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16

Allegra

A corner has been turned. Bonnie and I may never be best friends, but I think she’ll stop fighting me every step of the way now. At least it puts my mind at ease knowing a repeat performance of her drunken wandering ways is unlikely.

She surprised me by opening up a little. It takes a strong person to look inwards. Bonnie has obviously learned from the best. I’m sure her fathers had her practising self-analysis by the time she could walk. It makes me envious. Self-reflection is hard, especially when you don’t like what you see.

In this line of work and this type of family, it’s not something easily practised. The times I try to navigate my behaviours and feelings usually leave me feeling torn, and I don’t know what to do with that. I wish I were as confident as Bonnie. She came in here thinking I was going to tear into her. She held her head high, apologised, and showed a level of self-awareness I could only dream of.

Satisfied Bonnie is safe, and probably back in bed sleeping off her hideous hangover, I contemplate my next move. Rosa has been dealt with. Her lack of attention last night was inexcusable. She took my anger and apologised. Neglecting her post to screw one of the local girls almost came at a deadly cost. I doubt she’ll make that mistake again.

My remaining issue lies with Pete and Kelley. Not so much Kelley, because I think she’s a bit of a sheep—follows the crowd. In this case, Pete is the crowd. He’s the one I take umbrage with. I don’t have to know him well to get the measure of him. He uses avoidance tactics to deal with anything emotional: alcohol, men, parties; they are all used as an escape.

Now, I couldn’t give a flying fuck if that’s his go-to method; until it affects Bonnie, that is. She’s under my protection, and Pete put her at serious risk last night. I know he was the one feeding her sugary cocktails. I’ve done my due diligence. That’s how I found out Rosa was preoccupied with a good time rather than watching over our guests.

So, what to do? I’m sure Bonnie would prefer I do nothing, but that’s impossible. Unless Pete is put in his place, he’ll continue to encourage reckless behaviour. And that simply will not do.

Taking the gun from its holster, I place it in the safe below my desk. I want to have an honest talk with the man, and arriving with a pistol strapped to my waist will only put him on edge. Although, he’s several cocktails in, so I’m sure he is already buzzed. Regardless, I don’t need a gun to look formidable. Resting bitch face is its own weapon.

Making my way to the pool area, I mentally run through the meetings I have later. The most important by far, is with three other family heads: Francesco Luca, Nico Bosetti and Marco De Salvo. Together we make up the Sicilian Mafiosi. Giani Arello too, but he’s the reason I want the meeting.

Between worrying about Bonnie, Lorenzo, the vineyard, and the import business, I’ve concluded I need to bring the other houses in on my predicament. Giani isn’t someone I can deal with in secret.

His attempt to lure me into a ridiculous vengeance war is proof of that. His backhanded tactics have been low-grade, so far, but my gut tells me he’s ready to escalate.

Simply threatening and seeking out Bonnie is proof of that. If I go toe-to-toe with him, without the other families being aware of the situation, I risk Giani spinning a story that puts the Ferrante family in the wrong. I’ve worked too hard to let that happen. Frankly, I don’t have the time for it. Our businesses are flourishing and we are almost at the point where, if we wanted to, the family could extract itself from the Mafiosi entirely—a discussion Lorenzo and I need to have.

My unrest and ill at ease are becoming harder to ignore. Like I said, meeting Bonnie has somehow changed things for me. If I were able to analyse myself as well as she can, I’m sure I’d have an answer as to why. But I can’t—not yet. Too many things feel like they’re changing, and I need to deal with one crisis at a time.

I arrive at the pool with a million things whipping through my mind. That is, until I spot Pete basking in the sun, music blaring, drinking generously from a glass which contains a blue concoction that is likely ninety percent alcohol.

He’s unaware of my presence. I stand and study him for a moment. Pete Bolton: thirty-six years old, lives in rented accommodation with his flatmate Lisa, and met Bonnie in school, where, to his credit, he befriended her and became her protector. When Bonnie left for university, Pete drifted from one bar job to the next, never really finding his place. He still spends his time living like he’s a twenty-year-old student. He’s had no serious relationships. One-night stands are his flavour. He’s a ship without an anchor.

Adjusting my collar, I take the last two strides over to the portable speaker he loves so much. He spins and glares at me as soon as I stop the wretched noise. His glare turns into something else when he realises who it is he’s trying to intimidate. My hair is in its severe bun, and my clothes are immaculate and imposing. How a blouse and slacks are able to intimidate someone I’m not sure, but I’ve been told enough times my attire adds to the overall “bad bitch” vibe.

“Mr Bolton, may I have a word?” It’s not like me to ask, and in reality, I’m not seeking his permission, but I am cognisant of the fact he is one of Bonnie’s best friends. If I put a foot wrong here, our newly developed ceasefire may fracture, and we’ll be back to trading vicious barbs before we reach dinner.

He sits up and has the decency to cover his barely there swim trunks with a towel. How anyone finds the male species attractive is beyond me.

“Of course,” he stumbles.

“We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Allegra Malgeri.”

“P-Pete Bolton.”

I take the time to perch regally on the adjacent sunbed. Chiara, the house chef, cocks her brow at me through the kitchen window. She makes the universal sign for drink. As much as I’d love a glass of wine, it’s far too early and I don’t want Pete to think we will ever be that friendly. I give her a subtle head shake.

“I’d like to discuss yesterday’s events.”

“With me?” he asks, confused.

“Yes, with you. I’ve been led to believe your idea of helping Bonnie through what is a traumatic and life-altering time, is to ply her with enough alcohol to fell a horse.”

“I… But…”

“You must know I see everything, Mr Bolton. This is my house, and you are my guests. Now, I won’t excuse Bonnie. She’s an adult, after all, and makes her own decisions, however, I’ve been watching you, Mr Bolton. I’ve watched you encourage her relentlessly.”

“Hey, hang on. You don’t know me or Bonnie.”

“Oh, but I do. I know Bonnie would rather sit with a good book and maybe a small glass of wine. I know she’s a two-drink kind of woman, and I know this past week has thrown her entire life into the air. I know she looks to you for protection. I know you haven’t lived up to that job for a while now. And I know that instead of helping her work through this, you’ve decided to take the easy way out and get her drunk every hour of the day.”

“I’m not her keeper,” he protests.

“No, you are supposed to be her best friend. She begged to have you here because the thought of anything happening to you was unfathomable. I agreed. I’m seriously regretting that decision. Last night wasn’t just some silly drunken escapade. Bonnie could have got seriously hurt—killed even—and yet here you are, back by the pool, drinking, instead of checking on your friend. Even Kelley crawled out of bed to make sure she was fine. And thanks to me finding her, she is.”

“I tried to see her last night, but you—”

“I would have shot you if I’d stopped. You are skating through life telling Bonnie how boring she is. You have the audacity to pick apart her choices when you’re here, being a man-child, with no direction or prospects. Bonnie might enjoy books over beer. Microwave meals over clubbing. But at least she’s content. Can you say the same, Mr Bolton?” His mouth bobs open and shut. “No, I didn’t think so. With that said, I suggest you refrain from ‘helping’ Bonnie until you can offer her more than this—until you can be the person she needs. Oh, and one last thing: If I hear you have been encouraging her to drink her worries away again, I’ll have you thrown to the wolves, regardless of Bonnie’s wishes. Capiche? ”

There, I feel much better now. I don’t wait to hear an answer. I’ve made myself clear. Now I need to shift focus onto the rest of my day. The meeting with the family heads is in a few hours, so I have two options: sit at my desk and pore through finances or take a stroll over to the farmhouse I am having renovated. My plan is to open a restaurant that serves our wine and local food. It’s been in the pipeline for several years and it’s finally almost a reality.

Stepping out of the villa, I take in the view and a large breath of sea air. The restaurant is a five-minute walk. We have quad bikes and golf carts, but I never use them. Why would anyone want to rush here? Time in the vineyard is precious.

Laughter greets me as I step through the restaurant door. The interior is almost finished and it looks divine. The aesthetic is in line with the villa’s authentic look and feel, but it also boasts top-of-the-line equipment. The kitchen is a chef’s wet dream.

In the corner of the main restaurant area sits Lorenzo, sipping a glass of red with Mark and Phillip. They seem to be getting on well, and Lorenzo certainly looks happier. I’m a little irritated at them too, to be honest. While they’ve been getting to know each other, Bonnie has been struggling. I can’t imagine it has escaped her fathers’ attentions. So why haven’t they intervened? Maybe I should find out. I’ve already set one arrogant shit straight today. Might as well make it three more.

“Gentlemen,” I say in greeting. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Ah, Allegra. How are you, tesoro ?”

“Busy.”

Lorenzo laughs. “Always on the go, my Allegra,” he says to Mark and Phillip. “We decided to give the kids some space. Let them enjoy the villa.”

I nod and eye them carefully. “So much space you missed Bonnie’s drunk excursion to the edge of our property last night.”

“Our Bonnie?” Mark replies.

“Or the days before, where she hasn’t been sober for a second.”

“She’s letting off some steam,” Phillip quips.

I have reached my limit for dealing with bullshit today. Standing with hands on hips, I level a stare at them that could melt glass. “What the fuck is wrong with you all?” I hiss.

Bonnie’s dads look taken aback. Lorenzo carefully puts his glass on the table.

“Your daughter,” I say, pointing at each of them, Lorenzo included. “Is lost. She was kidnapped—by me, witnessed a shooting, met her biological father, discovered there is a mob family after her, and was taken out of the country. You think she’s just letting off steam? Do you know her at all? Why am I the only one giving a shit? While you three have been playing Dad of the Year Club, Bonnie has been drowning herself in booze, no thanks to her ass of a friend, Pete. She got so drunk last night she blacked out. Is that just her letting off steam, too?”

As with Pete, the three dipshits look at me agog. “How about you stop whatever the hell this is, and go make sure your child is okay? How about someone here, apart from me, give a damn that we have effectively trashed this poor woman’s life!”

I can’t look at their faces anymore. I storm out and march back to my office. Guilt rolls around my gut. As much as I rant and rave at everyone, at the end of the day, Bonnie’s mental distress lands at my feet. It’s my fault. And I don’t know how to undo it.

Maybe I am the baddie she believes me to be. I scoff. Of course I am .