Destino (2 page)

“Fabiana? Where are we?”

Mira held tight to her clutch purse and resisted the hand that reached inside the back of the box shaped taxi to help her exit. She was hungry and felt a bit overdressed for the occasion. Napoli was a noisy city during the day and an interesting mix of people in the evening. Young Italians mixed in with tourists from all over the world in clusters along the streets. Most smoked, chatted, and dined outside of restaurants.

“I have a friend who owns this place.”

“You do?”

“I do. He invited us to dinner and a night tour on his private yacht. You look fine. Trust me. Relax and forget our troubles okay?”

“How? The police put a padlock on the doors to my boutique today. My designs are there Fabiana! We only have two days before Milan. I need—.”

“To eat. To laugh. To dance under the moon.” Fabiana laughed, forcing a smile to Mira’s lips. “I have a plan. Trust me. This friend of mine might be able to help.”

A gentle shove to her shoulder pushed her closer to the door. Mira accepted the hand for assistance and eased out of the car. A hot wind lifted her curls up from her shoulders. Naples was pleasant but not as nice as some of the other towns she’d seen since her arrival in Italy. Fabiana wanted them to open a business in the coastal city due to the affordable cost, and initially the idea made sense. It was less expensive to live there than in Rome or Florence. Mira sensed the city had a seedy feel to it at night. She couldn’t shake it. And the trash issue, it littered the street corners and peppered the air with a bitter stench.

“Ready?” Fabiana asked, slipping her arm around hers.

“There’s a line.”

“Don’t worry. We get VIP treatment.”

Giovanni sensed rebellion before the words escaped his cousins lying lips, and he was ready to deal with it in the most unpleasant way if necessary. Whores. They were everywhere. In Italia prostitution was legal, but organized prostitution, as in brothels or by third parties, had been outlawed since 1958. Very few places like
Isabella’s
remained open. And the whores under his employ were of a high dollar and quality. It disgusted him to see women publicly debase themselves. Pussy was thrown at his feet regularly, and he almost always declined. The messy business in dealing with this side of his operations was part of his father’s legacy he couldn’t wash his hands clean of. Lorenzo didn’t share his sentiment. He clung to the back door business like a bitch who had received her first diamond. Now Giovanni had learned that his family name had been sullied with the association of trafficking. He itched to draw Danny-boy and empty it into the bastard that thought he could move young girls through his business.

“To your left.” Dominic whispered close enough for him to hear.

Giovanni glanced toward the entrance of the restaurant. Two women entered. The first had skin so polished she looked as if she’d been dipped in buttercream, and scarlet red hair that reminded him of his mother's. Though he suspected the striking color of her mane wasn’t natural, it was a lovely contrast to her beauty. She wore a magenta dress that snuggly fit her hourglass figure. When she turned, the revealing low backline plunged to the rise of her shapely hips and ass. Nice. His gaze switched to the other person in the woman’s company. He could barely see the woman. His attention readied to drift as it often did when he observed beauty from a distance and his interest waned. However, Francesco’s burly voice rose and Giovanni’s gaze held. An un-obstructed view of the other woman took him by surprise. Not often did he see one like her enter his establishment. All others around her fell away. The track lights to the front of the restaurant defined her feminine curves. His attention centered on the low-cut V of her dress, which parted her breasts. The dress drew snug around her hips with a rhinestone pin. She had thick hair the color of sable that fell about her face in dark waves, and skin dusted in ginger, flawlessly covering every inch of her that was revealed. Again his interest peeked over the shapely swell of her breasts, slender waist, and flat tummy, long enough to linger a moment on the nice heart shape of her hips. She wore black. The fabric of her dress appeared smooth, like velvet, though the hem of her dress moved as light as silk.

The trio was on the move. Giovanni’s dark beauty stepped forward and the split to the front of the dress revealed her shapely legs as the long fabric pooled around her feet, elevated in silver spiked heels. Riveted, his gaze tracked her until she disappeared.

“She’s the one. The lady in black.” Dominic cleared his throat. “She’s American.”

“Her answer?” Giovanni turned his gaze to his young
capu
. Dominic ran his hand back through the thick dark crown of locks to the top of his head. He shifted his gaze to Lorenzo and hesitated over the response before uttering it under his breath. “She said to go to hell.”

Carlo choked on his malt. The other men gathered, looked out into the restaurant to get a glimpse of the woman who would dare insult the most powerful man in the Cammora.

A sly smile crossed the lips of Lorenzo. “Of course, she doesn’t know how to respond Gio. She’s American.” Suddenly Lorenzo’s sour mood had lifted. He sat upright and tossed down the last of his drink before glancing back over his shoulder to where the ladies entered. “I’d say it’s because you have a boy doing a man’s job. When does Flavio return again?” He gave a pointed look at Dominic.

“She was only granted a temporary lease. It’s happened before.” Dominic clarified. “Flavio made a call on your behalf and the doors to her storefront were chained by an officer of the court. We intend to make sure you gain sole proprietorship. In the past we’ve dealt with foreigners who needed to be taught lessons of humility. She’s no different.”

“Interesting,” Giovanni said. Now that he’d seen her, his desires had changed altogether. He was a bit pleased by her refusal. Too many people in his life said yes before the request was asked. Dominic was correct. She’d soon learn what a costly mistake her rejection of him would prove to be. One word from him and the fucking place could be burned to the ground. He drummed his fingers on the smooth wood surface of the table.

“I stepped in.” Lorenzo announced. Giovanni glanced up. “They’re here to meet me. With Flavio in Sicily I know there are matters that need a more skilled approach. I can assist cousin, no disrespect Domi.”

“I thought you preferred to deal in the business of whores.” Giovanni sneered.

Lorenzo chuckled, dismissing the sting of the comment. “The Irish hold more interest to me. Would you not agree that it’s best we transact business without attention? The canals have to be open to us.” Lorenzo leaned forward. “Those two designers can serve us well, by running the store above. The
Polizia di Stato
would never suspect.”

The
Polizia Di Stato
was the Italian Republic’s response to organized crime and the Mafia. Staying a step ahead of them was critical to men such as them. Lorenzo unfolded from inside of the booth and ran his hand down his black silk tie, smoothing it across his equally dark shirt. He gave Giovanni a respectful nod then turned and left.

A refreshed glass of Giovanni’s favorite malt was delivered to the table. The brunette leaned in extra close to give him a full view of her supple cleavage before she withdrew. The young woman was then snatched by the hips and drawn to the lap of Carlo. Laughter exploded from some of the men as the woman fought Carlo to be set free, and he buried his face in the pair of ample breasts she thought would entice Giovanni. The scene was typical of his men. He ignored them both. How could he concentrate on anything other than the warmth in his chest from the mere sight of the dark beauty who passed him by? He’d been told her name was Mira Ellison, a high profile designer out of America. Twice he’d invited her to meet with him to discuss the boutique she opened in his territory, prime real estate that his father had extended to that Sicilian bastard Mancini. The only reason Mancini wasn’t forced to turn it over after Don Tomosino’s death was because it served Giovanni’s purpose as a discreet cover for his business dealings. Mancini thought himself above the Cammora because of his reign and prominence within the Sicilian Mafioso. But even Giovanni was surprised when Mancini turned the keys over to the Americans without his permission. He would not tolerate the insult. The last invitation extended to Mira Ellison had been a dinner invite. He picked up the glass and drank the contents down.
Maybe he should handle introductions personally?

“
Grazie
.” Mira smiled up at the server and accepted the menu.

“
Prego
.” The tall Italian with dark olive skin and eyes the color of honey smiled down at her. He looked to be her age, and god he was handsome, but his keen stare made her bravery slip and her gaze flickered away. Thankfully he moved on.

“He’s cute. Huh?”

“I guess.” Mira shrugged. “I want to strengthen my Italian. So continue to practice with me, okay?”

Fabiana winked. In every occasion she tried to use a word or two in conversation. The problem was she found herself stuck on the basics. Living in Italy would surely expand her vocabulary; just as dating Kei had taught her some of the most beautiful words in Mandarin. She glanced to Fabiana. “This is a nice place. Really nice. You said Teddy came here?”

“Oh yes, girl. He and I tried every restaurant along
via Posillipo
. This house vino is so good. Up here and below is a lot of nice dining. However, there’s a bit more than meets the eye.”

Mira glanced up from her menu. “What do you mean?”

Fabiana lowered her menu and leaned across her plate to smirk. Her red lips glistened by the candlelight on the table. “Teddy said that the basement is where people gamble, among other things. Some real freak nasty stuff if you’re into it.”

Mira laughed. “Bullshit.”

Theodore Tate was their financial advisor and attorney. Mira trusted him and Fabiana on all business affairs. However, Mira knew Teddy, as they called him, had an affinity for fast living; women and gambling were a constant in his life. Kei would constantly question her over his abilities, and though she may not have agreed with Teddy’s methods, he found loopholes and opened doors no other man under her employ could. If Teddy said there was something more to this place, she was inclined to believe him.

“It’s true. Isn’t it just decadent! Gosh I love Italy!”

“You being Italian have something to do with it?” Mira joked.

Fabiana shrugged. “It’s like coming to the home you never knew. Being around family you always dreamed you had. Bet you’d feel that way if you went to Africa.”

Mira considered the comparison. She wondered if a trip to the mother continent would do for her what being in Italy for three weeks had done for Fabiana. She’d never seen her friend so excited and happy.

A hot breeze blew in causing the string of lights above their heads to sway. The balcony setting was very serene with large leafy plants and candle lit lanterns. The tables were covered in white linen and the plush chairs with white cushions. All tension drained from her bones. She relaxed in front of a spectacular view of the Amalfi coast with luxury yachts resting upon the dark calm waters.

The manager of
Isabella’s
, who Fabiana introduced as Francesco, brought his chair inappropriately close to hers. She offered a curt, yet universal smile of decline to no avail. He stretched his arm around the back of her chair, and she could have sworn he let a few fingers brush her shoulder.

“
Benevenuti a Napoli
,” Francesco said, his raspy voice only inches from her ear. His breath, hot and garlicky, became a pungent wash across the side of her face, and her stomach muscles clenched in response. Francesco was a short man with wide nostrils, thick pink lips, and brown stained teeth, but he wore a nice suit and had taken the time to curl the tips of his mustache upward.

“
Grazie
,” she answered to his welcome.

“The place looks wonderful! You’ve done so much with it since I last visited.” Fabiana gushed. “We’ve been here three weeks and do you know this is the first time either of us have ventured out at night?”

“It is lovely.” Mira tried to force a light jovial tone to her voice. His close proximity didn’t help. She swore she’d leap from her chair and throw herself over the balcony if he touched her again.

Francesco whispered in Italian. From the hard look of lust in his eyes she had to wonder if it was indecent. Fabiana laughed. Mira frowned.

“
Mi scusi,
can you move your arm
per favore
,” Mira said through clenched teeth. Francesco obliged and Fabiana ignored her discomfort and sipped her wine. The
antipasti
was delivered first to their table. A mouthwatering mix of
cured meats, olives, fresh ricotta and a crostini with vine ripened tomatoes. Mira reached with her fork, and
Francesco stayed her hand. He leaned in speaking directly into her face a mix of garbled words that made no sense. Before she could politely ask her suitor to allow her the liberty to breathe clean air, another man approached. He was vastly different than the guy seated to her left.

Darkly tanned, his handsomeness was strengthened by the serious glint in his eye. He fixed his piercing stare on Fabiana first. He was tall. Very tall. She guessed his height to be just over six-foot five or six. And though she admittedly loved to tailor suits for men of his stature she was quite impressed with how nice and trim his attire fit his large frame. When he lifted his hand to smooth his tight dark locks his expensive watch gleamed on his wrist then slipped back under his sleeve. He exuded masculinity certain to stir desire in any woman. She bet he smelled good, too. This meant trouble for her friend. Mira volleyed her gaze between the man and Fabiana. Her suspicions were right. Fabiana’s face flushed and she stared up at the guy with open adoration.