Chapter 9

Because of shock, tingling nerves, and excitement even, I couldn't fall asleep. Instead, I scrolled my phone for articles on the SBS, the South Bank Syndicate, hoping to find something about their feud with the Maggio. 

There wasn't anything available in great detail, just a mere Wikipedia page and a couple of old sketches of the river. The earliest accounts mention them as a band of river pirates operating on the Flux after the Great Italian Plague. 

They robbed merchant boats and shared the spoils with the people—according to a four-hundred-year-old poem. The governing power didn't like this. The Maggio Bank, with the support of the Catholic Church (represented by a Maggio cardinal), lured the pirates into a trap, killed everyone, then sank their vessel, The Serenity, with all the treasure on it.

I guess they didn't cut off the head of the snake if they're now seeking retaliation... I sighed, rubbing my eyes. I wonder if the ledger contains more information about this or perhaps its exact location?! The Maggio sure have left their marks on history. 

Pondering on long-forgotten times, my eyelids closed seamlessly, and I fell asleep with the phone in my hands. 

The next thing I knew, I woke up to a vibrating sensation. The damn phone buzzed under my back, shaking me out of my sleep. I scraped it out and turned it off, only for it to go on again right as I was about to dose off. This second time I recognized my ringtone, and I answered without even checking the screen. 

"Miss Banks," I heard the secretary's ragged voice on the other line. 

"Good morning," I mumbled without opening my eyes. 

"The manager is requesting the June insurance cover reports," Miss Banks said. 

I stopped to think. For a second, I didn't know what she was talking about. 

"The insurance cover reports... for June..." I repeated. 

"Yes, Miss Banks. Have you done them yet?" 

I checked the clock: quarter past seven. 

Russo is tidying up. Something big must be going down if they're already in the office. 

"They are on Signore Russo's desk. I submitted all of the reports last week." 

If he'd actually do his job and not harass me every hour, he'd know, I thought. 

"I also sent the electronic files to his email... Next time I will send you a carbon copy..." 

Suddenly the line cut off and in the next moment, an unknown number appeared on my screen. 

I answered. 

"Buongiorno, signorina (good morning, miss). I'm here to pick you up." 

Hearing Cosimo's voice I sprung out of the bed. 

"Already?" I asked looking out the window. The two Fiats scrambled and two standard-looking motorcycles were parked in their places. 

"We need to avoid the rush hour. I'm parked at the entrance." 

"I'll be down in fifteen minutes," I said and hung up on him. A voicemail notification popped up, but I figured it was Miss Caige wanting to further push my buttons. They had all my reports at hand and if they needed something else, Sofia could help them out. So I ignored it. 

I walked to my bed, yanked out my dusty suitcase from underneath, and threw the lid back. I opened my closet, chose five outfits that go well with the same pair of heels, and packed them up while still on the hanger. I tucked the shoes into my nightgown and stuffed them into one side of the luggage. 

Don't judge. These black leather Louboutins were the most luxurious things I owned. They gave an instant butt lift and made every ordinary suit look expensive. Then emptied my lingerie drawer on top and threw in my prepacked cosmetics bag next to them. 

Ten minutes left, I thought, pulling out my charger from the sockets and packing my tablet in as well. Then I put on a basic black dress and slipped into a pair of brand-new wedges. I combed out my hair, slapped my cheeks for instant blush, and popped in a minty bubblegum. No time to freshen up. 

My fifteen minutes went by in a glimpse. I quickly wrote a note to Nonna, apologizing for not making my bed. I secured it under the telephone and left. 

* * *

Giorgio, the all-purpose driver, opened the door for me and took my luggage. I got in with grace and made sure to cross my ankles. My greeting met idle ears, but pretty soon I got distracted by the seamlessly moving luxury vehicle. 

As I sat there, my heart fluttered and my palms lay sweaty on my lap as I inhaled Cosimo's slight hint of tobacco scent mixed with the fruity sweetness of his cologne. I looked away, remembering my daring fantasy of him, feeling his touch... 

Huh, I need a boyfriend or at least a hobby to keep me preoccupied. I snapped at myself. 

My blood was boiling, and hot waves swooshed over me. It was just too hot under my dress to sit still. And I had so many questions whirling in my mind about last night. 

Cosimo, on the other hand, sat in utter silence. He was reading the local newspaper and on the front page, I noticed a picture of a distorted shape on the ground and him doing what seemed like chest compressions while being soaking wet. 

That's me, I realized, my cheeks turning pink. 

"Splendido Eroe (gorgeous hero)," I read out loud, but he didn't react. My eyes widened. 

He pushed me in. And he's the national hero?! What a load of crap. I almost forgot how this man nearly caused my death. 

I won't forgive you just because you saved me, asshole; I argued inside my head. 

But he didn't seem to care that I was sitting next to him, all flared up from bottled rage. Reading the newspaper entertained him more. And I was fine with that. At least I avoided an awkward conversation. So I laid back, searching for some happy thoughts while listening to a furious piano concerto. 

Very much inspired by Indiana Jones and The Mummy movies with Brandon Frazier, I once dreamed of becoming a famous archaeologist, discovering buried treasures, lost cities, and ancient artifacts. Or perhaps a curator at a museum. Maybe even an antique dealer at an auction house. 

But the closest I got to history was investigating insurance claims for a couple of Botticelli frescos, an original Johann Strauss II violin sheet music with a grease stain on it, and a serial killer's knife from the 1920s with its handle chewed on by the owner's dog. Imagine the boost I felt when I discovered the so-called Mussolini hair comb turned out to be a fake. And that's for this month only. 

The problem was, I had no more dreams of my own. I just lived one day at a time. I had pretty flexible work hours because I traveled a lot, and when I wasn't working, I spent it all with Nonna. She even came along when I had to be away for a couple of days. 

She was tired of the noisy city. York, Pontefici, or Citta del Salvatore, it didn't matter. All were sticky, smelly, and too full as well. When she got a bit tipsy on prosecco, she talked about owning a cottage or a farmhouse, surrounded by trees and close to a little creek. I was convinced we could accomplish this one together. But I learned it was only wishful thinking, for the city life made us too comfortable. So I played along every time she brought it up. 

All of a sudden, I hear the newspaper crumple on my left. It creased and wrinkled in Cosimo's hands. I shifted my gaze towards him and I found him staring at me with his chestnut brown eyes. 

"I find you fascinating," he said, handing me over his phone. Needless to say, seeing my naked body from last night left me dumbfounded. "Are you turning things sexual intentionally?" 

"No. It's just my good fortune," I replied, burying my face into my hands as I turned away. 

"Don't be ashamed. You have beautiful form." 

He paused, and that minute of silence made me wish he'd take me right there in the car. 

So cheap of me. I knew a compliment didn't mean that he liked me, but my senses said the attraction was there. And even when I was so angry at him, something still yearned inside me for his attention. 

Should I thank him for the compliment or not? I thought. 

"Dare I ask what happened?" He turned towards me with a curious look on his face. 

"I had a couple of late-night visitors your men haven't spotted," I replied in a spicy tone. 

He took out his phone again and looked up another picture, then showed it to me. 

"Them, by any chance?" he asked. 

It wasn't a picture, but a video of two men climbing inside my room. I was sweating again. 

"You know about..."

"Si (yes). I was waiting for your heated tongue to bring it up, but you seem very distraught. He must have scared you. The South Bank Syndicate is one of the reasons you'll be much safer at the Palazzo (palace)." 

"One of the reasons? You mean there's more?" 

"Sfortunatamente, si (unfortunately, yes)," he said. 

I covered my mouth with my right hand, shielding my expression. 

What the hell did I get into? I pondered. 

After a brief pause, he stretched his arms out and slid closer to me. 

"Has anyone told you how beautiful you are when you're lost in your thoughts?"