La Vita Dolce Ch. 08

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Death and departure.
4k words
4.77
34.8k
11
8

Part 8 of the 17 part series

Updated 10/29/2022
Created 05/01/2007
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theDuskyGirl
theDuskyGirl
1,103 Followers

The door to Natasha's room opened silently. Renoldo Pezzini walked across the plush carpets to stand over his older sister's only child.

She was lying on the bed. Her dark hair spread out over the white linen of the bedspread. Her face was turned toward her right hand the other arm flung out to her side. Several strands of hair clung to her cheeks. He stepped forward and brushed them away, leaving her face completely bare.

He could tell by the light residue of makeup staining her cheeks, and his bedspread, he noted

with a grimace, that she had been crying in her sleep. It bothered him that she had been in pain.

He gazed at her face and recognized the traces of the gawky, dusky skinned. ten-year-old girl who used to follow him around. He laid his hand on her cheek and her darkly lashed lids lifted to reveal deep blue eyes. He sighed. There was so much of his sister, Angelina, in her.

"Uncle Renoldo?" she whispered.

He nodded and smiled. "Mia Bella Natalia."

She shot up and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. "It's Natasha." She mumbled and felt his chuckles deep within his chest.

He held her a moment then stirred to reach into the pocket of his black slacks and held up a white silk handkerchief. She took it murmuring her thanks.

Renoldo pushed her away a little, lifted her face so he could see her. She pressed her cheek back against his chest. She didn't want to look at him, or have him look at her. His shirt was wet. She didn't even realize she had been crying. She wanted to apologize but instead found herself telling him absolutely everything, leaving nothing out.

"It's over now, little cat." He said soothingly, using his childhood name for her.

She was crying again, with huge heaving sobs that racked her body. He said nothing for a while. Finally she pushed back from him, sat up and wiped at her tears with the handkerchief. She smiled faintly, abashedly. She should be embarrassed. She should get up and wash her face.

Renoldo looked intently into her face and brushed his fingers over her cheek. He smiled faintly. "Do you remember when you left Italy? Angelina and your father were packed and ready to go. They were all ready to take that cab to the airport, and then a plane to London, and then another to America? And just when they were about to leave, you disappeared. No one could find you anywhere. They missed their first flight. It was back when we lived in the countryside and the markets were still crowded. For hours and hours everyone searched for you but you were nowhere to be found." He lightly touched the tip of her nose. "Then I had an a thought. I went back to the villa, got down on my knees, and guess who I found hiding quietly under my bed?"

Natasha smiled a genuine smile. "I didn't want to leave."

Renoldo grinned and chucked her playfully under her chin. "But you're here now. In Italy where you've always belonged."

***

Gianni grimaced as he turned the handle and the french doors opened. It had been far too easy to get to the balcony. Yes, there had been a twelve foot wall, cameras, guard dogs, and yet here he was. It had been a simple matter of climbing the trellis and vaulting over the balcony.

Moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. A breeze swept through the room and the curtains billowed out like pale ghostly specters. He could make out the outline of furniture in the darkened room. A huge four poster bed was on the opposite side of the room, the posts hung with light gossamer.

The air inside her room was thick with the eucalyptus and lemon. Gianni went to her bedside. His hand brushed over a tray on her nightstand. He paused. It was filled with Vicks, cough syrup, aspirin, and a thermometer. He tenderly touched the rim of a half empty tea cup where her lips would have rested. Could a simple illness have filled him with so much fear that he risked coming to see her?

The moon cast a silver light across the bed where Natasha lay, the white sheets twisted around her legs. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow. She wore a white tank and black cotton pajama pants that stretched across her hipbones.

Gianni edged around the furniture, and then knelt beside her and touched the dark curls on her pillow. He had been drawn to her since the moment he saw her. She had cared about him, wanted him. Even after she knew who he was and what he was capable of. But as much as he wished otherwise, she didn't belong with him. They didn't belong together.

He traced a finger down her arm to her hand. Her fingers uncurled as if they welcomed his touch. He wanted desperately to take her hand. Their relationship was beyond hope. She couldn't help what she was born into, who her mother was. He couldn't change his blood, how he'd lived his life. He might struggle against it for a while, but the life always drew him back.

She stirred as if she sensed his presence. He gazed at her beautiful face. A frown marred her brow in sleep and she shifted slightly, the pajama top moving up to revealing her flat, golden stomach. His hand hovered over the tiny silver hoop piercing the flesh above her bellybutton. Her skin radiated sweet warmth

She moaned in her sleep and her eyelids fluttered. She was waking. Gianni quickly rose and retreated into the shadows.

Without warning Natasha bolted upright in bed. "Gianni?" She kicked back the covers and sat on the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I know you're here," she whispered.

He was silent.

"I can feel you." She turned and surveyed the room again. "I know you're here."

Gianni stepped out of the shadows and heard her quick indrawn breath. He came to stand over her. She gazed up at him unmoving, her eyes bright with fever, her cheeks flushed. His eyes on her face he reached out and traced his fingertips over her brow. It was hot.

"Gianni?" Her words were soft. "What are you doing here?"

Without a word her swept her up into his arms and held her against him.

"I came to see you."

Natasha raised her eyes to meet his. His eyes were still dark, but the fire in their depths warmed her soul. She fought the tears that threatened. "I hope you don't intend to breeze in and out of my life like some long lost friend."

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek in a caress that nearly burst the damn inside her heart. How much more did he think she could take? She already felt like all the oxygen would disappear from the room when he left.

"Natasha..."

That soft verbal caress was the last torture she intended to let this man inflict on her. "Stop it!" She slapped at his hand, frowning when his quick reflexes kept her from connecting.

She stepped out of his grasp and put some space between them. "I'm not going to play this game any longer, Angiolini. Maybe you get off on torturing me, but you can forget it if you think that I'm going to stand there and beg you to stop hurting me."

She glared at him, her tone sharp. "I'm going to make this unmistakably clear to you. Angiolini. Unless it's going to be every morning next to me when I wake up, I don't want to see you again. Ever." She pointed a finger at his chest. "Get it?"

One side of Gianni's upper lip lifted in a sneer. "I get it," he growled.

Natasha nodded sharply. "I'm going downstairs to the kitchen. Be gone when I get back." She then turned on her heel, intending to march out of the room without looking back. It wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

Turning back, her beautiful cerulean eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady. "If you had asked me to give up everything to be with you," she gave a bitter, humorless chuckle, "if I had to go to Hell and back to be with you, I really think I would have. But you didn't give even me a choice."

Natasha choked back a sob, once again pointing a finger at his chest. "If I ever see you again, it better be because you made a choice. And don't bother me if it's the wrong one. Got that too?!"

Gianni's voice shook with anger, love, too many emotions to name. "If you see me again, Natasha, it will be on the other side."

Not caring to let him see her crumble further, Natasha spun on her heel. The quick movement sent the room spinning and she weaved. Moving quickly, Gianni caught her in his arms and cradling her against his chest he carried her back to the bed. He pulled the sheet up over her legs.

She threw an arm over her eyes and grimaced. "Why are you always doing that?" she murmured.

"Doing what?"

A frown marred her brow and her speech was slow as though she had to concentrate on each word. "Rescuing me. "

"I don't want anything to happen to you.""

"Then leave me alone. I assure you, I was perfectly capable before I met you. Around you...I'm a walking accident." Her chest heaved. "Leave me alone."

"Natasha—"

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "No more. You need to go now."

Gianni gazed down at her and had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing her again. "As you wish, Signorina." He whispered and made his way over the balcony.

Natasha looked up just in time to see him vault over the balcony. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, willing the images of Gianni to leave her.

Scattered memories of Gianni floated behind her closed eyelids. Gianni smiling his lazy nonchalant smile, making. Gianni rising above her, rivulets of sweat tracking his high cheekbones, silver eyes sparking fire in her soul as he drove his body into hers in a rhythm of ecstasy, Gianni smiling with all the love she could ever have asked of him. How had she been so stupid? All of it had been lies.

Finally Natasha managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

***

Natasha dressed in a conservative black suit and stiletto heels. She wore pearls and black gloves. She slipped a pearled rosary into her purse and carefully placed a matching wide brimmed hat on her head.

Natasha frowned at herself in the mirror. She looked pale beneath the dusky gold color of her skin. The fever had taken more out of her than she had thought. Her expression tightening, she lowered the black netting of the veil over her face and left the room. She headed down the hallway and down the stairs to where her uncle was waiting in the foyer. Taking her arm he led her to the black limousine and helped her into the black leather interior.

Renoldo sighed as he settled in beside her. He glanced at her but the black veil hid her face.

The car started and the limousine pulled out of the gates and left the villa behind.

Natasha finally spoke. "Whose funeral is this?" She asked quietly.

"An associate of mine."

"Oh?" Her tone was wry.

Renoldo sighed. "Natalia—"

"Natasha." She corrected.

The limousine stopped in traffic. Renoldo frowned and looked at his watch.

"Uncle Renoldo—"

He frowned and shook his head. "Natasha. We've been over this before."

Natasha pouted behind her veil. "I don't see why I have to go."

"You're my heir. It is necessary that you know my business."

Natasha shook her head. She spoke softly. "Uncle, I am both flattered and honored but...I don't want your business."

Renoldo's voice tightened. "We can discuss this later, Natasha."

"I don't want this life! I don't understand—"

Renoldo suddenly leaned forward.

"What?" Natasha looked through the front window. Two men in dark suits were coming towards the limo. Renoldo grabbed her hand. "Uncle?"

The sound of gunfire filled the air. Pain ripped through her chest. "Down!" Renoldo ordered and pushed Natasha to the floor of the limo and covered his body with his own. There was the shattering of glass and screams rent the air.

But Natasha heard none of it. All there was, was pain. Her chest burned and she struggled to draw breath. Oh God, help me!

When the shooting finally halted and sirens sounded in the distance, Renoldo cautiously lifted his head. The driver and bodyguard in the front seat were dead, their bodies riddled with bullets.

There was no sign of the gunmen. Renoldo carefully slid back into the seat pulling Natasha onto his lap. The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart. The front of Natasha's suit jacket was dark with blood. Her neck and chest were smeared with the deep red liquid. Her eyes were closed.

"No!" A sob wrenched itself from his throat and he shook her. When she did not move he buried his face in her neck and rocked her, crying out in anguish.

Suddenly she coughed. She blinked rapidly and her breath came is great wheezing gasps. Her fingers clutched at his jacket. "Uncle," her eyes met his pleadingly, "help me..."

***

Gianni sat up in bed with a start. His breath was coming fast and he felt dread settle over him. He ran a trembling hand through his dark locks and exhaled slowly. Pushing aside the uneasy feelings he tried unsuccessfully to recall what had woken him.

Dawn's orange fingers plucked at his curtains as he threw aside the covers. He could smell the aroma of coffee from the coffeemaker as he padded into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup before heading to the front door to retrieve the newspaper from his doorstep. As he read the front page headlines the coffee mug slid from his fingers to shatter upon the hardwood floor. The brown liquid spread out in a widening puddle, but Gianni did not notice.

Natasha's beautiful smiling face smiled up at him from the front page, clashing sharply with the accompanying words. Pezzini Heir Near Death After Attack.

***

Sitting in his car at the stoplight, Gianni tried process everything. Natasha had been hurt, shot, in an ambush and had not regained consciousness. Millions of questions ran through his mind. He had never been so afraid in his entire life. He silently cursed Renoldo for bringing Natasha into this, but then if Gianni had not turned her over to her uncle, what would the end result be? He cursed God for bringing her into his life and then trying to take her away from him. He cursed himself for not being there. His emotions were chaotic, rallying back and forth between fear and anger.

The faces of the paparazzi turned like sunflowers to the sun when Gianni's black Mercedes pulled up before the hospital. They immediately engulfed the car as he stepped out. Gianni batted away the microphones shoved towards him and pushed through the crowds to the hospital doors.

He took the elevator to the intensive care unit and made his way to the information desk.

The clerk glanced up at him, taking in his half-buttoned shirt, his wild hair, and unshaven face. "May I help you, signore?" the man ventured.

"Natasha Pezzini," Gianni said.

"Pardon?"

"Natasha Pezzini," Gianni repeated impatiently, "What room is she in?"

"Her room?"

Gianni gritted his teeth in irritation and his words came out harsh. "What room number is it?"

The man looked at him skeptically. "Are you family?"

Gianni frowned. His jaw worked tensely as he attempted to swallow his anger. "I'm her fiancé."

The man still looked doubtful. "I don't think—"

Gianni reached and grasped the man by his lapels, hauling him halfway across the desk between them. His voice hissed out. "Tell me where she is...now."

"Four twelve,"

The man slumped back into his seat as Gianni abruptly released him. "Thank you." Gianni growled and turned on his heel to make his way towards Natasha's room.

He noticed two of Renoldo's bodyguards outside the door. Seeing him coming, they moved immediately to bar his way. And when he would have stepped past them they grasped his arms and held him back.

Gianni struggled against them but it was no use. Hearing the noise, Renoldo tore himself from his niece's side and ventured out into the hallway.

Gianni noticed he looked haggard, and weary, older than his near forty years. When Renoldo saw him, his face suffused with color. Renoldo strode towards him and drove his fist into Gianni's stomach.

Gianni slumped as the air rushed from his lungs and Renoldo caught him the front of his shirt. "You said you loved her." Renoldo shook him. "And now?" He dragged Gianni towards Natasha's door. "Look at her!"

Gianni looked. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. Natasha lay unconscious against the pillows. She looked pitifully small in the hospital gown too large for her. Her eyelids bore a purplish tint. There was a bandage on her temple and she looked pale beneath the golden color of her skin. There were tubes in her nose helping her breath, and ivs in her arms. Her arms were bruised where needles had pierced her skin. The whirring and beeping of machines filled the room.

Gianni's heart fell inside his chest. Renoldo's voice hissed in his ear. "A bullet passed through her chest cavity. Another hit her just below the collarbone. Your love has done nothing for her." Renoldo flung Gianni backwards. "Now get out," he spat.

Gianni stood panting, his fists clenched. Renoldo's eyes glittered dangerously. Gianni inclined his head. "Signore," he said softly, and turned on heel and left.

***

When Natasha first woke in her own bedroom, the first thing she saw was Renoldo. He had pulled his chair close to her bed and had lain his head upon the edge of her mattress. One of his hands was closed around hers. She studied his face as he slept.

He looked weary. His eyelids looked slightly bruised and his usually immaculate hair was mussed and fell over his forehead.

Swallowing thickly, she reached out to touch the dark tresses of his hair. His deep Mediterranean colored eyes opened and his gaze met hers.

"Natasha," he murmured as he sat up. "Are you alright, Bella?"

"No." Her head throbbed and each breath hurt as though there were sharp knives stabbing at her lungs. She looked at the tubes and ivs in her arms, felt the sensors taped to her chest. And then it all came rushing back; the shattering glass, the bullets, the mind numbing pain, Renoldo trying to cover her body with his own. With a panicked sob, she began to frantically tear at the wires.

"Natasha!" Renoldo gently took hold of her wrists and stilled her movements.

She cried harder.

Sighing, Renoldo rose and sat upon the edge of the bed and took her into his arms. "Ah, Natasha," he sighed, "I'm sorry, Bella."

She pulled back slightly but did not look at him. "What happened?"

His eyes bore a haunted look as he studied her bruised and abraded face. "There was an ambush. The driver and bodyguard were killed. A bullet hit you under your collarbone, another passed through your chest cavity." He passed a trembling hand through his unruly locks. "Jesus, Natasha. You nearly died." He took a deep breath and continued. "Once, your vitals were more stable I had you moved here to the villa and hired a nurse. My own private physician will make regular visits."

Natasha reached out and delicately touched a bandage upon Renoldo's temple.

"It's nothing," he said softly. "The bullet just grazed me."

Natasha's brow furrowed and she was quiet a moment. When she finally spoke her voice was soft,

"Who did this?"

"The Angiolinis," Renoldo said quietly.

Natasha seemed to pale. She closed her eyes, leaned back against the pillows, and exhaled a deep breath.

Renoldo gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry. It's being taken care of."

She opened her eyes to look at him and slowly slid her hand from his grasp. "What does that mean?"

Renoldo frowned slightly. "It means what I said. It's being taken care of."

Natasha stared at him.

"Natasha—" He reached for her.

"No!" She jerked away, and grimaced in pain. Renoldo took her by the shoulders and pushed her gently but insistently back against the pillows. Her eyes bored into him. "I don't want any part of this. And you shouldn't either."

"I agree," he answered calmly, "on one account. You shouldn't have any part in this. Il Vive is not for you."

theDuskyGirl
theDuskyGirl
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