Italian Undercover Affair

by Jayne Castel

  Adriano was there, although he spent more time in his office this evening than in the kitchen. Sabrina had thought he would be keeping an eye on her, but he barely seemed to register her presence. When she did see him on the restaurant floor, he was talking to diners or on the phone. He had an air of distraction about him, as if the minutiae of everyday life irritated him. Helen had been right about that too—this man lived for his job.

  As she worked, Sabrina observed her new colleagues. Halina and Roberto were an odd duo. Halina was a slender, moody Polish girl who rebuffed Daniele's attempts to charm her whenever she returned to the pass to collect dishes. She was equally cool with Sabrina. Roberto was a tall, thin man with a nervous face and startled eyes, who fumbled his way through the dinner service.

  Despite that the restaurant was packed, Sabrina was surprised to find she was enjoying herself. This was much better than being chained to the kitchen sink. The rhythm of restaurant service relaxed her, and she remembered how much she had enjoyed working in her uncle's trattoria.

  Halfway through the evening, a man whom Halina was serving sent back his linguine al pescatore. Sabrina, who was waiting for her next order, watched the girl blanch as she handed the plate over to Adriano. He had just emerged from his office to check on the kitchen and, judging from the grim look on his face, wasn’t in the best of moods to start with.

  “The customer says it's over-cooked and over-salted,” she reported.

  Wordlessly, Adriano took a clean fork and tried a piece of pasta from the untouched edge of the plate. Then he turned and spat it out in the rubbish, startling both Sabrina and Halina.

  “Alfio—come here.”

  The young chef slunk over, his flushed face rigid with fear. Sabrina’s heart sank on his behalf. She felt sorry for him already.

  “Twice in one week you serve my customers overcooked pasta. There won't be a third time.”

  “Mi scusi, Adriano,” Alfio muttered. “I didn't realize the pasta was scotta.”

  “Scotta? This isn’t just over-cooked—it looks like it came from a tin, and it tastes like cat food.”

  Alfio shrank back from his boss's simmering temper. Adriano had not yet raised his voice, but Sabrina could feel the tension building. She and Halina began edging toward the door.

  “Get out of my restaurant, Alfio.”

  “But, Chef. It won't happen again. I—”

  Adriano dumped the offending pasta in the bin and turned his back on Alfio. “Damn right it won’t—you’re fired.”

  Sabrina cast a reproachful glance over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. She had never seen her uncle treat staff like that.

  “Man, he's nasty,” she whispered to Halina.

  However, Halina merely pulled a face, making it clear she had little sympathy for the hapless sous-chef.

  Chapter Four

  Sabrina carried out plates of pasta to a couple dining on the restaurant terrace and paused a moment to breathe in the atmosphere of a Roman summer’s evening. After Alfio’s dismissal, she needed a break from the tension inside. Yet, outside there was another kind of tension. The air was heavy with moisture tonight and in the distance, she heard the rumble of approaching thunder.

  Across the square, Sabrina spied a rose-seller approaching. He was a small man, who looked to be of Bangladeshi origin. In his arms, he carried huge dewy bouquets of blood-red roses.

  The rose-seller descended upon the restaurant terrace, flashing a wide grin as he thrust his roses under diners’ noses. “Rosa, rosa!”

  Initially, he focused his attention on the women seated at the tables, but when that didn’t work, he tried shaming their male companions into buying a rose. “Rosa, rosa!” His technique, although pushy, was successful, and he made a few sales.

  Sabrina ignored him in the hope that he would move on once he’d covered the terrace. However, the rose-seller followed her inside and started working his way around the tables. Roberto muttered something to him, but the man merely grinned back before moving on to the next table.

  Sabrina had to admire his tenacity. He was like one of Rome’s pesky mosquitos that came out after dusk—annoying but ultimately harmless. This being the case, she was surprised to see Daniele emerge from the kitchen, brow furrowed, and stalk across to the rose-seller. The man had made his way to the far corner of the restaurant and was gazing around the interior, checking to see if he’d missed any prospective buyers.

  Daniele, who Sabrina usually saw smiling and flirting, looked annoyed as he took the rose-seller by the arm and propelled him across the restaurant floor toward the exit. The man made a few feeble protests but soon stopped when Daniele spoke quietly to him. At that point, the rose-seller looked worried.

  A moment later, Daniele ejected the man from the restaurant. The rose-seller cast the restaurant manager an injured look and slunk off into the darkness carrying his slightly ‘worse for wear’ roses with him.

  Sabrina watched Daniele return to the kitchen, his expression brooding, and wondered what the man had done to offend him.

  ***

  It was nearing the end of service, and Adriano Bellini had a blinding headache.

  After Alfio's dismissal, they'd been under a lot of pressure to get all the dishes out in a timely fashion. Still, without that bumbling idiot underfoot the quality of the food leaving the kitchen had been a lot higher.

  I should never have hired him, Adriano berated himself as he went into the office at the back of the restaurant and switched on the light. What was I thinking?

  Reaching into his desk drawer, he retrieved a painkiller and washed it down with a mouthful of water from a bottle. He'd hired Alfio as a favor; he was the son of a friend who’d begged him to give the boy a chance.

  Adriano switched on the laptop on his desk and sank down into the padded leather chair before it.

  Never again.

  The food industry was cutthroat. One bad dish could ruin a restaurant’s reputation.

  Adriano leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply. The barred window behind him was open slightly, letting in the humid night air. It smelled of ozone, warning of an approaching storm. A moment later, he heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

  Turning his attention to his computer, he brought up his emails and distractedly scrolled through them. He hadn't had time to check through his inbox today, and moments later he wished he hadn't bothered.

  There was an email from his attorney, advising him that Helen was proceeding with her attempts to get custody of Luca.

  The pain in his temples increased and he rubbed them gently as he read the email.

  Vicious, selfish bitch. She'd walked out on him and Luca without looking back, but now she wanted a slice of everything he'd worked so hard for. And, she wanted Luca.

  Over my dead body.

  Adriano slammed the laptop shut and took another swig of water. He'd fight her with his last breath before she got her hands on their son.

  He left the office and made his way to front of house. Vincenzo was busy ringing up the last bills for the evening, while Halina, Roberto, and Sabrina wiped down tables and served coffees to those who lingered.

  Outside, the first splatters of rain fell darkly on the cobbles. A boom of thunder exploded overhead, rattling the windows. Adriano watched the new waitress, Sabrina, start at the noise. The fright nearly caused her to drop the bottle of grappa she was carrying to a table. Clearly, she wasn't used to Roman thunderstorms. They could be violent in their intensity. He watched her place the bottle and two shot glasses on the table for the couple near the window. She chatted to them, and laughed at something the man said.

  He was quietly impressed with how well Sabrina had stepped into her new role. She was efficient, friendly and hardworking—a real asset to his front of house team.

  Like the night before, he found himself admiring her curves: the way the well-cut fabric of her pants clung to her high, firm backside; and the generous swell of her breasts in that tight, white t-shirt. She
wore her thick, dark hair in a high ponytail this evening, revealing the slender length of her neck.

  Despite that he’d been busy tonight, he’d found himself watching the newest addition to his staff. Sabrina was not like Halina, or the other waitresses who had worked for him in the past. She was sharper, brighter than most of them. Daniele had told him she had worked as a waitress in New York, but he sensed that was only part of the story.

  There was no doubt about it—Sabrina Bennett had gotten his attention.

  The rain hammered down, turning the streets of Rome into raging torrents. Thunder boomed overhead, so loudly that Sabrina felt her teeth rattle.

  She had no umbrella and no raincoat. It was going to be a wet walk home.

  Note to self, she thought with a grimace. Buy an umbrella.

  Leaving the restaurant, she ducked outside into the rain and made a dash for it. Sabrina had barely made it across the square before she was soaked to the skin. The rain wasn't cold, but it was like standing under a waterfall. She reached the far side of the square and slowed down, clutching her bag under her arm in an effort to stop water from leaking into it.

  There wasn't any point in rushing home. She wasn't going to get any wetter than this.

  Sabrina walked down the street that would lead her three blocks to her apartment. Her gaze slid over the gleaming facades of the buildings around her; they were strangely beautiful in the rain, glowing golden under the street lamps. Water gushed down the gutters and pooled in large puddles around drains, such was the downpour.

  Behind her, the roar of an approaching motorbike engine caused Sabrina to step closer to the building to her right. She didn't want another crazed scooter driver trying to run her over.

  Then, she heard the scooter pull up next to her. She turned to see a man astride a copper-colored Vespa, his black leather jacket streaming with water, pull up beside her. She stared at him a moment, tensing, before she realized it was Adriano Bellini. He was wearing a helmet but she would recognize that smoldering gaze anywhere—a gaze that was now travelling boldly down the length of her body.

  Sabrina glanced downward. A hot tide flooded through her, when she realized what he was staring at. The rain had completely soaked through the tight white t-shirt she wore, plastering it against her skin. She may as well have been standing topless before him. The white cotton had become transparent, as had the cotton of her bra. Her nipples stood out darkly against it.

  She glanced up, meeting his gaze, and what she saw there caused her to feel breathless and dizzy. To her shame, her breasts tightened, her nipples hardened under his stare.

  Her breathing hitched in her chest and time stopped.

  Adriano broke the charged silence between them. “I take it, you don’t have an umbrella?”

  Sabrina swallowed. “No … I didn’t think I’d need one.”

  “Get on—I’ll give you a lift home.”

  Sabrina blinked streaming rivulets of water out of her eyes. “It’s okay. I don’t live far away.”

  Wordlessly, he twisted on his seat, undid the trunk behind him, and passed her a helmet. Sabrina stared at him, bristling at his arrogance. She didn’t like the way he’d just pulled up, undressed her with his eyes, and was now bossing her around.

  “Get on!” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

  Glaring at him, she complied. The seat was comfortable and designed for carrying passengers. Still, she was glad that she hadn’t worn a skirt to work today. Sabrina had only just tentatively placed her hands on his waist, her fingers sliding on the wet leather, when he gunned the engine.

  “Where to?” he shouted above the roar of the motor and the pounding rain.

  “Via della Stelletta 22,” she called back.

  A second later, they were off, bumping over slick cobbles. Terror seized Sabrina. She was sure she’d meet her death here, tonight in this tangle of rain-soaked streets with a madman at the helm. She forgot all about propriety—and the fact that her shirt was plastered indecently to her breasts—and clasped her arms around his waist, clinging on for her life.

  Miraculously, not only did she survive the next few minutes, but Adriano managed to safely maneuver his scooter down the network of streets toward Via della Stelletta.

  When he pulled up in front of her building, Sabrina’s heart was slamming against her ribs, her mouth dry with fear. She released her death-grip on his torso, noticing the strength of his back as she did so, and scrambled off his bike.

  With fumbling fingers, she unfastened her helmet and handed it back to him. “Grazie,” she mumbled.

  “Bene,” he replied with a curt nod. “See you tomorrow.”

  Without another word, Sabrina turned from him and hurried over to her building. The rain was coming down even harder now, streaming into her eyes so she could hardly see. She dug around in her bag for the key and let herself inside her building. As the door thudded shut behind her, she heard the roar of Adriano’s scooter taking off up the street.

  Jerk. He might have given her a lift home, but he’d done it in a way that made it hard to feel grateful.

  Sabrina went up to her apartment, leaving a trail of water behind her. As soon as she got inside, she stripped off her sodden clothes and threw them in the wash basket. Then she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water washed away the fatigue and aches of another long evening on her feet. Even so, her skin tingled with well-being when she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel.

  Outside, thunder boomed directly overhead, rattling the windows. Unlike earlier, Sabrina didn’t flinch. When it had happened the first time, in the restaurant, she had thought a bomb had gone off outside.

  She reached into the fridge, withdrew a bottle of sparkling water—ridiculously cheap here in Rome compared to New York—and poured herself a large glass. Then, she sat down on the sofa and sipped the water, listening to the rain lash against the shutters.

  Despite herself, Sabrina’s thoughts returned to Adriano Bellini.

  She’d heard of men undressing women with their eyes before but had never understood exactly what that meant … until now.

  He’d offended her, but the feel of his hard, muscular back pressed against her, the way every bump in the cobbles—and there had been plenty—threw her up, hard, against him had excited her more than she cared to admit.

  Get a grip. Sabrina drained her water. The guy might be sex on a stick but he was a bully; she’d seen how he’d treated Alfio tonight. Adriano Bellini had intimidated his wife so badly she had fled the country to escape him.

  She needed to remember that when her hormones tried to hijack her good sense.

  Chapter Five

  It was Monday afternoon, Sabrina’s day off, and she had spent most of the day loitering around the square opposite Adriano Bellini’s restaurant. As the workaholic his ex-wife had described, she’d hoped he’d come in to the office to do paperwork.

  He didn’t disappoint.

  It was just after nine o’clock when Adriano had arrived. The warm morning sun glinted off his sunglasses as he locked up his bike and strode over to the shuttered façade of his restaurant.

  At a café table opposite, Sabrina had hidden behind a copy of La Repubblica and peeked glimpses of him. He disappeared inside La Pasta D’Orata and didn’t re-emerge until mid-afternoon. In the meantime, Sabrina had finished her coffee, taken a brief walk, and then driven her scooter back to the piazza with a sandwich, bottle of water, and her trusty newspaper to conceal herself behind.

  She was about to put her newfound scooter driving skills to the test. A few days earlier, she had hired the little Piaggio Zip and was only now getting to grips with driving it. Maneuvering a scooter around the streets amongst maniacal drivers terrified her, but she would need to overcome her fear if she was going to be able to track Adriano Bellini’s movements.

  It was mid-afternoon when Adriano eventually left the restaurant.

  Sabrina jammed on her helmet, l
eaped on the back of the Zip, and took off after him. Adriano sped away, and it was an effort to keep up with him in the labyrinthine streets of Rome’s centro storico.

  Shortly after, Adriano emerged onto Via del Corso—the long, straight street that bisected the center—and accelerated south, toward Piazza Venezia. Sabrina smiled to herself; his home address was to the west so he wasn’t travelling home. She was about to gain a glimpse into Adriano Bellini’s life, beyond work.

  Sabrina doggedly followed him. She circuited Rome’s largest traffic island, overshadowed by the towering white bulk of the monument to Victor Emmanuel, the first king of a unified Italy. The traffic here was chaotic, and Sabrina navigated the maelstrom of buses, cars, and motorbikes with white knuckles.

  She then followed Adriano south, past the magnificence of the colosseum and into the suburbs. It was here that he stopped at a small deli.

  Sabrina pulled up further up the street, keeping her helmet on so he wouldn’t recognize her. A short time later, he emerged with shopping bags, which he stored under his seat, before continuing south.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up again in front of another food store. Sabrina brought her scooter to a halt and muttered a curse under her breath. This time, she impatiently waited for him to re-emerge. In her jacket pocket, she carried a slim line camera for taking incriminating photos—not that Adriano Bellini appeared to be doing anything suspicious at present. There wasn’t anything dishonest about buying fresh mozzarella and bread.

  Adriano remained at this store for far longer than the first, although judging from the number of people coming and going, there was a queue inside. Eventually he emerged, packed away his goods—and was off again.