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CHAPTER 13
G iulia
As we walk straight past the crowd of excited patrons waiting to get into La Stanza Rosso, Rosalia and her friend, Carlotta giggle in delight. I can’t help smiling as I remember the first time I received VIP treatment at a club. Matteo took me to the opening of Vita, one of his family’s clubs in the East Village. The doormen practically tripped over themselves to welcome us in as people who’d been standing in line for hours complained loudly about the preferential treatment we received. One glare from Matteo had shut that down.
When he’s pissed, Matteo can be scary. Thankfully, I’m better acquainted with his sweet, caring side. He can be incredibly thoughtful when he wants. Tonight, he’s gone out of his way to ensure Rosalia has a birthday to remember. He arranged for us to travel into the city in a convoy of low-slung sports cars. Rosalia’s face when she saw the McLaren Artura waiting for her when she came through her front door was priceless.
I was driven to the club in the Bugatti Veyron Matteo’s been using while he’s here in Italy and Carlotta was treated to a ride in a Lamborghini. It meant we didn’t get a chance to spend time together before reaching the club, but I think the girls enjoyed arriving in style.
A black SUV filled with bodyguards trailed us here. I’m not sure whether they’re here because Matteo’s being protective of me or if it’s to make Rosalia feel like a queen. Either way, their presence is reassuring. I don’t know this city and though I doubt crime in Florence is more of an issue than it is back home, I like that Matteo is looking out for me.
He’s been remarkably relaxed about me having this girls’ night without him. I’ve been around the Volantes long enough to know the men all have a protective streak that borders on obsessive when it comes to their women. Though Matteo has always been the most laid-back of the brothers, relinquishing control doesn’t come easily to him. He did flinch when I came downstairs wearing a body-hugging black dress that barely covers my ass, but he didn’t insist I get changed. He just pulled me close and told me how much he’ll enjoy stripping it off me later.
“Welcome to La Stanza Rosso, ladies.” The doorman bares his teeth in a grin. With his bald head and sunken eyes, he gives off serious horror movie villain vibes. “Head straight upstairs.”
As we climb the steps, two guards from the SUV trailing us, a blonde woman appears at the top to greet us. Wearing a red corset top, black pants, and crazy high heels, she looks like a supermodel. The electronic tablet she carries tells me she works here.
“ Signorina Costanza?” she queries.
“That’s me,” I confirm.
The hostess nods. “My name is Violetta. Would you ladies follow me, please?”
Rosalia glances at me, and I shrug. Matteo told me to expect VIP treatment at the club, but it’s meant to be a surprise for the birthday girl, so I don’t want to give anything away. As the glamorous blonde walks off, we follow.
Rather than skirting around the edge of the packed dance floor, she cuts straight across it, parting the crowd. The woman’s command of a busy room is impressive. She clearly wields some power here.
“How did she do that?” Rosalia whispers loudly as we reach the other side of the room.
Violetta turns to her and grins conspiratorially. “I control access to the VIP area. People tend to avoid pissing me off.”
“VIP area?” There’s a note of hope in Rosalia’s voice.
“Yes. Signore Volante has asked that you receive our finest hospitality tonight.”
Rosalia and Carlotta squeal in delight. Their enthusiasm is infectious and I feel a wave of excitement as we pass a burly security guard in a perfectly tailored suit and head upstairs to the mezzanine.
The lighting in the VIP area is low, but it’s not as dark as downstairs. There are large black sofas, several of which are occupied by men who obviously hold positions of wealth and power, and their female companions. I don’t recognize anyone, but Carlotta nudges Rosalia and points out an older, distinguished-looking man with a younger woman draped over him. From Rosalia’s excited gasp, I guess they’re celebrities here in Italy.
Our bodyguards remain at the top of the stairs as Rosalia, Carlotta, and I follow Violetta to a table overlooking the club. I’m surprised to find Damiano waiting for us. Lounging on the sofa, he’s lord of all he surveys. When he spots us, he rises from his seat and refastens the button on his suit jacket.
He dismisses Violetta with a curt flick of the wrist. She bows her head and scurries away. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from saying something that will land me on Damiano’s shit list, but that was plain rude. Violetta was brimming with confidence a moment ago, but in Damiano’s presence, she curled in on herself. Do the Volante men have no idea of the effect they have on people? I scoff internally at the question. Of course they know. They just don’t care. It’s all part of the mafia persona.
“Don Volante!” Rosalia squeals, obviously shocked by his presence.
“Rosalia.” He smiles benevolently as she shuffles nervously from one foot to the other. “You look very grown up.”
Even in this half-light, I see her cheeks reddening. She self-consciously tugs the hem of her silver dress down. I get the sense she doesn’t wear such sexy clothing very often. From the brief conversations we’ve had, I know her mother is the type to disapprove. Thankfully, Damiano seems to notice her discomfort and steps closer to me, leaning in to greet me with a kiss on each cheek. “Giulia!”
“Damiano,” I acknowledge him.
He turns to Rosalia’s friend. “And you must be Carlotta.”
The tall, skinny brunette looks as if she might faint. It’s understandable. Even if Damiano’s reputation didn’t precede him, he cuts an intimidating figure with his above average height and muscular build. I’m not entirely at ease with him myself.
I look past him and notice, for the first time, the bottle of champagne resting in an ice bucket on the table. There’s also a bouquet of red and white flowers and a beautifully wrapped package. It’s a long, thin rectangle, so I’m guessing it contains a necklace or a bracelet, perhaps.
“Did you do this?” I ask.
“Of course.” Damiano flashes Rosalia another smile. “It’s not every day you turn eighteen, is it?”
“No, Don Volante.” Panicked, Rosalia nods vigorously.
Amused by having her so flustered, Damiano grins as he waves a server over. A young, dark-haired man with the face of a demi-god hurries across the room. Does Damiano hire his staff straight off the runway?
“This is Massimo. He’ll take care of you tonight,” Damiano informs us.
Massimo practically clicks his heels together before popping the cork off the champagne bottle. He pours four glasses and hands one to each of us.
“To Rosalia.” Damiano raises his glass. “ Buon compleanno .”
“ Buon compleanno ,” Carlotta and I echo.
Everyone takes a sip of champagne, and then an awkward silence descends.
“Why don’t you open your gift, Rosalia?”
As she perches awkwardly on the edge of the sofa and tears the paper from her gift, I gesture to Damiano to come with me as I move a few feet away. Rosalia gasps loudly as she opens a red velvet jewelry box with a recognizable luxury brand name emblazoned on it. She removes a gold chain with a diamond teardrop pendant that sparkles as she holds it up to the light.
“That was nice of you,” I say as Rosalia removes the silver necklace she was wearing to replace it with the new one.
“It’s nothing.” Damiano sips his champagne. “But I don’t think you took me aside to tell me I’m nice. ”
Like his American cousins, he’s very perceptive. I guess it’s important to be able to read people when you’re a mob boss. I decide to be straight with him.
“No, I wanted to ask you to go away.”
Damiano throws back his head and laughs. “You’re banishing me from my own club?”
“No, I’m asking you to go and terrify some other young women.”
“Ah, my presence is making the girls uncomfortable.” He speaks as if he didn’t already know that when I suspect he’s well aware of how he makes people feel.
“They’re intimidated by you.”
Damiano nods. “I see why Matteo likes you so much.”
“Oh?” I’m fishing for a compliment, but I can’t help it. I want Matteo’s family to see me in a positive light.
“Yes, you care about others and you don’t let fear prevent you from speaking up.”
“Glad you approve.”
“I’ll approve even more if you can persuade him to go back to New York. Antonio is growing impatient.”
Before I can respond, to tell him I doubt I have the power to persuade Matteo to go home until he’s ready, Damiano walks back to our table.
“Ladies,” he addresses Rosalia and Carlotta who still look overawed by him. “Anything you want tonight is on me. Food, drink, whatever, just ask Massimo and he will arrange it for you.”
“ Grazie , Don Volante,” they reply in unison.
“Enjoy your night.” Damiano smirks at me as he walks past. “Don’t do anything I’ll have to tell Matteo about.”
I guess that’s his way of telling me he’ll be watching what I get up to tonight. It doesn’t bother me. It’s not as if I was planning to go wild. I join Rosalia and Carlotta at the table and set down my glass of champagne.
“Did you see this?” Rosalia shows me her necklace.
“It’s beautiful.”
The younger woman chews anxiously on her bottom lip. “Should I have refused to accept it?”
“You’re worried about what your parents will think?” I know they’re not keen on Rosalia working for the Volantes.
Rosalia nods. “They won’t approve.”
“It’s just a gift,” I assure her. “The Volantes are grateful for how well you’re taking care of the house.”
“Tell them you didn’t want to insult Don Volante,” Carlotta suggests. She gets up from her seat and holds a hand out to Rosalia. “Let’s go dance.”
Rosalia grabs her friend’s hand and then turns to me.
I shake my head. “Maybe later.”
As they walk off, heads close together and giggling, one bodyguard moves from his position to accompany them while the other remains in case I somehow find myself in danger.
I get my cellphone out of my purse. I’m a little disappointed that there isn’t a message from Matteo checking in on me, but then I realize that’s unfair. He’s giving me the space I wanted to go out and experience Florentine nightlife.
There is, however, a message from my brother.
Came by your place this morning. Heard you got into a car with Dante Parisi and a suitcase. What the fuck are you up to?
I snort in amusement. One thing you can say about Phillip is that he doesn’t mince words. I didn’t tell my family I was coming to Italy because I knew they wouldn’t like the idea of me being alone here with Matteo. Though he’s been in my life for years, as we’ve become older, my dad’s been more critical of our close friendship. I guess he thought it would ruin my marriage prospects or something like that.
Knowing the truth will get out in the end, I reply to Phillip, telling him I’m fine and I’m in Italy. Predictably, my phone rings seconds after I send the message. He’ll suspect I’m hiding something if I don’t answer, so I accept the call.
“Hey, little brother.” My greeting is supposed to remind him I’m the older sister, but it rarely works. He thinks he’s got to look out for me.
“Don’t hey me, Giulia. What the fuck are you doing in Italy?”
I sigh. He’s riled up. “Antonio sent me.”
“The boss sent you to Italy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why? What does he want you to do?”
“Nothing much. He wanted me to come see Matteo.”
I can hear Phillip grinding his teeth, an annoying habit he developed as a child. “You’re in Italy with Matteo Volante?”
“It’s not a big deal, Phillip.” I don’t want to get into a conversation about where I’m staying and who else is with us. There’s going to be an inquisition when I go home, but I’m going to put that off for now and have a fun night.
“Not a big…”
“Look, Phil, I have to go. I’m out with a couple of girlfriends.”
“Since when do you have girlfriends in Italy? Is that… are you in a club?”
Sensing a lecture coming on, I mutter a quick goodbye, cut the call, and switch my phone off. I shove it back in my purse and grab my glass of champagne. I get up and wander over to the metal railing to look down into the club.
It’s packed. People crowd around the bar and there’s barely any space on the dance floor. The pounding music creates a feverish atmosphere. Nightclubs aren’t my favorite environment. When I go out with friends, I prefer a bar or restaurant. I do love to dance, though. Spotting Carlotta and Rosalia on the floor below, I decide to join them.
I take another sip of my champagne and put the glass down on the table. It was nice of Damiano to have a bottle ready for us, but I don’t much like it. As I head for the stairs, the bodyguard steps aside to let me pass. He follows me down to the main part of the club, but hangs back as I move onto the dance floor to join Rosalia and Carlotta.
“Giulia!” Rosalia acknowledges my presence. “This place is amazing!”
“Sure is,” I agree, but she’s already returned her attention to a young, dark-haired man with a boyishly handsome face. Carlotta’s focus is also on a man. They’re kind of cute together.
Not wanting to get in the way of their flirtations, I turn to head back to the VIP area. I can dance up there without being a part of this crush. A lifetime of dire warnings from my dad has made me wary of being caught in a crowd with no clear escape route. I only make it a few steps before someone blocks my path. A tall, blond boy of about eighteen or nineteen stands there, a strange smile on his face. He says something in Italian, speaking too quickly for me to understand.
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah, you’re English.”
“American.”
His lips twist. It’s more of a sneer than a smile and unease twists down my spine.
“Dance with me.”
“Sorry, I can’t.”
“You want to get out of here, then?”
I blink in surprise. This guy has no finesse. He’s jumped straight from offering a dance to trying to get me to leave the club with him.
I grimace apologetically. “I think you might be a little young for me.”
“Come on. We can have fun,” he insists. He holds a hand out to me. “I’m Adamo.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Adamo, you need to find a girl your own age.”
“I had a girl. I lost her.”
He looks so sad I can’t help reaching out to comfort him. I curl my hand around his cheek. “I’m sorry, but…”
Before I can finish my sentence, a large, heavyset man grabs Adamo.
“Leave him alone,” I shout. “He didn’t do anything.”
A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I’m spun around to face Damiano. His face is stern. There’s no disguising the fact he’s a vicious mob boss when his eyes display such cold fury.
“Come with me, Giulia.”
Grabbing my arm, he drags me toward the exit, bumping people out of the way as we cross the room.
“Damiano!” I protest. “What the hell’s going on?”
He shoves me toward one of the muscular brutes who accompanied us to the club. “Take her home.”
The bodyguard nods and waves his hand toward the stairs, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. There’s no point in resisting. I allow the guard to shepherd me downstairs and out onto the sidewalk where a black SUV is waiting for me. I get into the back seat and slide over when it becomes clear the guard will be joining me. As we drive off, I look over my shoulder.
“What about Rosalia and Carlotta?”
“Your friends will be quite safe,” the bodyguard assures me. “Now fasten your seatbelt, please.”
Huffing, I draw the belt across my body and clip it into place. I have no idea what the hell just happened, but I’m betting it has something to do with Matteo. So much for him being relaxed about me having a night out with the girls. If he thinks I’m going to put up with being hauled out of a club just because a man spoke to me, he’s in for a shock.