The limousine pulled up to the exclusive Hotel Lord Byron in Rome. Natasha was gazing out the window at the once patrician villa when a short balding man in a sharply tailored black suit practically dashed to open her door, even before Alejandro could get out of the car and open the door for her.
Reaching inside he handed Natasha out of the plush leather interior. "Signora Pezzini..." he gave a curt nod of his head, beaming at her.
"James." Natasha corrected absently looking up at the hotel. "Signora James."
"Of course. Whatever you wish." The man looked supremely anxious and not a small bit nervous. She had little doubt that his unease had everything to do with her illustrious last name, Pezzini. "My name is Bernardo Valeriani." His English was heavily accented but impeccable. "I am manager here." He was tense like a child's windup toy as he was fidgeted.and wiped at the perspiration that had broken upon his brow with a white silk handkerchief.
Natasha started up the steps Bernardo trailing slightly behind, Alejandro following behind at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.
"Should you need anything...anything at all, you need only to ask, Signorina James."
Natasha smiled wanly in mild amusement. "Thank you Signore." She said, "I am most grateful. My uncle, I am sure, is very thankful as well."
Signore Valeriani's face relaxed visibly and Natasha gave him a genuine smile, feeling sorry for the man, as they stepped into the luxurious lobby.
"My room?" she asked looking around.
"This way. I will show you myself." Signore Valeriani said with a grin.
They followed the manager to the elevator, which rose smoothly to the top floor.
"The suite." Valeriani said proudly as he unlocked ornamental door to her room.
Natasha stepped into a room that was the size of the apartment that had belonged to her and her father in New York. The room was opulently decorated. It radiated privilege and wealth despite the clean lines and almost overt simplicity. The room was immaculate, attention to detail evident in its presentation.
"You will find that there is all you require in the hotel," Bernardo said, watching Natasha walk into the bedroom to see the canopied bed with its suspended deluges of blue satin-silk drapery and Murano art glacé chandelier. "You can charge whatever your costs to the Pezzini account. Everything is covered."
"That is very liberal of you," Natasha commended.
"The generosity belongs to your uncle. But I am pleased you like it."
"Very much so." She said still gazing around. She didn't see Alejandro fish a 100-euro note from his pocket and slip it into Bernardo's palm who quickly ducked out of the room as though he couldn't wait to escape.
For a moment Natasha stood silently comprehending it all. Although she was not unaccustomed to wealth, she was unused to such obvious displays. It reminded her vaguely of living in a museum.
She walked out onto the terrace. Two young men sitting in the café across street the looked up, raising their champagne glasses, with adulation smoldering in their eyes. The sidewalk cafés along the vast Italian street were teeming with people of all walks of life, Italians taking it all in their stride. Rome remained the glittering city of her memorable fantasies.
"Natasha," Alejandro gestured for her to join him on the sofa.
She sat in the chair opposite him across the coffee table.
He removed his sunglasses and he leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. His gaze seemed to penetrate her.
She shifted uncomfortably.
"This is important and I want no mistakes or histrionics from you." He said his voice grave. "Don't leave the hotel without informing me of your whereabouts. Don't tell people where you are staying. You must be careful...who you speak to, who sees you, and never..." he paused. "Never, mention that you are Renoldo Pezzini's niece." His eyes bored into her, dark and intent. "Do you understand?"
Natasha said nothing, just looked at him skeptically. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile.
She started as Alejandro's open palm came down on the coffee table between them with a loud smack.
The smile left her and her brows drew together ominously. "I understand." She said softly.
He stood and strode to stand beside her chair. She glared at him and rose to stand toe to toe with him, not willing to give the advantage of height. They held each other's gaze neither one willing to budge. He reached up and tenderly traced a finger over jaw line before bending and pressing his lips to hers. His arms came around her and crushed her against him.
Natahsa's insides twisted in alarm and with a groan she pushed him away from her, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. He stumbled backwards laughing. There was little mirth in the sound. It was dark and malicious, causing a fission of fear to streak up her spine.
Before she could protest his hand shot out and pulled her roughly against him. As one hand tightly circled her waist the other came up and took hold of her chin. His grip was firm, almost painful. "Don't play games, Natasha. It will only get you hurt and cost me my job."
He viciously crushed his lips against hers and neatly sidestepped the upward thrust of her knee before flinging her down into the chair. He then pulled a fat envelope from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table. He then produced a sleek chrome-looking cell phone and set it on the table. "Everything you need is in there. I'll be in touch."
Without another word he spun on his heel and strode from her suite, slamming the door behind him. Natasha sat speechless, caught between ice and hellfire with indignation. She felt like crying or throwing something. Rather, she snatched up the envelope with trembling fingers.
Inside was a thick stack of euro notes and no fewer than four different credit cards. She drew forth an Italian passport. She opened the laminated cover and was surprised to see her own face looking back at her. Under name it said Natalia Pezzini. She snorted in derision and tossed it onto the table. Her uncle had always thought her name so...un-Italian. The last thing she drew forth was a smaller envelope. A set of keys and a letter were its contents. Carefully she unfolded the letter to read the smooth scrawling script:
Bella Mia Natalia, I am much aggrieved I could not meet you upon your arrival. I am extremely busy at the moment and though I would love to see you, it is not possible at the moment. I will return as soon as possible. Until then, I trust Alejandro, your old friend, with your well being. Perhaps this gift will barter for your forgiveness.
With Much Love, Your Uncle
She let the letter drop to the carpeted floor and studied the keys. A BMW, nice. Her suitcases had been set by the door by some unseen bellhop. She dressed quickly in a black leather jacket over a black lacy camisole and white satin slacks then breezed out of the room.
***
"Miss James! Where are you going?!" Signore Valeriani walked swiftly after Natasha as she was making her way out of the hotel.
"Out." She said simply not bothering to hide her annoyance. She handed the keys to a valet who quickly hurried to retrieve the car.
"But your uncle-"
"Is obviously out of town and I have no intention of sitting in my hotel room 'til he comes back."
Mr. Valeriani wrung his hands in agitation. "Perhaps I should call Alejandro. He would be happy to escort you."
Natasha whirled on him, angry. If there was one thing she inherited from her mother it was the famous Pezzini temper. "Absolutely not." Her tone was frigid. "You will do no such thing. I will not be kept in my room like some grounded little girl. You tell Signore Montelli anything of the sort and I will tell my uncle that you blatantly disregarded my wishes." She stomped down the hotel steps leaving Signore Valeriani to stare after her. She felt a slight moment of remorse—she'd probably caused the poor man a minor coronary—s but quickly brushed it aside.
