She blinks her eyes for a few moments before she answers. “I want to keep my independence, and I want my restaurant. Please don’t take it away from me. I’ve worked so hard for both of them.”
“Alright. I can accept that. Get yourself into bed and I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” I rise and help Carla do the same, tuck her into bed and shut the door to the bedroom she’s sleeping in.
It’s going to be a hell of a day tomorrow.
Chapter 5
Luna
My sister has asked I come out to lunch with her in town. We rarely do this because there’s so much risk associated with the two of us being seen together. You see, neither of us are who we say. The two of us have secrets, and they’re the type you don’t tell another soul.
I reluctantly agreed to meet Galina at a small café on the outskirts of town. I’ve only been here once before and not many people who know me or the man I work for would come here. They wouldn’t want to be seen in a place like this. The café isn’t dirty, horrific or dangerous. Although it is rough around the edges. The owners could use a good tiler to come in and fix the backsplash behind the counter. The tiles are chipped in a few places, and a couple have fallen off the walls, giving the place a rough around the edges kind of look. It doesn’t bother me any because it guarantees I’ll be safe meeting my sister here.
It’s so hard being in the same city as her, but not being able to be together in public. If Philippe knew who she was, he’d be asking me tons of questions. Better yet, if he knew who I really am . . . he’d be asking so many more. It’s why I lie to him day after day. Not only to protect myself, but protect the love we have for one another. He gives my life purpose and is the air to my lungs so to speak.
I order Vargabéles which is my favorite desert. It’s Hungarian but in Germany you can find it in the traditional restaurants. Vargabéles is something you’d see your mother making for a family dinner. It’s a baked noodle with sweet cheese and fruit oozing out the top and sides. I prefer it served warm so I asked the cashier to warm it up for me while I waited for my vanilla coffee. They had three options: raspberry, lemon and blueberry. Raspberry is my favorite and will pair with the coffee well, so I ordered that option.
The cashier hands me my coffee and I make my way over to a table with two chairs. It sits right in front of the window so we can get a good view of the fields down the street. When I said this place was on the edge of town, I meant it. Located as far east as we could go, but before we reach the country. Sometimes I argue with Galina about having to go so far, but when we meet at places such as this . . . I’m okay with it.
I take a seat on the chair, open up my crossbody purse and pull out the small burner phone my sister and I use to communicate with one another. For some reason I swore she said she’d be right on time, but as I flip open my phone I can see a new text from her stating she’d be a couple minutes late. We’d be stupid to chat on my work phone. Out of anyone, we know how the Clans plant bugs into their members phones to keep tabs on what they’re discussing.
I take a sip of my coffee and the vanilla is overpowering. It feels like a bomb of flavor went off in my mouth. I detest lattes, or any coffee with creamer so I take my coffee black with a shot of the flavored syrup.
I spot Galina coming my way from the fur vest she has over her long sleeve shirt, paired with jeans and fashionable boots. Most days I have to stick to a completely business professional wardrobe so to say I’m envious right now is an understatement.
She tugs open the gold door and comes inside, sees me and comes over. “I’ll order my food and be over in a couple minutes,”
I put my personal phone back in my purse and double check to make sure my work phone is turned off. Whenever we meet the two of us follow the same security process.
I glance over to my sister who’s now coming up to me. She has some sort of large latte in her hand. From the looks of it, Galina’s black roots are coming in fast from the last time she had her hair dyed. On some women it looks trashy, but it never has for her. If anything, she demands even more power when her darkness starts to physically show.
“What did you get to eat?” I ask, wondering if she got something sweet or bitter.
Galina smiles widely, “Papanași of course.”
I nod once, bringing my cup of coffee to my lips and take a sip. The cashier comes over with my dessert and a fork. He smiles at me for a few moments as he sets it down on the table in front of me and asks if I need anything else, but I tell him I don’t.
I pick up my fork and dig into the Vargabéles, savoring the sweet and creamy taste. “Oh how you are a creature of habit, sister.” Galina teases.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Oh, Ivana.” She chuckles. Still like every time she says my real name my eyes go wide at the same second my heart starts to palpitate. I will never feel safe being in Romania and being called Ivana Bădescu ever again. I’ve never asked Galina if she feels comfortable being called by her real name, however I don’t say it here. Only when we’re back in the Czech Republic do I feel safe enough. When we’re in Romania I only call her sister, or Greta, which is the street name she’s known by. “You must loosen up, sister. No one is going to shoot you for having such a common name.” As always, it’s like she’s reading my thoughts.
“I don’t understand how you fail to get anxious.” I say in between eating and sipping coffee. She sits down in front of me and gives me an annoyed expression.
“Because at the end of the day I know I’m not the one who should be afraid. As should you. Speaking of being afraid, I had the perfect opportunity to slit your precious Philippe’s neck the other night when I was posing as a bartender. He’s a man who loves alcohol. Why didn’t you tell me this, sister?”
The mere thought of Galina harming Philippe sends terror rampant through my veins. I can’t imagine a life without him. His absence would make my life worthless . . . meaningless. I’d be nothing but an empty void. “Philippe is off limits. We’ve already discussed this.” I keep my tone low so no one hears us. In Germany everyone knows who really runs things —the Romanians.
Galina tosses her head back and giggles. The cashier brings over her food and while he does we both remain quiet, waiting for privacy before we continue our conversation. “Why won’t you let me have a bit of fun? He can’t mean that much to you.”
“He does,” I state, making myself very clear.
“Ugh, fine. But we will move forward with my plan.” Galina says while she digs her fork into her dessert.
“What plan?” I inquire. She hasn’t told me about anything in the last few weeks. In fact, she told me she’d have to put some serious thought in and discuss it with our father before speaking to me. To you know, make sure she wasn’t missing any details.
“He’s marrying a catholic woman which means their wedding will take place in a catholic church. There’s only a few of those here in the city, and I’m sure you’ll know before anyone else which one it is.”
“What are you thinking?”
“You mean what did our father suggest,” Galina laughs, cocking her brow. “Well, we’re going to make it a day no one will ever forget. Fire will incinerate every square foot of the church and with it, every Clan member will die in the process.”
“Except Philippe,” I hiss out, standing my ground.
“Why is this man so special to you? Did you forget what he did to our family?”
“He didn’t do anything.”
Galina shakes her head, obviously upset with how much I want to keep Philippe safe. “It’s on you to make sure he isn’t there the day of. That is the only way you’ll keep your precious man safe, Ivana.”
My sister is drawing a line in the sand and even with her threats I’ll make sure to do what is needed. I won’t let anything happen to Philippe. The two of us are destined to be with each other. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet.
Chapter 6
Philippe
When I woke up two hours ago I made a pot of coffee and went to check on Carla. She was up a few times last night throwing up. Instead of leaving her to take care of herself I went in the bathroom, held her hair behind her head and wiped her mouth clean if she needed me to. The last time she got sick was maybe four hours ago and she seemed so defeated. She even asked me if she could sleep on the bathroom floor. It shocked me she was asking for permission, however I told her no. The tile had to be cold and I wouldn’t want her getting a cold. So, I put her back in bed and made sure she took some Tylenol for the killer headache she was already complaining about.
I’ve done some digging into Carla Moretti and discovered she owns a restaurant a little over a half-mile away from the space needle. After looking it up online I saw the menu is strictly Italian dishes. While most of them have traditional, Italian names. Some have names like ‘Marta’s Minestrone Soup’, ‘Stefano’s Spicy Spaghetti’ and ‘Gianni Style Tiramisu’. It’s sweet to see her name dishes after people in her family.
Carla’s restaurant is named La Bellezza which translates over to beauty in English. I’m assuming she named it after her love for it. From everything I know, I’m betting she has a very personal connection with her business.
I was the first person to enter her restaurant this morning when it opened at eleven. Never did I think her restaurant would be half-assed with her families reputation . . . but this surpassed my highest expectations.
The floor is concrete. For some reason I expected something grand such as marble. She seems like the type of woman who fancies the finer things in life and yet went cheap for the flooring. Cheap, yet modern. I’m not complaining by any means. It pairs well with the soft bamboo tables. They’re assorted around the entire space. She has options for two people eating dinner, or even a family of sixteen. I moseyed around earlier on my way to the bathroom and saw two private dining rooms. Although, they aren’t extremely private.
Her architect must’ve been extremely talented to do what they did here. The dining rooms look like they’re two greenhouses inside a building. However, they have massive skylights in the ceiling.
Paired with the bamboo tables are matching chairs that have gray upholstery. Some of the tables are against a wall and have booths that represent a luxury couch. Above the tables industrial Einstein lightbulbs hang, giving it a unique look.
If all these details weren’t enough, she outdid herself with the entire wall of purple flowers inside her restaurant. It not only looks like she brought the outside to the indoors, but feels like it as well.
I place my order with the waitress, requesting a cup of Marta’s Minestrone Soup for my appetizer and choose a house made feta pizza with a glass of white wine. It may be early, although I want the full experience.
As I sit here my mind is blown as to how a place can look so exquisite and yet I saw a completely different side of Carla. Last night she was a bit of a mess and coming in here . . . makes me astonished Carla is the owner of this place. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t already know for a fact. This is why I wanted to come here, to see a side of Carla I know I didn’t get the pleasure of witnessing last night.
Her behavior not only pissed me off, but made me wonder what the hell I signed up for.
“Here you go Mr. Sala,” My waitress comes over with my glass of wine and minestrone soup.
“Thank you so much,” I say to her, and expect her to leave. When she doesn’t, I continue. “Is everything okay?”
She nods, placing her hands behind her back. “Of course, Sir. Here at La Bellezza we pride ourselves in our patron’s satisfaction. Would you mind sampling your wine and soup to ensure its up to your standards? If it isn’t, I will happily replace it with something else you’d prefer.”
I’ve been to many restaurants, but never have I experienced quality customer service such as this. “Certainly,” I say. Picking up my wine I take a sip and allow the light and airy sensation to float over my taste buds. It’s the perfect Pinot Grigio. “The wine is fabulous,” I comment, grabbing my spoon I move onto the soup. My senses are shocked into overdrive at the strong flavor. I’ve had minestrone before . . . but yet again it hasn’t been comparable to this one. I swallow my food and let the waitress know what I think. “I have to applaud whoever came up with this recipe. It’s simply phenomenal.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here.” A familiar voice pops up from behind me. The waitress seems shocked and we both look behind me to see Carla standing here.
“I wanted to come support your business. Had to see it for myself.”
Carla crosses her arms sounding accusatory, “Mhm, as for the recipe you’d have to give the compliments to my mother, Marta.”
“Ah, I didn’t realize she created it. It’s lovely she let you use it at the restaurant,”
Carla chuckles, “Do me a favor and don’t say that to her. She doesn’t know I took one of our family recipes.”
Shocked, I draw my brows together. “How has she not noticed when she’s been here?”
“Simple. She hasn’t.” Carla responds.
“Uh . . . do you two know one another?” My waitress asks me.
I’m about to respond when Carla cuts in. “Yes, Giuliana. Philippe here is my fiancé.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea you were getting married. Congrats, Carla!” I think the girl is being genuine but Carla obviously doesn’t have the same feelings. She rolls her eyes in front of her.
“We both know your well wishes are bullshit. You’re just waiting for the moment to suck his cock and break us up like you did with Marco and Anna. I lost my best hostess because of you prying into private matters. Get out, and don’t come back.”
Giuliana seems to be in a state of shock, “You can’t be serious?”
Carla takes a step closer to her, obviously an intimidating move. “Oh, but I am. You wanting to fuck my fiancé is only the cherry on top. We know you’ve been stealing money out of the register, Giuliana. I have you on surveillance video,” Carla grabs the girl by the neck, “Don’t you ever steal from me again, and remember my name, girl. I want you to go to bed at night and wonder if this is the day Carla Moretti is sending karma to bite you in the ass.” Carla shoves her away and looks at the visibly shaken girl. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go!”
We both watch Giuliana run toward the back of the restaurant. “You might as well take a seat,” I say, taking the opportunity to get to know this version of her.
Chapter 7
Carla
I just nonchalantly threatened a girl’s life and instead of being disgusted he wants me to sit down. I don’t understand him. “Fine,” I grumble, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of him.
“The soup is delicious,” Philippe tells me with a wide smile. “We don’t have things quite like this back in Germany. While there are Italian restaurants . . . I can’t lie to you and say they have food of this quality.”
This causes me to ask a question I’ve been wondering. I’ll obviously be moving to Germany when we’re married, but I’ve been curious about what I’ll be doing when I get there. “Are you going to allow me to open a second La Bellezza in Munich?”
Philippe chuckles, “You are not a dog who I have a leash to, Carla. You can do whatever you please as my wife, just as you can now. If you wish to open another restaurant I won’t be here to step in your way,” He pauses, taking a look around at the interior of La Bellezza. “What you’ve done here is amazing, especially the wall of flowers.”
I look over to what Philippe is speaking about, “Bougainvillea,” I say, turning back to stare at him. Picking up his wine, I take a sip. A little hair of the dog may end up taking the edge off. This headache is killer. “Did you know every flower in the world has a symbolic message behind it? Bougainvillea are known as welcoming flowers. I want whoever comes into my restaurant to feel welcomed like no other.”
He smirks, giving me one of those smiles that make my panties want to
melt off. Damn, Philippe has Prince Harry good looks and I don’t think he has a clue. Therefore, I don’t need a reason to snap at women the way I just did with Giuliana. I hope he realizes I won’t put up with a cheating fleabag. Since we’re getting married I expect to live a faithful life to one another. Our vows aren’t just words, they’re a sacred oath in front of God. While I might be a little more promiscuous than my family knows, my faith is not a show. It will never be a fabricated charade.
“You are a bit of an enigma. I’ll be honest with you. Last night threw me for a loop. In all my years I’ve never walked into something like that. I’ve heard of it . . . but, well, what can I say.”
“You can say anything as long as you don’t tell me you’re a prude, or a virgin.” I snicker, finishing off his wine.
Philippe laughs loudly, causing a couple who are a few tables away to turn and look in our direction. “God, no. I’ve been around the block a few times, dear. While I may be conservative, I know my way around . . .” He stops speaking while his eyes travel all over me, “you know,”
“I do know.” I reply, smirking as I grab his spoon and soup. Usually when I’m hungover I can’t stand the smell of anything, but I’ll take some soup. After I finish swallowing a bite of food I question Philippe. “Why did you really come here?” I somehow don’t buy what he said earlier.
“I wanted to try the food, and see another side of you like I stated earlier. Now that you’re here with me, maybe we can even get to know one another a bit.”
Normally, I’d tell any man who said those exact words to fuck off. But Philippe isn’t just any man. He’s the man I’ll be spending the rest of my life with. Still, part of me wants to keep my walls up and not say a thing. To make him put in all the effort. I’m the type of woman who only knows how to play hard to get. Hopefully Philippe is good at the game.
Ruthless (The Clans Book 8) Page 4