Francesca changed in her bedroom, a lavishly decorated room with a silk black sheet bed, rested atop a hand carved wooden backboard. The room also housed a white marble fireplace against the far wall, an ornately carved desk which she used for busywork and a balcony identical to the one in the room she had just left Maria in. As she laid out her comfort outfit for the evening, a pair of dark blue jeans, a looser blue cotton V-neck t-shirt and a pair of sneakers she liked, her mind was whirling with thoughts. Mostly business concerns for the next day, a few meetings she had to attend via webcam, a visit from her Capo-Regimes, and finally a dinner with some prospective investors in one of her firms, that the CEO she used had deemed ready to meet the real company owner.
However as she slipped out of the business attire she had chosen for the day, her mind continually fluttered back to her visitor. She could not deny Maria's allure, the strange effect her presence was having on Francesca. Francesca was no prude. She was a woman with needs. And while she did indulge herself every now and again in a one night stand with some local girl from the bars around town, Francesca had never taken a steady lover, nor entered into a relationship with one. She found such love and connections were distractions and more importantly, a severe weakness. Her father had known of her identity sexually and had supported her, but he had always pressed her to go meet women, settle down and provide grandchildren. The typical desire of any italian parent, indeed most parents. Francesca had always indulged him in these fantasies but never offered a firm desire to do so, always stating the right person had yet to come along. Yet as she sat on her bed and slipped on a pair of white ankle socks, she found herself picturing Maria, on her knees in front of her, gently removing the socks from her feet, letting them fall to the floor and taking Francesca's foot in her hands. Lightly brushing her tongue over each perfectly pedicured toe, before moving down and exploring the sole of her foot, from the heel, up the smooth surface of her arch and back to her toes. Francesca shook her head like a dog drying from the rain. She had to dispel with these thoughts, she could not allow herself such indulgences with her Goddaughter sleeping only a hallway away.
The thought brought something in the back of Francesca's mind to the forefront and she swore lightly under her breath at the thought of it. With everything going on and the business of the day she had completely forgotten she had another little "indulgence" that was coming by the mansion this very night. She shook her head as she climbed down from the raised bed and left the room. She would just have to keep Maria away from the study tonight. No matter, she doubted the girl would be interested in what would be taking place in there anyway.
As she descended the stairs she saw a man in the doorway awaiting her. Carlo Burtini was one of her most loyal soldiers and head of the compounds security team. She had found Carlo on the streets of New York when he was but a child and she in business school, already under the tutelage of her father. She had been walking home from an off campus dinner when two men appeared from an alley and tossed her to the ground. She had been going for the gun she kept in a garter holster under her dress, but in a moment found it unnecessary. As the men advanced towards her, a figure dropped from the fire escape stairs above them, landing in between both men, perching on their shoulders and driving his fist into their collar bones. The men collapsed like stick piles, falling inwards in a heap on the ground. As they fell into the glow of a street light, Francesca could see her savior was a boy, no more than 12. Quick as a whip, the boy rolled away from the gasping men, who were grabbing at their necks and in an instant was at Francesca's side, helping her to her feet.
"You alright miss? Saw the bastards trailing you from the rooftop, figured I'd come down to see what they were up too." the boy said as he helped Francesca up and respectfully looked away as she readjusted her clothing. Francesca looked at the men who appeared to be writhing in pain.
"What did you do to them?" she asked with an air of mild interest.
"Had a bottle up there, split it and drove some shards into their necks." the boy had said matter-of-factly.
Francesca turned to the boy, impressed not only by his actions but by the calm with which he was handling the situation.
"Go to the street," she said, turning back to the men whose gasps had become raspy and struggled. "Make sure there is no one around."
Carlo did as he was told and after a good look announced the cost was clear. Without delay, Francesca withdrew the gun she had been reaching for earlier from her leg and fired two shots each into both her attackers. It was a small caliber pistol, the rounds only offering an echoing pop and a flash of light breaking the stillness of the night.
Carlo looked on stunned, as the woman retrieved a cell phone from her purse and shot off a quick text.
"What's your name, piccolo amico (little friend)?"
"Carlo." the boy said, still looking behind them at the now still bodies of Francesca's attacker. "Carlo Burtini."
"Francesca DiBartollo" Francesca replied, taking a cigarette and lighting it. "Don't worry about them. Everything will be fine. We're going to see my father."
She had barely finished half the cigarette before a four-seater blacked out Crown Victoria appeared out of nowhere, racing up the street. Francesca put her arm around the boy and led him into the back seat. It was a silent trip, they drove for maybe an hour, Francesca smoking and occasionally looking at the boy with a thoughtful expression. When they finally reached the compound, Carlo had leaned up from his seat, staring out the window at the sprawling plot of land in awe. They reached the mansion quickly, the driver hurrying down the driveway. Her father, Don Alberto was waiting out front. Francesca climbed out of the car and the two began talking in rapid italian. Carlo made to follow her but was stopped by a guard at the door. He stood there for maybe fifteen minutes in silence, the guards fixing him with curious, almost appraising stares. After a time, a man Carlo had not seen yet, came out and beckoned him inside. He followed the man into a dimly lit room with large wood chairs and a ornately carved wooden desk. He saw Francesca standing behind the desk and her father seated at it. The man who brought him in, sat him down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk and took the other for himself. The man behind the desk spoke in a thickly accented deep voice.
"So, Francesca tells me you did her a great service tonight. I want you to relax bambino, you are in no danger here. I am not the authorities and if the story Francesca tells is true, you have done my family a great service tonight. Do you know who I am?"
Carlo nodded. He had seen Don Alberto in the newspapers and on the television. The media called him a mafioso. In the streets however he was lauded for his charity, his food drives and his willingness to help the people. He was well known to Carlo. Alberto nodded and continued, "What's your name my boy?"
"Carlo Burtini sir." Carlo replied immediately.
"Respectful. Good. Carlo tell me, in your own words what happened tonight." Don Alberto asked, leaning back in his chair. Carlo ran through the events of the night and recounted with the best detail he could. However when he reached the part where Francesca had finished off the attackers, his eyes flashed to her. Thinking Don Alberto would be angry with her for such a brash action, Carlo took credit for killing the men himself.
Francesca smiled widely at these words and Don Alberto chuckled.
"You're a good boy Carlo. Francesca had already told me she finished off the men. Trust me it's much less than I would have done. Where do you live?"
Carlo explained how his parents had died in a fire a year earlier and fearing the overcrowded foster system, he had been surviving on the streets.
