Chapter Four

FIAMETTA

W hat the hell happened last night? This waking thought permeates the thumping in my skull. My eyes strain to focus, as they open, and are relieved by the comforting sight of the familiarity of my bedroom.

Okay, good. At least I’m not in some stranger’s place with no memory of how I ended up there.

But what do you remember, Fiametta?

Dancing. Lots of dancing. Feeling the bass reverberate through my body and shake me to the bone. Jumping from one partner to the next, taking on all comers without question. And then…

Him.

Emerald eyes shining beneath the dim club lights. An incredible physique and strong hands he didn’t want to take off me. Surprisingly limber and graceful on his feet for someone so enormous. The firm pressure from his hips jabbing into me every time he swayed his hips.

My cheeks burn at that last thought.

No time for that. What else? Think. How did you get here? My inner voice reprimands me for veering off course. I’m trying to solve a mystery here, not indulge in fantasies about a stranger I’ll never see again.

The barman. He warned me not to drink the Morning After too fast, but I didn’t listen. Even so, this isn’t a typical hangover. Hell, I haven’t been able to move from my bed or turn my eyes away from the ceiling while my brain spins in overdrive.

Wait a second! The guy I was dancing with, he… he said my name. He ordered me to head home.

Then my world went black.

My throat closes up and I shoot upright in my bed. I wince as the sudden movement makes the throbbing pain in my head trickle down my spine. My bottom half is uncovered, and my duvet lies on the floor, which elicits a new wave of anxiety. I rarely sleep this exposed. I love the feeling of being cozy beneath my blankets.

I reach for my phone and see six missed calls from my father. I swipe the notification away, searching for one that might ease the tension mounting in my stomach.

A deep sigh of relief barrels out from my chest when I see a text from Simone:

Hey, Fi-Fi.

Got you home safe. You weren’t looking too good. Put you to bed. Got you cuddly and cozy, the way you like, and headed out. Give me a call if you need anything.

xoxo

Her message is packed with emojis, from smileys to hugs, and a ton of multicolored hearts at the end. Something happened last night, that much is clear, but without Simone there to get me out, my night could’ve ended much more badly.

I send a reply to let her know I’ve survived:

Thanks for the assist. Don’t know what happened. One minute I was dancing, the next I was out cold. Probably some creep trying to get into my pants.

I delete the last sentence. If it didn’t cross her mind, I shouldn’t add to her concerns.

“Oh shit,” I mutter to myself, noticing the time in the top corner of my phone. I’m already an hour late to open my shop and, if I want to get there at all, I need to get moving.

I take slow steps from my bed to the en-suite, and stare at myself in the mirror for an uncomfortably long time while the shower heats up. Running my hands over my face and wiping the sleepy sand from my eyes helps restore enough of my blurred vision to notice the wreck that last night left me.

I have bloodshot eyes and scuffed make-up with long lines of mascara running down my face. My sunken cheeks and blocked nose have me pulling funny faces as if I’ve got a serious cold. I don’t even want to look at the knotty shambles that is my hair.

I grab a bottle of eye-drops from the cabinet and give each eye three good squirts. The sudden wetness against my pupils helps ease my headache and makes getting in the shower a less laborious task.

Alright, I can get back to sleuthing later. As deeply curious as I am, running it through in my head and letting the what-ifs of last night play on my emotions will only fuel my paranoia, and I can’t have that.

Father’s meeting stokes enough fear inside me as is. Our dinners aren’t really that rare. We see each other twice a month at a minimum. But his men are dying, and he doesn’t know why. It’s smarter to assume this isn’t a catch up and nice meal. He is going to want something from me.

I splash lukewarm water over my face to stop my mind from jumping straight to the worst possibilities and start scrubbing yesterday’s sin off my body.

Fifteen minutes later, with freshly washed hair and feeling as refreshed as I can with my head weighing double its normal state, I finish showering and head for my walk-in closet. Opting out of my usual work attire – a summer dress, belt and sandals – I pick out a dark-blue blouse, black jeggings and sneakers.

It’s a little more formal, and that is Father’s preference.

However, as I turn away from my closet, I notice something out of the ordinary which makes my heart stand still. My collection of trinkets, which includes miniature glass animals, tiny dancing cherubs and a plush teddy the size of my thumb, is out of position on my chest of drawers. And although I’m not overly pedantic about everything having its place in my room, or even in my house for that matter, seeing them scattered in the wrong formation feels like a bad omen.

Maybe Simone did this when she left for the night. But she’s walked through my room a thousand times, and if all she did was tuck me into bed, there was no reason for her to come this way. Even checking the sliding door’s lock wouldn’t bring her close enough to the chest to bump into it.

So, if it wasn’t her, then who was it?

Could Father or one of his men come to check on me when I didn’t return his calls? Another no. He wouldn’t risk it unless he was absolutely certain my life was in danger.

The mysterious stranger with those dazzling eyes? My entire body tenses as I remember how I woke up. No duvet covering me, no panties, no memory.

I gulp down hard and run a hand through my still damp hair. I’ll brush it on my ride to work, and let it air dry for however long it takes.

Come on, Fia. You’re being crazy. It wasn’t him .

Unless… he followed us.

No. Of course, not. It’s a coincidence I’m looking too deeply into the whole thing.

But if that’s the case, why is the cold dagger of fear quickly being replaced by hollow disappointment? Is his invasion of my home and wicked touch preferable to knowing I walked away unscathed?

Holy shit, I really am being crazy.

I gather my things and bolt out of my apartment, wanting to put as much distance between it and myself as possible. A twenty-minute taxi ride later, I’m inside my boutique, with a big mug of coffee in hand, waiting for customers.

After the first two hours tick by with just a few window-shoppers and browsers, I come to the same realization I always do. Opening without any appointments lined up is a huge waste of time. Although I’ve formed a small community of upper-class woman, who want what I make, I still lack the credibility of a big brand name as far as the general population is concerned. It can’t help that my entire operation consists of my two seamstresses and me. Where mainline shelves are stocked with at least four sizes of each article of clothing, I don’t have the staff to keep everyone happy.

In my fugue state of boredom, waiting, and letting my overactive imagination run wild, I catch a glimpse of something outside. I swear I see my mysterious stranger standing between the cars in the strip mall’s parking lot. He’s dressed, from head to toe, in the same outfit as last night. Jeans, leather jacket, and a biker mask that covers everything but his eyes and his dirty blonde hair.

A truck obscures my short glimpse of him, and after it passes, the place where he stood is vacant.

Oh good, now I’m seeing things. It’s easier to believe my mind is playing tricks on me. Searching desperately for an answer, and too sleepy to function properly, I’d take anything out of context as long as it fits the narrative I want it to.

I decide it’s a dud of a day and close my doors, before retreating to my studio in the back. I spend a couple minutes going through patterns and ideas, and then I collapse onto a pile of unfinished projects and material scraps for a long nap. When you’re as tired as I am, it’s surprising what could be considered comfortable enough to sleep on.

Deep, dreamless sleep follows, until I wake up to a call from one of Father’s men. I expect him to give me a long set of instructions on how best to get to the family mansion, but to my surprise he tells me to meet him in the parking lot.

I creep almost nervously to my store’s front window and peer out to see if I can spot my father’s man out there. The most I can make out is the Napoli-signature midnight-blue G-Wagon. It’s the same car all of Father’s made men drive.

After what happened yesterday, and the sudden change in how we usually do this, I’m not taking any chances. The G-Wagon’s tinted windows aren’t helping, either. For all I know, the shadow moving behind the steering wheel, is that jewel-eyed monster, coming to finish off what he started last night.

I’m way too on edge. He was a guy in a club. Where we wore masks. He’s definitely out there somewhere, just nowhere near me. I’m creating demons in my head to justify a bad thing that happened to me. And while that’s okay, sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Here goes nothing.

I exit the shop and lock up before I head to the G-Wagon. The doors unlock as I get to the passenger door, and I swing one open.

“Evening, Miss Napoli. Let’s get going,” the driver glances in the rear-view mirror as if looking for someone.

“Hi,” I say, and crawl into my seat. There’s a touch of sadness hidden in my tone, and I have no idea why.

Unless I do, and I don’t want to admit it.

Shrugging it off as we start to drive, I turn my attention back to the brute in the driver’s seat. Looking at him, reveals how little I actually know about the mysterious stranger from last night. Apart from his dark-brown eyes and the deep crow’s feet running from the corners of his eyes, they could be one and the same person. I chuckle at the lunacy that’s kept me in its grip all day and snap back to reality.

“Did my father send you here? To take me home?” If I wasn’t sitting down already, I’d fall to my ass in astonishment. I can’t believe it took me this long to realize how unprecedented this is.

“Uh-huh,” his answer is less than satisfactory. But maybe he doesn’t know how big a deal it is for my father to have normal people see I’m his daughter.

“And he isn’t worried about anyone seeing us?” I furrow my brow at him. I better get more than a grumble for an answer this time.

“Said it’s for the best.” Darn it. Four words is definitely more than a grumble. He keeps his deadpan gaze on the road ahead, as the car starts roaring through the higher gears. Before long, we’re cruising in overdrive and heading down the highway at a ludicrous speed. No cops will dare stop us, I’m sure. Father has far too many of them on his payroll.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” I humph and turn my attention away from him.

“Nope.” Our conversation dies with that single word, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

When we stop at Father’s mansion, I find I am in a rush to get this over with, and I head straight for the dining room. I barely make it down the first hallway before a gentle voice comes from behind.

“Miss Napoli.” I turn around to see a beautiful, young blonde wearing a black and white maid’s outfit. Behind her, other members of staff carry serving trays, in the opposite direction of where I’m walking. “Mr. Napoli instructed us to move dinner to the veranda.”

His second favorite spot.

“Thank you.” I follow along behind her and the others.

Father is sitting at the head of a six-person table. His left hand, adorned with rings of various stones across every finger, holds a cocktail glass by the stem. Among the array of status symbols, his wedding band remains firmly in its place on his ring finger. Old and worn now, from years of his playing with it.

To his right, Tomas Bernardi, the Napoli family consigliere, is chewing on the end of a cigarillo. His beady eyes snap to me the instant I step outside, while father’s remain fixed on the looming shadows, cast by the tall trees scattered across his property.

“Where were you last night, Fiametta?”

Shit. He is pissed. Father never says my full name unless I’m in serious trouble.

I swallow audibly and clear my throat. I’ve got to choose my words very carefully, if I want to walk away from this still in his good graces.

“We were at the club. I had a few too many and—”

Father raises a finger to silence me. He looks up at me with forced indifference. He’s trying to stay calm, but he can’t control the anger that’s bubbling to the surface.

I take my seat on his left and pour myself a glass of water.

“A few too many? You were dead to this world. I had to send Tomas to your apartment to ensure you weren’t dead to me .” Father’s eyes narrow to tiny slits while mine widen in disgust.

Was it him all along? Was Tomas the monster who plagued my thoughts all day? Oh, God, I’m gonna throw up.

Tears sting the rim of my eyes while flashes of what might have happened dart across my mind. His mockingly twisted, yellow-toothed grin spreading wide while his gnarled, tobacco-stained fingers run across my skin.

I can imagine him, lost in the darkness and pretending to do routine checks on windows and locks, stumbling into my desk of drawers. Adjusting my trinkets to look almost correct. I can see him putting on the whole show just to have an excuse for why he was in my room at all.

But somehow, behind the brewing nausea and disgust, my heart sinks.

This hard to swallow pill quells any delusions I had of the mysterious stranger’s breaking into my apartment. As messed up as it sounds, the idea of it had started tickling me in a way I didn’t want to shake.

It could’ve been the start of our very own fucked up love story. God, I need to get laid if this is what I consider the start of a relationship.

Finally putting the entire ordeal to rest should make me happy. It should halt the bile that’s clawing up my throat, as I look at Tomas’s sneer. At least I’m not in danger.

But there’s a chance I never was in danger. Anything could’ve happened to my drink. Maybe one of the fruits, added for garnish, wasn’t washed properly and gave me some short-lived food poisoning.

“Wha...” I choke on the word, and sip some more water. I don’t even know what I want to say. I’m just speaking to fill the silence and to still my racing mind.

Tomas jumps in before I can finish my sentence. “Oh, come now, don’t look at me like that.” He puffs on his cigarillo and rolls his eyes as if he’s annoyed. “Your door was locked. I couldn’t get in.”

A heavy sigh of relief barrels out of my me, and that seems to be the perfect segue to my father’s next question.

“Was someone with you last night, Fiametta?” His eyes trail lazily from me, back to the shadowy skyline once more.

“Simone. She helped me into bed and went home.” No use lying about it.

“No men?”

My eyes nearly shoot out of my skull in disbelief. “What? No.”

Unless...

If Tomas isn’t lying, I can still dream about my stranger. Not that I’d mention anything about what truly transpired last night to Father. He’d go berserk if he found out I’d been drugged and potentially followed home.

“Don’t be a child. I don’t give a damn who you choose to fuck.” Father growls. “This isn’t about my fatherly pride taking a hit, I’m trying to protect you.”

I hang my head to avoid further contact with his intense gaze. “Honestly. After Simone left, I was alone.” I allow him a moment to take in my response, before I ask. “What’s this about? I haven’t seen you this upset since—” Since Mother passed, I think, but don’t dare say.

“Two more dead. Normally I wouldn’t let it interfere with our arrangement or concern you, had the murders not occurred in the very same club where you were partying.” Father speaks with the calm stoicism of a mafia don. He isn’t my parent right now, and this isn’t a family dinner.

It’s an interrogation.

“What?” My entire body coils so tightly, my muscles start to hurt.

“I fear that whoever is doing this knows our secret. They chose to send a message, with you there.” Father’s voice softens enough to let me know he still cares, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t dwindle.

Could it be? The man who swept me off my feet, is the very same man who has slaughtered so many Napoli soldiers.

“Why wasn’t it me?” A sudden fever hits my body and sweat forms on my brow. Just because it didn’t happen last night, doesn’t mean being added to his list isn’t on the cards.

“Nothing is ever clear cut. I can make assumptions, but there’s no point. To assume makes an ass out of you and me.” Father shrugs and gives me a glum look as if to say you’re going to hate what comes next . “Instead, I’m tightening security. For the foreseeable future, Tomas is going to be your personal bodyguard. Where you go, he goes.” Father turns away from me, no doubt to avoid the look of disgust that comes over my face.

“Why Tomas?” I blurt out and I scramble to add onto it before Father notices my disrespect. “It would be easier to remain anonymous, if it was someone else. Wouldn’t you prefer it that way?”

Father snaps his head back at me with flaring nostrils that match his enraged scowl.

Yup, he saw right through me.

“My decision is made, Fiametta. Keeping you hidden has been a waste of time. They found you anyway,” I can almost hear the regret on his voice, for the years of missed time we can never get back. “No more hiding. If they want to come for me, for my family, then I’ll meet their charge head on.”

“I—” as much as I want to fight, I won’t. The only thing it would change is how upset Father would get. “I understand.”

“I knew you would. And it’s only temporary. Once we’ve dealt with this threat, your life can go back to normal.” Father turns a shifty gaze in Tomas’s direction, and they nod at each other. “As for why I chose Tomas, I trust him with my life. As a result, I know I can trust him with yours.”

Tomas eases back in his chair, locking eyes with me. He rolls the cigarillo between his lips, and chuckles sheepishly.

“So, roomy, do I get the big room or the little one?”