The lobster is delicious, freshly caught from the bay. My villa is cooler this time of year but I'm not one to complain after the torturous months of intense heat. My Patek strikes 9pm as the wind sifts through the trees overhead and the sound of our forks hitting the plates rings out across the patio. Cyndi Mason, a girl with dreams bigger than her station is sitting at the opposite end of my long table, anger wrought across her face.
She had been sniffing around the accounts far too much for the big boss's liking. It was one thing to have some press curiosity, but this girl was tenacious and of course that was not good for business, it wasn't good for him, it wasn't good for me, it wasn't good for the whole operation. So I intervened.
Of course, nothing would have been so complicated if I hadn't developed some feelings for her. Intelligent, brave and a whole bundle of energy designed for a hundred women wrapped into one. She was a tall girl, dark olive skin, heavy black curls set against her gentle features, a fiery and full bodied American Latina. Wearing one of the Saint Laurent cocktail dresses I had spare in my wardrobe.
She looks up at me through hooded eyes, a menace to her expression. A smouldering look that would wither lesser men.
'You should eat more. Get your energy up.' I speak gently, going back to my own plate to spoon up another mouthful.
'Fuck you. I'm not your property. You don't get to talk to me.' She motions like she is spitting on the plate and offers a little smirk to me. She wants me riled up. My bodyguards raise their eyebrows, Silvio shuffling his weight forward towards her to reprimand her, but I put my hand up. Brats were going to be brats.
'Fine, that's an expensive meal you're wasting. Not sure it is wise to do that.'
No response this time.
I sigh and wipe my lips with the napkin, undoing the top button on my white dress shirt. Here we were having a nice meal under the moonlight and she seemed completely incapable of appreciating it. She had been feisty from the moment my men picked her up snooping around outside the lawyer's office. There was something about the feisty ones that struck a nerve with me. I had to be alone with her to straighten things out properly.
'Silvio, Pietro, you can leave us.' I clap my hands and motion them down the steps by the far end of the garden. Silvio looks at me for a split second before nodding and the two walk quickly to the steps to go to the front gate of the complex. She watches them all the way before looking back to me with scolding eyes.
'Glad you could find the balls to talk to a woman all alone without your goons staring over everything I do.'
I snicker. 'You know...most other capos, they wouldn't be so...understanding of all this petulance.'
'A girl can be so lucky.' She throws her head back exposing some of her upper chest for me. If she thinks she can control this conversation with the little displays of snark she is mistaken.
'You're lucky you're alive Miss Mason.'
'Call me Cyndi and cut the pleasantries. You're the last person I need them from.' She spits food out again onto the table. My mouth twitches, my lips curling upward into a snarl as I start to get angry with her, truly for the first time. She had no appreciation of what I had rescued her from. The mouse trap she had walked into with the big boss.
'Cyndi. You're no prisoner here you can leave any time you want, but you really ought to be a touch more grateful. I'll cut the pleasantries, of course you know the danger you face.' I wave my fork at her, a piece of calamari stuck to the end, trying to accent my point. But there was no reasoning with her.
'I'm done with you.' Murmuring quietly she turns away from me, one leg folded over the other and looking out at the stars on the far horizon.
I get up from the chair and slowly sip from the wine glass. The 'Occhio di Pernice' from Avignonesi, one of my favourites from Southern Tuscany. My eyes are glued on hers as she sulks and watches me warily in her chair. Putting the glass down, I move slowly over to her, my hand skimming over the long table top, admiring the fine cloth and the handiwork put into it, passed down from generation to generation of my family.
'You're only alive because I intervened. There's some very bad people who want you dead for what you were doing on the Saggiatore accounts.'
'I can take care of myself Gino.' Her voice wavers, shuffling in the chair with her hands moving to her legs. Submissive now, far from the hard-headed journalist I had picked up on the beach after the yacht crash. Already less combative than a few minutes ago.
'Oh really. What evidence have you given me so far to believe that? Getting shot at, getting tracked across half of Lombardy and nearly being found on the yacht. You really know how to keep a low profile.'
She pouts and keeps silent.
'This is going to work if you work with me. I don't want to have to save your life for a third time this week.' I emphasise the third by stabbing my fork sharply into the table and standing over her. Her hands are glued to the arms of the chair watching me like a hawk. 'Remember you're safe here. Have I harmed you once since you arrived?'
Her expression noticeably relaxes as she turns her gaze back to me. Soft and tanned features look up at me, the fullness of her lips and the delicacy of her cheeks becoming apparent to me for the first time in our little adventure of a meal. Chest slowly heaving in place, she tries to curtail her emotion and get the control back to her voice.
'Maybe...Maybe I was being rude. I appreciate you finding the yacht. I just don't appreciate being locked up like this. I've never been unable to go anywhere in my life.'
'You're no prisoner, you can go when you want, but you know like I do that Milan is not safe for you right now.'
Falling into the chair she lets out a loud sigh and folds her arms.
