by Mj Fields
Once, we both tried to out-gush each other over their beauty to our grandmother, which was total bullshit, yet it made her feel wonderful and gave us something to laugh about that evening when the rest of the family was in bed by nine p.m.
Things others didn’t find amusing, or even hysterical, we did. She and I both shared an offbeat sense of humor. Antoinette was my last best friend.
I reach in and grab one of the many journals she kept. Where I loved photography, she loved to draw. The times I would see her sitting, concentrating on a picture I took, while she drew it, always made me feel especially proud.
I sit down on the dusty wooden floor and flip through the book. I don’t get sad. I smile at her memory and what she left behind—her art.
Having watched Valentina mourn her parents’ deaths, still mourn them on the anniversary of the plane crash, their birthdays, and I’m sure major holidays, makes me wonder if we have it wrong by just moving on, that I may be wrong for smiling and thinking about all the good times. Or maybe she has it wrong.
I choose the latter.
Three days later, I say goodbye to my parents and return to Rome, giving myself two days alone before Valentina and the chaos she brings with her returns.
With me is my camera and two of my sister’s journals.
Capitolo Quattro
Present Day
I look over at Valentina, who is knocked out. She doesn’t like to fly, which is a gross understatement.
Dominic talked her through the tantrum she threw when I handed her the pill he had the pharmacy send over for the flight. An hour later, she was still flipping out, only slower, and with a slur.
Had I not physically carried her out of the suite, we would still be there.
Now we are one hour from New York, and although I am not a praying man, I certainly send up a few, hoping she will stay asleep until we land.
I look down at the camera’s digital display and scroll through the photos I took in Rome six months ago when I spent an entire day getting reacquainted with my hobby from long ago.
Those of us who live there take for granted the beauty and history of our city. The Colosseum, where gladiators fought. The Pantheon, a landmark that once was a Roman temple, a burial ground for Roman leaders, and now a church. And the Castel Sant’Angelo, a cylinder-shaped building built as a mausoleum for Emperor Hadrian.
When I hear Valentina grumble, I turn to look at her. Thankfully, she’s still asleep.
Behind her, through the window, the sun is setting. Orange, yellows, and pinks mix together in a beautiful sea of color. It streams in on her, making her appear almost angelic.
I snap a picture because no one who knows her would believe Valentina could ever be mistaken for an angel. Yet, through the lens, and because she’s asleep—thank God—she certainly looks that way.
I stand up with the camera to my eye to see an angelic, sleeping, peaceful Valentina from different angles, snapping pictures of her. Her chest rises and falls slowly, but that is all the movement she makes. Then I snap a few photos focused on the setting sun before sitting down, setting the camera back in my bag.
I decide to take a brief nap while she is contained and could not possibly run anywhere. Sleep doesn’t come, but relaxation does. What also comes is seeing Valentina in my head with those two women in my bed that night. Aside from this moment, when she is asleep, she had never looked more beautiful.
As difficult as she has made my life since the night she took off with Efisto, causing me to worry in a way I wasn’t comfortable with, I have seen glimpses of the girl I once felt needed to be watched over. I suppose it’s because of my sister’s journals and the memories that bring me back to the vineyard. My hope is that maybe, Dominic will soon be ready to take her on full-time, and I will be able to truly move on from her, Valentina.
Dominic has fallen in love with an American girl. I have overheard Valentina and him discussing what is and is not allowed as far as her contact with this woman, this Laney, is concerned. He doesn’t want Valentina to scare her off, and he doesn’t want her to contact Laney, or be in touch with her, even though the building Valentina and I will be residing in is where Laney will soon be living, too, just on a different floor.
Apparently, Laney doesn’t know he owns it.
I have agreed to watch over them both, as he wants to keep Laney safe, too. Normally, I would not. However, when Dominic shared that Benito is involved with Salvatore Efisto, Sabato’s father, I agreed without doubt or worry.
I hear Valentina talking incoherently in her sleep, whining, but not the normal, annoying whine.
I try to ignore it, reminding myself of who she is—not a little girl anymore.
Looking out the window, I see the city lights as we approach the ground. I have never been to America, and from the exorbitant fit Valentina threw, I shouldn’t be expecting much, yet I am expecting change in some fashion. Her to grow up, me to move on, possibly both.
When the flight attendant comes out and tells me we are about to land, I nod and stand up. I could easily wake Valentina and tell her to buckle her seatbelt, but I don’t want a scene like the one we had getting on the plane.
When I move her just a small amount, I realize her whine wasn’t at all a whine. It was a whimper.
I step back, hoping my moving her doesn’t wake her. When she sighs and loses tension, I move quickly to secure her buckle. When I tighten it, she jumps.
“No, don’t touch me,” she whimpers before she reaches out to slap me. I grab her hand before it makes contact.
She swings her other hand at me, digging her nails into my shoulder. I grab that hand, too, pulling her off me.
“Please don’t,” she whimpers again, her eyes now slowly opening and showing evidence of fear.
“Signorina Segretti, we’re—”
I stop when she pulls her hands away from me.
She scowls and turns her head. “Fine.”
I silently return to my seat.
“Are there more pills?” She tries to remain calm, but the fear in her voice is there.
“No,” I tell her.
I watch as she clasps the sides of her seat, to the point her knuckles are white.
“It won’t be long.”
“I hate flying,” she snaps.
“Understandable, but you’re fine.”
“I don’t need you to tell me I’m fine. I know I’m fine. I …” She looks down and shakes her head. “I know.” Her voice is groggy with sleep, and her tone isn’t clipped for once.
“Okay.”
She spins her head around to look at me. “It’s not senseless. My feelings are not senseless, Franco. My parents died in one of these fucking things. They died, and my life …” She pauses. “Never mind.”
“I never said it was unwarranted, Signorina Segretti. I—”
“Well, that’s good, because then I’d gladly point out that the reason you have zero attachments to anyone is because your family …” She stops. “Because when she died …” Again, she stops. “You are afraid to love.”
She has never come at me like this before, and I don’t like it one fucking bit.
“My personal life is not your concern.”
She huffs, “Like you have one.”
“How is it any different from yours, Signorina Segretti?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I could have any one of them. I could be married tomorrow, pregnant days later. Men love me.”
“Apparently, women, as well,” I comment, wishing I hadn’t.
“Eating pussy isn’t my thing. I just wanted to see what all the hype was about. Terzetto’s not my niche, either. It’s impersonal. It’s actually disgusting.”
“Is that why the attempt to change tre to quattro?” I sneer.
“Dominic will love to hear about that,” she chides. “You and me in the same bed.”
“Are you threatening me?” I nearly laugh. “There is much Signore Segretti doesn’t know about you, either. Like y
our fascination with Efisto. How do you think he’d feel if he knew you were love sick over a mafioso? How do you think he’d feel if he knew you’ve been blowing off your studies because you want to get fucked by a man who takes pleasure in hitting women?”
Her face turns red and squishes up in obvious anger.
“I’ve kept you safe; that’s all I agreed to.”
“I haven’t seen him in months.”
“Truthfully, Valentina”—I use her name informally—“at this point, I don’t fucking care.”
When the plane jumps a bit, panic overtakes anger on her face. I feel a tad bit upset with myself for snapping at her, but she pushed harder this time by mentioning my sister. With memories of my sister comes memories of a younger Valentina. With that comes guilt.
“You’re fine.”
“I know!” she yells.
At this moment, I am grateful Dominic wants to spend time with her and is picking her up himself. He offered me either a ride or a day to myself. I chose the day. Otherwise, I may be tempted to whip her ass. Then I would be like the man I have come to despise.
Sabato Efisto.
Brat. Valentina Segretti’s photo should be next to that word in the dictionary.
Capitolo Cinque
I walk into the bar after checking in for the night at West 57th Street Resort, by Hilton Club in New York City. Scanning the room, I look for something, anything to enjoy a few hours with.
Not seeing anything, I sit down and order a Manhattan. It seems the appropriate drink for a first-time New Yorker, and a much more masculine one than the cocktail those women on the show Valentina has been binge-watching, Sex in the City, consume—a Cosmo.
I look up at one of several televisions in the bar, all with either sports or stock information displayed, and shake my head.
“What’s so amusing?” a woman asks from beside me.
I turn and see a blonde. She’s pretty. Then I look past her and see a dark-haired woman sitting beside her. Her makeup is heavy, and she has a lot of ink. She’s exotic-looking, but not in cultural way. It’s more in a way that makes me want to touch her. Her eyes are downcast in a naturally submissive manner, but it seems to be a façade. Inside her eyes, I see hunger.
“What was so amusing?” the blonde asks again, directing my attention back to her.
“Places like this are meant to allow you to relax and meet people. This”—I point to the television—“doesn’t cultivate that type of climate.”
“Your accent?”
“Italian,” I answer.
“Of course.” Her blue eyes nearly sparkle. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“I’m here for the night,” I tell her. It’s true. I will be at this hotel for one night.
“Plans for the day?” she asks.
“Relaxing,” I answer, holding my hand up to the bartender then motioning toward the women.
He nods.
I take a drink, look back at the brunette, and then I sit back in the leather barstool.
The bartender brings over their drinks, already knowing what they are having.
They tap glasses, and then hold them up to me as the blonde says, “Thank you,” and the brunette says, “Grazie.”
I nod toward her. “You speak Italian?”
“I’ve been around. I speak several languages.”
In an effort to keep the conversation going, because there is something about her that intrigues me, I ask, “What is your name?”
“Jazz.”
“Like the music.”
She smirks. “Like the music.”
Four drinks later, I am invited to their suite.
I nod and smile inwardly, thinking that New York women are much different than those I have known in Italy. It’s normally my invitation and my suite. Although it’s out of my comfort zone, I accept. After all, this is a holiday.
When the elevator doors close, the blonde runs her hand down my shirt then the top of my slacks. “Told you he was hung,” she says over her shoulder. “God, it’s been so long. I love you, Jazz, but once in a while, I just need cock.”
Different indeed, I think to myself.
It meets a need. Two to be exact. I’m not sure about three, as I’m unsure the brunette feels the same.
For a moment, the moment right before the blonde sinks to her knees and swallows my cock, and then the brunette smiles as she spreads her knees, pulls up her skirt, and begins fingering herself I consider ending this. Three must come. Never two. Not in a Torzetto.
I wake to my phone’s alarm, in my room at the Hyatt, feeling relieved. I’m ready to face not one, but two women here in New York, and not in a way I enjoy two women.
As soon as my feet hit the ground, my messenger goes off. It’s Valentina.
When you come to 57th, bring me an iced coffee from a place called Starbucks. Double shot of expresso. And hurry. I’d like to do some shopping while Dominic’s girlfriend is at work since I know you are here to intrude on both of our privacy.
When I set the phone down without replying, I am immediately alerted to another message.
I snatch the phone up, ready to type back, SAY PLEASE, YOU SPOILED LITTLE BRAT, but it’s Dominic.
I am headed to Italy for a few days. Vincent is there now. He’ll fill you in. Please stay alert.
Of course, I reply, then add, Safe travels, knowing he doesn’t enjoy flying, either.
When I arrive, with fucking Starbucks, Vincent Celleo is sitting on a chair at the entrance, holding a hand-held device that looks like a walkie-talkie. I cringe at the thought that Valentina can now “buzz me.”
He stands and smiles. “Not what you think. It’s a portable monitor.” He shows me the screen. “Dominic and Valentina’s cousin Cyrus has a pretty high-tech system set up. When doors and windows open in the units, an alarm chimes. Each floor is set to a different sound. The front door isn’t connected because no one needs to be alerted. It does get set when you leave or at night, though. The screen lights up to the location of the opened entry or exit access. Heads-up, Valentina spends a lot of time on her balcony. I just take a walk around the building. She’s yet to try to escape.”
That’s because I’m not here, I think.
After he shows me around the office and the apartment on the lower floor where I will be sleeping, he leaves.
Not five minutes later, Valentina stands in front of me.
“Tiffany, Saks, Gucci, Ermenegildo Zegna, Louis Vuitton,” she says, looking around.
“Starbucks,” I say, handing her the coffee she ordered.
“5th Ave today. Clubs tonight,” she says, walking to the front door.
I set the alarm and follow her out.
She looks around then back at me. “Where’s the car?”
“It’s in Italy, Signorina Segretti. Here …” I look at her, making sure I am gifted with the look I am about to receive. “Here, we take a cab.”
As her face contorts into a disgusted look, I make damn sure to take it in.
“When in New York,” I comment, walking ahead of her, “you do as the New Yorkers do.”
“It’s Rome, Franco. When in Rome,” she corrects.
“We aren’t in Rome anymore, Signorina Segretti.” I slow down so she can catch up then look down at her six-inch heels. “You may want to change into some sensible footwear. New Yorkers do a lot of walking.”
“I’m not a damn New Yorker,” she huffs. “I could run a damn marathon in these things.”
“Yes, Signorina Segretti, I’m sure.”
I google the walking directions then look over at her. “It’s only a two-mile walk. Would you rather—”
“Find us a damn cab,” she huffs.
“Of course, Signorina Segretti,” I say as exuberantly as I can.
“You got laid last night,” she gasps as an accusation.
“What I do on my personal time is none—”
“I spent the evening with my brother, and you got fucked,” she sighs.
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“I’m sure it was nice catching up with him,” I say, continuing the walk, secretly hoping she shuts the hell up, realizes she’s lucky to have him, or begins complaining about her feet hurting, which is what I am sure she will be doing shortly. God knows she doesn’t think outside of her current situation.
“Of course I enjoyed my time with him,” she says, surprising me. Then she immediately switches back to that superior tone she carries. “I’m just surprised you actually got laid without me.”
I don’t even ask her why the hell she would say that. I know it’s to piss me off.
“I mean, those women see you watching me. I’m sure it’s a turn-on—they’re lesbians. And people notice me, Franco.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, Signorina Segretti.”
She laughs aloud. “Ha. Do you think I go about seeking everyone’s attention? If so, you’re wrong. If so, I could have been out last night. But I am perfectly content with spending time with one person. One.”
“That’s wonderful, Signorina Segretti.” I don’t allow her to get a rise out of me. Instead, I look at the app then look up at the signs, before turning left onto 8th avenue.
“Where did you stay?” she asks.
“A hotel,” I answer, walking faster.
“Does Dominic know you’re a freak?”
I look over at her.
“Maybe he should. Maybe then he’ll fire you, and you can go back to your little town in Tuscany.”
“If you feel compelled to tell him what I do during my personal time, I may feel compelled to do the same.” As much as I enjoy watching her run in heels to keep up, I do not enjoy the conversation. “Maybe your brother would like to know you, Signorina Segretti, enjoy getting your ass beat.”
She doesn’t say a damn word as I step out into the street and raise my hand to the cab coming toward us. Thank God.
Capitolo Sei
One Week Later…
That first day wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Putting her ass in check by threatening to tell her brother proved to work. Valentina likes her personal life personal.