Destino (6 page)

“Deal.”

****

Giovanni reclined in his smoking chair. He didn’t sleep often. The dreams overwhelmed him when he let his defenses down. He had it within his power to do away with the prostitution houses they owned under his father’s reign. He allowed Lorenzo to operate to send a message to his enemies, to give the appearance of not being soft. The thought of it turned his stomach. They were not good men; he had no illusions that they would ever be. But women were not to be abused and used in this way. He thought of his mother’s suffering, and his adoration for Catalina. He could not face her or Zia with his family sullied this way.

He closed his eyes.

After a bullet was put in the head of the dying scoundrel Francesco, who dared bring dishonor to his family, he gave the order. There would be no more prostitution brothels, period. The men didn’t seem shocked. Even Lorenzo held his tongue against any protest. He was done with the shit.

A nightmare lingered in his memory, and he forced the hot ache in his chest to subside. Tonight he thought he might have awakened with the sounds of his own screams still lodged in his throat. He wasn’t sure. No matter how hard he tried to understand his failure as a son, he found no peace. The first life he actually took with his own hand was the life of the bastard he believed shot his father. Even now he took no satisfaction in revenge.

It was my fault.

He rose from his chair, his shirt hung open and his feet were bare. The clock declared the time to be closer to three in the morning. He had the bitter taste of tobacco and whiskey in his mouth. The room to his suite opened to a balcony and he decided to spend the rest of the evening smoking his cigars waiting for the sun to rise on the Amalfi. Soon he’d return home. Catalina would be expecting him. He needed his family strong. He could forgive or try to forgive this one time to gain his cousin’s faith and trust.

They were brothers. In blood.

For twenty-eight hours she and her team worked. Nothing would be missed. Determined, committed, she fretted over her final choices for her collection. Her line had been inspired by autumn’s seasonal colors she’d often watch bloom out of her bedroom window over the rolling hills of Virginia. It had better translate well for her showing.

Fabiana’s voice rose above the chorus of staff members buzzing around half-clothed models and cosmetologists. Each one marched to an explicit directive from Mira on how they were to serve the needs of her big event. Through it all she remained frazzled and over sensitive when mistakes or accidental mishaps occurred. The last thing she needed or desired was Fabiana ‘her bossy best friend’ Girelli inserting herself in the midst of pandemonium.

“Where is she?” she heard Fabiana’s voice crack like a whip over the apologies of an assistant. Mira cut her gaze away. On her knees with pins in her mouth, she hand stitched a ruffled hem that unraveled along the train of the evening gown.

“Mira! What are you doing? Let Eduardo or Angelique handle the retouches. We don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be in hair and makeup.” Mira glanced up. Her vision blurred a bit, and her stomach rumbled. She’d survived on 3 to 4 hours of sleep at a minimum. The day of a show often became this melodrama between them. Fabiana would harp on how she needed to be cared for, and Mira would escape her tyranny to tend to the necessities often forgotten before her clothes graced the runway. Food, even grooming herself, all came in second to last on her list of priorities.

“Drink this. You look like death!” Fabiana held out a cup of coffee.

Mira ignored the order. After she added the ruffle, she wanted to revisit the straps and loosen them a bit to ensure the fabric fell low around Zenobia’s breasts.

“You’re going to make me hold you down and pour it down your throat.” Fabiana half-teased. Mira knew that her friend wasn’t opposed to trying. “If you don’t eat or drink something, you won’t be standing by the time Zenobia hits the catwalk. Now do it.”

Mira glanced up. She was pleased Fabiana had worn the dress she made for her. It was a tangerine linen summer dress with a low back line, which crisscrossed with a multitude of tiny straps in a web-like design. The front of the dress had a scoop neckline and plainly slimmed out her curves with the hem rising two inches above her knees. She liked the understated look that turned sexy when her friend walked off and a person caught a glimpse of her backside. It complimented the multifaceted layers of her friend’s personality to a tee. Fabiana’s hair flowed in scarlet waterfall curls and bounced on her shoulders.

“Enough!” Fabiana stomped her foot in protest. She tossed her locks and scanned the crowd for someone to seize. Mira continued to sew the inseam of the train.

“Angelique!” Fabiana barked to one of the better seamstress. “Finish this hem, please.” Fabiana reached for Mira. Spitting the pins out of her mouth into Fabiana’s hand, she sulked as her friend passed them off to Angelique. With no other choice available, she allowed Fabiana to help her rise.

“Look at you!”

Mira lowered her gaze down to her khaki pants and all white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the bend of her elbow. Her hair had undergone a hot press and curl earlier but she had smoothed her tresses into a ponytail.

“Once again my designing diva looks more like an apprentice instead of the brilliant starlet she is.” Fabiana frowned at her disapprovingly. “The show starts in less than an hour, and you aren’t dressed!”

“Stop talking so loudly. I have a headache.” Mira accepted the cup of cappuccino. The roasted bean aroma opened her senses. She inhaled deep before taking a swallow of the scorching bitter liquid. A shot of espresso is really what she needed.

“Let’s go, and I mean now, Mira.” Fabiana gave her a gentle push. They passed models lined up in studio chairs getting their makeup and hair done. She walked through the heavy black curtain heading to her trailer with Fabiana on her heels. Behind her she could hear her friend speaking through the headset clamped down on her head like a pair of iron earmuffs. Mira flung open the door and suddenly her frustration had a name. It was her bossy friend coming between her and what could be the critical minutes of work to be done before the show. She had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from voicing her anger. Besides, the fatigue had depleted her of energy. She craved sleep, though it wasn’t an option. She had another four hours of preparation to look forward to, though her runway event would last no more than twenty minutes. And when it was all said and done, her fate as the new international sensation would be decided.

She wanted to throw up.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that in front of my staff again,” she grumbled.

Fabiana nodded, “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you say. Are you hungry?”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“Mira,” Fabiana removed her headset. “I don’t have time for this shit. I know you’re stressed, but it’s my job to get your ass in line, to keep this operation from falling apart. So drop the attitude okay?”

She groaned an apology, which Fabiana waved off. “You’ve been wound so tight since we got to Milan you’re going to make yourself sick. I’ve checked and triple checked everything. You and I both know there isn’t a garment out there that you couldn’t find a flaw with. Trust in what you’ve created.”

Mira pulled her shirt over her head, turning she walked toward the back of the trailer intent on washing up and appeasing her friend. “You know what they said about my fall collection last year Fabiana.” She called out from the bathroom running the water. “That bitch Gale Greene and Henry Sutherland had the nerve to call me stale, unoriginal. One of them said my collection had no harmony.”

“Two critics hated your line while the other sixteen loved it. True to form you would only focus on those two hacks. You need tougher skin. Not everyone is going to love what you do. If enough people in the industry respect your talent, it validates your work.”

“It’s not just that they didn’t love it.” Mira stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “They said Kei was the only reason I had a place in New York. Well, his money was the only reason. Now, we’re flying solo and that bitch in Variety put it on the front page. Everyone is going to be critical. If we fail, they will say it's because Kei and I are done, and—.”

“Oh who gives a shit what the supposed ‘they’ think? Sweetie, the bottom line is Kei could write you a million dollar check, and if your designs suck, they suck. You and I both know what you do is fresh. It’s innovative and so is that killer ass runway show we got planned. Did we get this far doubting ourselves? Hell no. This time you will knock them on their collective asses! And I promise to make sure that bitch at Variety does a retraction!”

Mira appeared from the back in her bra and bikini panties brushing her teeth. “Did you make sure Zenobia tried on the apricot chiffon dress again? This morning I touched up the waist, she’s lost more weight.”

Fabiana nodded. “Yes. Zenobia’s got all three dresses fitted.”

Mira headed back to the cramped bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. The phone rang inside the trailer.

“I’ll get it. You hurry up and finish dressing so I can work on your makeup and get you in the chair to do something with that pretty hair of yours.”

“Fabiana Girelli speaking,” she said.

“
Ho bisogno di te,
” A deep yet smooth voice whispered through the receiver. The underlying sensuality of the words spoken to her made her heart flutter. It was Lorenzo. He said he
needed
her.
How did he get the number inside of Mira’s trailer?
She was certain the man on the other line was him. The call couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. Being needed is what she thrived on. After they parted she was a bit disappointed over the brief time they spent together. Now he was calling? It had been several days since she last saw him and she hadn’t even had the chance to thank him for helping them.

“Hello?” Lorenzo said.

“Hi. How’d you know it was me?” she asked, feeling her cheeks flame hot with a blush.

“I’d know your voice anywhere,” he answered.

Fabiana sat in the small booth seat. She couldn’t help but smile. “You say that to all the girls.”

“You look amazing in that dress.
Bellissima!
”

Immediately her gaze flashed upward. “What?”

“
Bellissima
? It means very pretty…”

“I know what it means.” She exhaled a nervous chuckle. She hustled out of the booth seat and pulled the phone cord over to the window. She drew it back and scanned the people bustling about. “Mira and I wanted to thank you and your family for having the doors to our boutique reopened. You saved us a lot of grief. I called and… well you didn’t call me back.”

“Forgive me. There’s been a lot of business to tend to recently. It couldn’t be helped.”

“You’re here?”

“Yes, I’m here. You’ve been working, so I decided to wait.”

How was that possible? Security was gridiron tight. She should know, she paid a fortune to keep Mira’s designs under lock and key. No one was allowed in or out without her approval. And he was there, watching her? “Where are you?”

“The phones outside your tent. I want to take you to dinner tonight, afterwards.”

Fabiana looked over to where she could hear Mira dressing. “I can’t. I have this press-op to oversee and the after party. Why don’t you come?”

“An invitation, to another man’s club?”

“It’s a party I’m throwing. Surely you can make an exception this time?”

“I think I can.”

“You’ll need VIP passes to get in. I can get them to you.”

Lorenzo chuckled. “That won’t be necessary,
a presto
.”

“Bye,” she said, and the phone clicked off.

“Who was that?”

Mira held out for the small chance Kei would call to wish her good luck. She peeked out at Fabiana. Her friend’s face was red as a tomato. Fabiana looked like she’d explode into a rainbow of happiness. She jumped up and stomped her feet shaking her head in triumph. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“He called. That’s what! Wait a second, what are you wearing?” Fabiana frowned.

“Who called?” Mira tucked the blouse into her slacks. She’d chosen a neutral color of bone for her business suit.

“Never mind that. I left a dress in there for you to put on.”

Mira looked down. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Stop with the games, and put the dress on.”

“For Christ’s sake, Fabiana, I can’t walk around in that thing!”

“You designed it!”

“It’s a party dress! I can’t –”

“You can’t work in it? Exactly my point.” Fabiana dropped her hands to her hips. “The work is done. Now I need you to shine like the designing superstar you are. Please with sugar on top. Put it on.”

Mira threw her hands up in defeat. She marched to the back of the trailer to change. “Who was that on the phone?” she called out.

“Lorenzo. He’s coming to the after party.”

“Oh? Did you tell him thank you for helping us with our store?”