"Natasha." He purred her name. At was Alejandro.

She bolted upright in bed, raking tense fingers through her hair. "Uh...yes?"

"Where have you been? I've been calling." his voice was unsettling, quiet and dangerous.

"Sleeping." She said simply.

"All this time?" he mused.

"Jetlag, you know." She said, willing her voice calm and indifferent.

"You wouldn't be lying to me would you, Natasha?" his voice took on a singsong quality.

Natasha shuddered. "No, Alejandro." She forced herself to sound haughty. "Was there something you wanted? I'd like to go back to sleep."

"Just making sure that the boss's niece is behaving herself like a proper young woman. I wanted to be sure you were feeling alright." He said.

"You give yourself far too much credit over my well-being." She said icily.

He chuckled softly. "Goodnight fair Natasha. Sweet dreams." The line went dead.

Natasha returned the phone to its receiver and slid beneath the covers and fell into a fitful sleep.

***

Gianni tightened the silencer on the gun. Taking a deep breath he touched the cool metal length of the barrel against his face and offered up a prayer of forgiveness. He kissed the barrel. He was dressed in black and his face was unusually pale and grave.

'This is what you do'. He was grim. It was all for the sake of revenge—revenge fora retaliation—In a brutal violent cycle the cause of which no one even remembered. He steeled himself against his rapidly growing unease.

He'd learned to trust his instincts. Something didn't feel right. Natasha's face invaded his thoughts. What would she do if she knew? Would she be disgusted, afraid? He sighed and shook his head. This is the last one. He promised himself. No more.

He pulled a black ski mask over his face. Gripping the gun he crept quietly into the hallway. His prey's room was right across from his. He used a key, stolen from the front desk to unlock the door. The door creaked. He hissed in a breath and held it. There was no sound.

He slipped inside. He knew the room. He'd been in there earlier today to map out his surroundings. He crept to stand at the end of the large canopy bed. A figure lay concealed beneath the covers. He aimed carefully and his finger tightened on the trigger at the bump beneath the blankets.

A soft feminine sigh sounded and the gun lowered imperceptibly. 'Don't think. Just do it.' He leveled the gun. A whimper. His arm dropped to his side. He slowly made his way around the side of the bed his heart racing. 'Don't', a voice whispered across his mind as he reached to draw back the cover. He ignored the voice. He reached and pulled down the cover to reveal the sleeping woman. Natasha. His heart dropped to his knees and he sank into the chair at her bedside.