by Jayne Castel
“Can I have the bill, miss?” The American tourist flagged Sabrina down as she passed by, her arms laden with dirty plates.
“Sure,” she answered with a tired smile. “I’ll get it for you now.”
It was just past 10pm, and Da Maria, the trattoria where Sabrina had found work, had emptied out. Situated near the Vatican, the restaurant was mainly patronized by tourists who ate earlier than Italians. At this hour, La Pasta D’Orata would still be insanely busy. However, the two restaurants had little in common. Da Maria churned out insipid plates of spaghetti alla carbonara and over-cooked steak, while La Pasta D’Orata dished up food that people would book weeks in advance for.
Still, it was a job, and Sabrina was grateful to have it.
She carried the dishes through to the kitchen where Maurizio, the chef who prepared most of the dishes, gave her a smoldering look.
“Are you free after work?” he asked.
Sabrina forced herself not to roll her eyes. This was the third time he’d asked this week—the guy didn’t seem to understand she wasn’t interested.
“No,” she replied. Tiredness and aching feet had made her snappier than usual. “Sorry, but I’m just not interested, Maurizio.”
She turned, ignoring his crestfallen expression, and marched back out into the restaurant to retrieve the American’s bill. The owner of Da Maria, an oily, middle-aged man named Bruno who spent his evenings hungrily eyeing young female tourists, made a face as he rang up the bill.
“Stingy bastards,” he muttered. “Two salads and a dessert to share between them. How am I supposed to make money?”
Sabrina forced herself to smile sympathetically, although Bruno’s attitude irritated her. Da Maria served up lackluster food but all he cared about was how much money he made. Tourists entering the restaurant may as well have had euro signs imprinted on their forehead. Sabrina found his grasping distasteful, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to let it show on her face.
Just bide your time, she told herself as she carried the bill out to the Americans. This job is just a stepping-stone. As soon as I’ve got enough money behind me, I’ll move on.
She’d found this job the day after her arrival in Rome—now, four weeks later, she understood why Bruno had been so keen to hire her. The man went through staff at an incredible rate. She’d also not seen the same customer in twice. Once again, she found herself comparing this restaurant with Adriano’s. He had diners that had been coming to La Pasta D’Orata for years. He was a hard task master, but his staff felt privileged to work at his restaurant.
Pain lanced through her chest, and she caught her breath. It was a mistake to think about Adriano Bellini. Months on, any reminder of him still hurt. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she could think about him without feeling as if someone was ripping her heart out.
An hour later, Sabrina said goodbye to Bruno and Maurizio—the latter was now sulking—and made her way out into the street. A busy bar sat opposite, its terrace still crowded with patrons. The bar had set up large heaters outside to keep the winter chill at bay. Large torches threw up flames into the air, hungrily licking the night sky.
Checking that Maurizio wasn’t tailing her, as he’d tried to follow her home last week, resulting in a rather tense confrontation on the street, Sabrina walked briskly up the street. She made her way to the piazza two blocks away where she’d catch the tram. Twenty minutes later, after a cold wait, she was on the tram and trundling north.
Her roommate, Liliana, was still up when Sabrina entered the apartment. Dark and petite, with an elfin haircut and large eyes that gave her a Betty Boop look, Liliana worked as an intern at the law courts, which were located just a few blocks away.
Liliana was sitting in the kitchen, feet up on a chair, with a glass of wine, watching the small TV that sat on the wall opposite. Their apartment was tiny: two shoebox rooms—one of which had formerly been the living room—a narrow galley kitchen, and a windowless bathroom that wasn’t big enough to swing a cat in.
Sabrina could tell just by looking at her that her roommate hadn’t had a good evening. She leaned up against the kitchen doorway and eyed Liliana. “What’s up? You look like you want to punch someone.”
Liliana winced, reached for the remote control and switched off the TV. “Is it that obvious?”
Sabrina nodded. Liliana met her gaze for a moment before her face crumpled. “Carlo broke up with me.”
Sabrina gasped—that was the last thing she’d been expecting to hear. “What?”
Liliana brandished the half-empty bottle of Chianti next to her glass. “Care for some wine?”
Sabrina hesitated a moment before nodding. It had been a tiring evening and a stressful shift. She could do with something to relax her before she went to bed.
Liliana got up and retrieved a clean glass from the cupboard above the sink. She then filled it half-full with wine before passing it to Sabrina. Her eyes glittered with tears.
“I’m so sorry, Lili,” Sabrina said quietly. She felt a stab of self-reproach as she spoke, for she’d secretly been a little envious of her roommate’s relationship. Carlo was a young attorney who’d just passed his bar exams. He and Liliana had been planning to move in together after the summer. Sabrina had thought of them as the ‘perfect couple’.
She felt foolish for thinking that now—surely bitter experience had taught her there was no such thing. She’d also seen, in her years working as a private investigator, that appearances meant nothing. It always amazed her just how many secrets people could keep.
I’m a fine one to talk.
Sabrina took a sip of wine and sat down opposite Liliana. She felt at a loss for words. She really hadn’t seen this coming.
“You seemed … happy together,” she said finally. “Had anything changed?”
“He’d been strange for days,” Liliana admitted. “I thought he was just stressed, what with his exams and then all the job interviews. But tonight he came out with it—he’s met someone else.”
Sabrina stared at her. “Who?”
Liliana shook her head, brushing at the tears that were now streaming down her face. “Apparently, I don’t know her, but they met last summer while he was at the beach with friends. He’s been seeing her in secret ever since.”
Sabrina clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. “The asshole!”
“I called him that, and much worse,” Liliana admitted with a bitter smile. “I made a huge scene in the bar where we were having our aperitivo. He’ll never be able to show his face in there again.”
Sabrina gave a humorless chuckle. “Good.”
Liliana leaned back in her chair and let out a heavy sigh. “I thought I knew him—but turns out I didn’t at all. Since the summer, he’s been behaving one way and thinking something else entirely. I feel like the last six months have been a lie.”
Sabrina tensed. She knew the words weren’t meant for her, but they triggered memories of her last encounter with Adriano; reminded her of the accusations he’d hurled at her. No one liked being lied to.
Sabrina looked down at her wine glass and blinked back tears.
She’d not meant to hurt him but her intentions didn’t matter now. She’d been arrogant to assume he’d forgive her for pretending to be something she wasn’t. She may not have betrayed him sexually, like Carlo had done to Liliana, but in many ways what she’d done was much worse. How was he to know that she hadn’t faked much more than just her identity?
“I’m sorry to burden you with all this so late at night,” Liliana sniffed before draining the remnants of her glass. “I just couldn’t go to bed without talking to someone.”
Sabrina reached across and placed a hand over Liliana’s, squeezing gently. “You can always talk to me, you know that.”
Liliana gave her a weak smile through her tears. The young women had been sharing the apartment for a month; Sabrina had seen Liliana’s advertisement online two
days after she arrived in Rome. They’d hit it off the moment they met. Sabrina liked Liliana’s practical, straightforward approach to life. Even betrayed and upset, there was a strength in her.
“If he’d do that to you, Lili, then he didn’t deserve you,” she told her friend firmly.
Liliana managed another watery smile. “I keep telling myself that but it still hurts.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Adriano parked his bike in front of the bar and took off his helmet. His gaze slid over the terrace, where patrons bundled up in coats and scarves huddled next to braziers. No sign yet of Mario—although his friend, like most Romans, habitually arrived late for appointments.
He’d never frequented this bar before. Since it had recently opened and was becoming extremely popular, Mario had suggested they catch up there. It certainly was an inviting spot. Named Fuoco—Fire—presumably due to the flaming torches that surrounded it, the bar had a welcoming feel. Adriano couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually met a friend for a drink. Once, his circle of friends had been as important to him as family, but then marriage and work intruded and he’d let his old friendships slide. Marco was someone he’d known since high school—he’d come in for a meal at La Pasta D’Orata a few days earlier and insisted they catch up.
Although it had meant an evening off work, and leaving Luca with his sister, Adriano was glad Mario had insisted. He’d already started making changes in his life, and making time for friends also needed to be added to the list.
Adriano locked up his bike and glanced around the street. Elegant renaissance palazzi towered overhead, typical of the Prati district just north of where he lived in Trastevere. Fuoco sat opposite a shabby-looking trattoria. Unlike the bar, the restaurant didn’t have any outdoor heaters; as such, the diners were all seated inside. Adriano saw a scowling young man serving tourists. Any waiter wearing an expression like that wouldn’t last long in his restaurants.
“Hey, Adriano!”
He turned to see a tall man with thick, curly, dark auburn hair striding toward him. As usual, Mario Di Rocca was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. Since they’d been teenagers, Adriano didn’t think he’d ever seen his friend wear jeans. They hugged before making their way onto the bar terrace and taking a seat next to one of the glowing braziers.
“Sorry I’m late—I came straight from work.”
Adriano shrugged. “I just got here myself.”
A waitress approached their table and left them with drinks menus. Mario glanced down at his a moment before flashing Adriano a grin.
“I can’t believe I got you to take the night off.”
Adriano grinned back. “Says the man who’s married to his work.”
Mario made a rude noise. “Last time I checked so were you.”
“Not anymore.”
“Really?”
“Really. Luca lives with me now and I’ve cut back my hours.”
Mario leaned back in his chair and surveyed him with that shrewd gaze that Adriano knew well. He hadn’t risen through the ranks to police chief by accident. The man had a mind like a razor.
“So, what brought this on?” Mario asked.
Adriano pulled a face. “Do I need a reason?”
“Come on—it’s me you’re speaking to. There’s something different about you. I noticed it at the restaurant.”
“Well, at least the custody battle with Helen is over.”
Mario nodded but said nothing. Adriano knew his friend and estranged wife had never gotten on. Still, Mario had never once said anything against her. He didn’t need to—the look on his face whenever her name was brought up was clear enough.
“She didn’t try to abduct Luca again then?”
Adriano shook his head. “It was that incident that turned the judge in my favor.”
“So she isn’t allowed to see him—ever?”
Adriano raised his eyebrows. “I’m not some heartless monster. As long as I have advance warning, she’s allowed to visit him in Rome as often as she wants. However, after what happened last time she was left alone with Luca, either my sister or I has to be present.”
Mario listened, his gaze intense. “So you’re putting it all behind you?”
Adriano smiled. “I’ve made a few mistakes over the years. I just realized I needed to put them right before it was too late. I don’t want Luca to hate me—like I hated my father.”
Adriano stopped there, deciding he’d said enough for the moment. Mario gave him a speculative look before glancing down at the drinks menu. “In case you were wondering, we got all the members of that gang in the end,” he said casually. “They won’t be bothering you again.”
“You did?” Adriano smiled. Mario had been his contact in the police who’d organized the arrest of the gang member sent to pick up the pizzo. “Good to hear.”
“How’s Daniele?” Mario asked. “Did you fire him over it?”
Adriano shook his head. “He got a scare and learned a valuable lesson. He’s pulled his head in ever since, so he’s staying—plus if I fired him and my sister found out what happened, she’d skin him alive.”
Mario grinned. “Sounds like Valentina hasn’t changed.”
Adriano laughed. “She gets scarier with age …”
They paused their conversation as a waitress headed across to their table. They ordered a pint of Moretti Baffo d’Oro each, and after she’d walked away, Mario gave Adriano another thoughtful look. “You have changed. What happened to you?”
Adriano’s gaze narrowed. Mario had always been able to read him too well. He hesitated, considering whether to confide in his friend—but after a few moments, he decided to tell him about the whole mess.
“You’re right,” he admitted, “you clever bastard. Something happened last summer—something I’m still coming to terms with.”
While they waited for their drinks to arrive, Adriano told Mario about Sabrina. He kept the tale short and stuck to the facts, although by the time he concluded it, Mario was staring at him, wide-eyed.
“A private investigator?”
“That’s right.”
“You could have laid charges against her for bugging your office, you know that?”
Adriano shrugged. “I just wanted her out of my life.”
The beers arrived, and with a nonplussed shake of his head, Mario held his pint up for a toast.
“For once you have rendered me speechless. Salute, Adriano.”
Wordlessly, Adriano raised his glass and clinked it against Mario’s. They both took a sip and then lapsed into silence for a few moments. Mario spoke first. “That’s tough.”
“Tougher than you realize,” Adriano replied quietly.
Mario raised his eyebrows. “You were in love with her, weren’t you?”
Adriano exhaled sharply. He’d forgotten how direct Mario could be. Maybe meeting him for a drink hadn’t been such a clever idea. He didn’t feel like talking about his feelings for Sabrina.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he replied, aware that he sounded bitter. “It’s all in the past now.”
Mario frowned and his lips parted, as if he wanted to press his friend further. After a moment—or perhaps seeing the warning in Adriano’s eyes—he reconsidered and closed his mouth.
They turned the conversation away from Sabrina after that. Wisely, Mario had realized that the wound the woman had inflicted had barely started to heal. Instead, they chatted about work, before Adriano questioned Mario about his love life. It appeared he’d finished yet another relationship. This one had lasted four months, longer than most.
“So none of these women are keepers?” Adriano asked. “Surely, after all these years, one of them has met your high standards.”
Mario snorted. “That’s not the problem—finding one that will put up with me is.”
They chatted for a while longer before Mario went off to find the bathroom. While he was away, Adriano leaned back in his seat, enjoying the glow of warmth emanating from th
e nearby brazier. He’d enjoyed seeing Mario again—he’d always been good company.
Adriano looked across the road at the brightly lit interior of the trattoria opposite. It was hardly busy, even though it was 9pm, the time most Italians would sit down to eat. The restaurant had a sad, neglected air. His gaze slid over the interior, taking in the cheap formica tables and flickering neon light overhead.
Then he saw the waitress serving and the world stopped.
It’s her.
Dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt, her long hair pulled back in a high pony-tail, Sabrina was in the process of serving a couple two plates of steak. She said something to them and smiled—and the expression made it feel as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.
What the hell is she doing here?
Sabrina had a life back in New York, a career as a PI. What was she doing working as a waitress in a tourist trap near the Vatican? What was she doing in Rome at all?
Over the past few months, he’d wondered what she was up to, only to reprimand himself for doing so. Yet, the knowledge she was living in another country, that an ocean separated them, made it easier for him to get on with his life.
Anger followed closely on the heels of shock. He didn’t care what her reason was for coming to Rome; she had no business here.
***
Sabrina cleared the last table and let out a long sigh. It had been a quiet evening—they were always the longest. Bruno had been in a crabby mood all night. He’d spent it glaring at her and Sandro, the young waiter who’d started two days ago, as if the fault for the lack of customers lay with them.
The kitchen staff had been bored too; Maurizio had restarted his charm offensive with Sabrina, despite her lack of encouragement, and had taken to winking at her every time she returned to the kitchen.
Sabrina was looking forward to returning home and making herself a hot cup of tea before going to bed.
Nearby, Sandro was sweeping the floors, although he was doing so with ill grace. The boy had kept a sneer on his face from the moment he’d started his shift today—something that was starting to get on her nerves. However, Bruno had failed to notice.