Italian King by Zoe Beth Geller
Dante
Riccardo remains on the street, inconspicuously leaning up against the stone building while I walk under the Roman arches and inside to my appointment with the dean.
I find him sitting in his office behind an antique desk that’s probably older than he is. Standing as I walk in, we shake hands, and he offers me a tour of the immediate campus.
Funny how a busy dean is suddenly available when the word ‘donation’ is dropped into his lap like a fresh baked cookie. I keep my conversation light and superficial, as if I’m here on a whim.
There’s no reason why I can’t become a patron of the arts. Most people in my circle assume that means opera, ballet, or theater, but I’m of the opinion that art is art, and what’s wrong with helping a school that might inspire a sculptor or painter who goes on to become famous? Or at the very least, make a living doing what they love? For an artist, that’s tough.
The dean is not a particularly distinguished man in his early sixties. Does he know I’m a member of the Micheli family, as in the Family? I don’t know, but I follow him around and listen with polite interest, and for his time, he’ll get a generous donation.
When he asks what I do, I say I’m the CEO of Micheli Enterprises and that our main focus is construction. It’s a long-running joke in my family after the tiny bathroom in mama’s condo cost a fortune and took forever. Let’s just say, you never, ever pay for a job upfront.
I’m not totally lying when I say we’re in construction. We do have our hand in that, but we’re also into guns. By which, I mean that our crews run the streets and the drugs. I can’t be picky because anything I don’t deal with, my competition will. With the euro coming in and the economy hitting the skids, I now have to worry about money . . . and power-hungry factions that encroach on our territory and sales.
The factions I have to watch today are amateurs from other countries and deep seated rivals like ourselves who have been here forever. Most os the drifters are happy to take any opportunity they see if it means they can swipe a few euros, or cameras, off a tourist.
Let’s face facts, I have a huge list of officials, polizia, and others on my payroll. Everyone can be bought or leveraged. Human trafficking is huge, too, although I have a distaste for it myself and forbid my capos from ‘hopping on that bandwagon’, as they say in America.
Back in the day, it would have been the political party factions, terrorists from other countries, and rogue military upstarts looking for high grade explosives and tons of guns. Since then, the list has evolved, and with today’s open borders, gun sales are never going to go down. Hell, one of our country’s largest export sectors is domestically-made weapons.
Even if the dean knew I was the head of the family that’s associated with the mafia, he’d be a fool to not take my money. Everyone knows that if you treat your mafia friends well, and don’t act stupid, we’re harmless.
Today was just an impromptu visit and by sheer luck I stumble into my mark at the end of the tour. I can’t believe how fortuitous this is, but then again, I’m a very lucky man. Things just fall into place for me at the damnedest times and I never question it for fear I might jinx it.
I wouldn’t have minded coffee with the girls, but they declined, so I’m done here. I skillfully evade the dean’s invitation for lunch and as I leave the courtyard, I glance both ways, checking my surroundings. It’s instinct and survival.
“So,” Riccardo questions me with one word as we make our way to my black Range Rover.
“I actually met her as she was leaving, she and another girl who was with her, Ava was her name.”
“Must be a friend,” Riccardo says as he slips behind the wheel.
“Maybe. Ava’s not Italian, I can tell you that. She dresses like big city, American.” My brows furrow. “When do we meet with Conti?”
I’m anxious to get my plan under way, one way or another. If I need to use the backup plan, well, after meeting Juliet, I’m not opposed to having her to myself for a week.
“I’ll have everything confirmed today. It’s tricky, getting so close to the enemy’s territory.”
“It’s going to be at a trattoria near the Colosseum amongst a million tourists in broad daylight.”
“True.”
“More blood’s been spilled for less,” Riccardo reminds me, and I shrug my shoulders and look out the window as we head to lunch.
While I go inside the restaurant, Riccardo stays outside to talk on his phone and smoke a vape pen, having given up cigarettes yet again. I can always tell the first few days as he’s cranky and irritated at every little thing. Hopefully, the vape isn’t as bad for him.
I order in his absence. I can’t resist the charcuterie board and order one for us to share. The fresh meat and cheese are just what I need to get through the rest of the day and it’s a special treat to drizzle honey on the creamy burrata. I never bother at home. It’s plenty of food for both of us and I order two glasses of red wine to go with it.
No sooner does Riccardo sit, he receives the text he’s been waiting on.
“Tomorrow. We’ll take the jet to Rome. It’s all set.” For a man who’s normally not nervous, he seems on edge.
“What’s up?”
“I’ll be glad when it’s over,” he admits. “We’ll take three more guards with us.”
I nod. I trust him with my life and he’s the expert. I take a bite of the bruschetta and Riccardo dives into the meat.
He knows better than to ask what my plan is, trusting me to fill him in when appropriate. We’ve known each other for years and it’s the way we’ve always worked together.
“I’m more concerned about the girl. That will be . . . laborious.” His grin falls short of a smile. “She was beautiful. Can’t believe that ugly Conti produced that. She must take after her mother.”
“Probably,” I chuckle and take a sip of my red wine, letting it slide down my throat. I’m not in a rush.
“So, Rome tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to rubbing elbows with the tourists on the streets. No doubt the city will be packed.”
“We’ll buffer for you, boss. It’s a quick meet, in and out,” he reassures me as he drinks from his wine glass.
I ask him to put the University on our list of organizations we’ll support, but I stress that a check won’t be going out quite yet. I’m the only one with the playbook in my head how to make sure Conti give us what we need. But the dean will see his money eventually. It’s the least I can do for that preview of Juliet.
Besides, a check showing up at the university at the wrong time would not be beneficial to me, or to Conti. Today, we’re just getting the lay of the land, should we have to resort to our back-up plan. I’m not normally one to kidnap women, but drastic times call for drastic measures if need be.
“Once we have the Port of Civitavecchia agreement enforced, we’ll be able to ramp up the quotas on everything. This is huge.” I almost smile. This is my life, my entire life. I live to work, and I work to live. I also love a great Italian red wine and a good fucking lay whenever the mood hits.
Riccardo tosses his head back as he drops another piece of prosciutto into his mouth and lets out a hearty chuckle.
“What?”
“You almost broke a smile.” He accuses me of something he knows I rarely do.
“Hmm, maybe,” I acknowledge, but he doesn’t know that as much as I’m excited about brokering an easy deal with the Conti family, I’m still thinking about the vixen at the school.
Juliet totally oozed sex appeal without even trying. She had no idea the way the low-cut sundress was showing off her firm breasts and sun-kissed shoulders, or that the light breeze was lifting the hem of her dress and teasing me with peeks at her long legs, toned from walking or possibly the gym. She couldn’t have walked far from campus today, not wearing those wedge heels.
Her whole vibe came across as classy, mature, but shy. The only makeup she wore was lipstick and with her natural beauty, it’s all she needed. It makes my cock eager for some pussy as I sit here remembering every detail. I find her sexier than fuck, and one way or another, I will have her. I always get what I want.
We finish lunch with an espresso before making our way to the accountant. He’s more of a money launderer than an accountant. He tells me everything is in order and I’m relieved that no one is dipping their hand into my pocket, so the home front is happy. I have to be accountable to my family.
After leaving the accountant, Riccardo drives us along Via dei Calzaiuoli where all the upscale shops are located, where the women love to shop for designer purses, shoes, and anything else they can buy with their wealthy old husband’s money.
Today is no different. Women buzz in and out of shops while their husbands sit at outdoor cafés sipping thick Italian wine and enjoying the ambiance of the city streets with sounds of an ambulance siren or the bells of the duomo in the background.
We arrive at our meeting and I leave the Range Rover to drive my Mercedes home. Riccardo follows me as we snake our way up the hill to Viale Augusto Righi and into the Piazza Mino da Fiesole. We don’t have any more pressing business left for today and I’ll be home in time to enjoy a dip in the pool before dinner.
I glance over at my favorite place to eat on the corner of the piazza before proceeding up another hill to where my mansion awaits. It’s a winding road that can be treacherous in winter if there is ice on the road.
Riccardo pulls up beside me at the large Tuscan estate and walks ahead of me to open my front door. He clears the house as I head to the kitchen pulling a chilled Moretti Beer out of the refrigerator. The night guards are already on the property, and once Riccardo is satisfied that the house is secure and the video feeds are working as they should be, he leaves for the night.
Alone in the house, my mind drifts back to Juliet, her delicate eyes haunting me. Her unassuming innocence and lightness were in stark contrast to the darkness of her hair, so dark it shone. If it were a moonless night, I’d never find her. I can tell by her dark olive complexion that she’s not a typical Tuscan. Is it possible that she knows she’s not who she thinks she is?
Why do I care one way or the other, anyway?
I don’t relish meeting my grandfather’s and father’s nemesis tomorrow, but the meet has to take place as I have big plans and he’s the lynchpin. I need the port he controls to fulfill our projections that were made two years ago, projections we made with control of the port factored in.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and step onto my patio overlooking an infinity pool that cost more than most homes down the hill in Florence. I see that the maid has put pillows on the lounge chair and decide to sit and kick my shoes off and enjoy the late afternoon.
Beer in one hand, phone in the other, I decide to text Alessia. She’s a sure thing who won’t mind that I’m calling her for a night of pleasure.
She texts me back right away, as if she’s been waiting all day for me to get in touch with her. It must be tough to have so much money that your daily mission is blowing your monthly allowance and waiting for texts from a random guy.
We met years ago at a club, and while I don’t go clubbing as much as I used to, she’s one fling that continues to come and go over the years. Maybe she’s waiting for me to change my mind, I don’t know. Not my problem.
Not keeping a woman around for too long is my best chance to avoid emotional involvement. I can’t share the details of my life with anyone and so I don’t allow anyone to get close to me. It’s the best way to keep the organization off the radar. Even if someone gets caught, they wouldn’t know enough to give the police substantial evidence to any crimes.
She knows the rules. One sign that she’s into me too much and she’ll get her walking papers, just like the countless women who came before her.