He entered the shower room—it wasn’t a stall, but a small chamber decorated from floor to ceiling with mosaic tiles in marine hues—and tapped on the screen to select the function “rain.” From above, droplets of warm water and eucalyptus-scented steam rained down on him. To complete the effect, when the water flow changed from drizzle to full blown shower, the soundtrack of a tropical storm played from the surrounding speakers.
When he emerged from the bathroom, twenty minutes later, Lupo was ready to face the day with renewed spirit. The smell of fresh brewed espresso guided him out of his apartment and into the hallway that led to the communal eating area.
The day before, his parents and Camelia had given him the tour of the casolare, and explained to him how every apartment was self-sufficient with their own kitchen and private entry, but they preferred to eat all together in the big, high-vaulted professional kitchen. They also read and listened to music in the library, and exercised in the gym that rivaled Alexander Drako’s. Two pools, one indoor and the other outdoor, and a tennis court completed the casolare’s amenities.
“Good morning, pup,” Camelia greeted him when he entered the kitchen. “Care for some coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Lupo walked to Camelia, dropped a kiss on her forehead, then sat by her side.
She poured the espresso from an ancient-looking moka into a small, dainty china cup with Quintilius’s clan insignia on it. “Sugar?”
“Black, thanks,” Lupo said.
“Black it is.” She lowered the cup into its matching saucer and offered it to him.
It took Lupo only a sip to make him moan. “Best espresso ever.” He drank the whole content, then pushed the cup toward Camelia for a refill. “Please.”
She poured some more coffee, then patted the coffeemaker and said, “We’ve had this moka for the last sixty or seventy years, the day we’ll have to throw it away it will be a very sad day for this household.”
“No kidding.” Lupo drank the second cup, then was about to ask for a third, but Camelia stopped him with a raised hand.
“You need to eat something first.” She left the table and went to the oven, from where she pulled out a pan full of baked goods. “Carla is a fantastic cook. She’s been here for a year now and we couldn’t be happier.”
Lupo heard the bitter note in Camelia’s voice and squeezed her hand.
The casolare’s previous cook was in prison because she had been in cahoots with Camelia’s sister, Iris, and poisoned Camelia’s food for years.
“The croissants look as good as Marta’s,” he said.
“They are, but never say that around Alexander or he’ll get mortally offended on behalf of his cook.” Camelia laughed.
Lupo bit into the flaky pastry, reached the apricot marmalade core, and moaned again, louder this time. “They’re like Marta’s.” He gulped down six before he reemerged to breathe. “Where is Carla? I must thank her personally.”
“We gave her the day off, but she still insisted on preparing breakfast,” Quintilius answered, entering the kitchen with Ludwig at his side.
“How are you?” Ludwig asked Lupo, while he served Quintilius and himself coffee, then sat at the table, and picked a savory turnover with cream of chives exploding at the seams.
“Getting used to things.” Lupo looked around, then back at the couple.
“If there’s anything you don’t like—” Quintilius said, but Lupo interrupted him with a laugh.
“Dad, everything is perfect.” He grabbed a cherry tart. “I’m not used to it, that’s all.” He ate the tart, closed his eyes. Then he sighed in bliss. “Until yesterday, I’ve only known the orphanage, the Reds, and the prison. Now, I’m here—” He chuckled. “I just took a shower in the rain forest, by myself.” Shaking his head, he added, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a shower all by myself. I didn’t want to get out. The shower floor was clean. The water was the right temperature, neither freezing cold nor scalding hot. There was music playing while I washed myself. And, most importantly, I didn’t have to watch my back for anyone who wanted to either attack me or steal my clothes.”
Lupo realized he had shocked his parents and Camelia, because they were looking at him with teary eyes. “No, it’s all good, really.”
“Had I only known of you—” Quintilius started.
“You couldn’t. It wasn’t your fault.” Lupo took his father’s hand in his.
“It was Iris’s…” Camelia looked down.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here now,” Lupo said.
Iris had kept him and his father separated for years, because she had always wanted to marry Quintilius. Taking advantage of Camelia’s condition, Iris had run the casolare for several decades, and when she discovered a lowly servant was pregnant with the alpha’s cub, she sent the girl away from the house. Lupo’s mother, Maya, died soon after giving birth to him and he was raised in the orphanage, away from his father. He had all the reasons to hate Iris, but he wouldn’t give her the power to keep hurting him or the ones he loved.
“You are, and we won’t waste time in what-ifs.” Ludwig stood, moved behind Quintilius’s chair and hugged him.
“Ready for your first day at the office?” Camelia went to the fridge and came back with a pitcher filled with orange juice. “Freshly squeezed.”
“Can’t wait to start.” Lupo reached for the pitcher and poured juice for everyone, then tasted a sip himself. “I’d forgotten how good the real thing is.” Then he realized his mistake and added, “There’ll be lots of comments like this, so don’t get all teary-eyed on me or I’ll shut up forever.”
“No pity-party for the big, bad alpha.” Quintilius winked at Lupo.
“You got that right.” Lupo nodded and smiled, then slurped the juice and dramatically sighed. “I missed fresh fruit so much.” He even mock-sobbed.
Camelia laughed at his antics, and Ludwig shook his head, but grinned.
Quintilius folded his napkin and placed it by his empty plate. After chastely kissing Ludwig on his lips, he pushed his chair out, then turned toward Lupo. “Let’s go to work.”
“All right. Let’s do this.” Lupo placed both hands on the table, pushed himself up, then grabbed two turnovers from the tray. Flakes of pastry stuck to his fingers, and he reached for a plate to carry them. At the sight of the turnovers filling less than half of the saucer, he took three more and a tart. Satisfied, he covered the food with a clean napkin. Feeling three sets of eyes staring at him, he shrugged. “I can give you the sappy version if you want, but I really like food.”
Nobody commented, and Lupo walked past his father and headed toward the secondary hall that led to the garages. Quintilius wasn’t the only one who followed him. Camelia and Ludwig kept a few steps behind, whispering excitedly between them. Lupo heard a few words, but didn’t want to pry and hastened his pace.
The garages were the only place in the casolare that hadn’t been shown to him the day before. They exited the main house, and walked a few steps along a gravel path. The detached building was in the same style as the rest of the property, exposed tuff bricks on the exterior walls, brown-red terracotta tiles on the intersecting gable roof that sported two dormers, large windows with wooden shutters, and matching carriage-house garage doors. From the outside, it looked like a two-story, large country cottage.
Lupo whistled. “How many cars do you keep there?”
Soft giggles from Camelia, and more whispering from Ludwig made Lupo turn.
“What is it?” he asked, but the three adults looked back at him with innocent eyes.
Quintilius pulled out of his pants’ pocket a fob and tapped on it. One of the large doors silently retracted into the ceiling, and the content of the place was revealed.
“Oh my Wolf—” Among dozens of cars, Lupo’s bike, his beloved silver Suzuki Katana, stood in the front row, between a pale blue Aston Martin and Quintilius’s black Jaguar. “How did you know where it was?” He had left his bike at the Metro garage a ye
ar ago when Peter and Ravenna had finally caught up with him, and thought it lost.
“Raphael mentioned to us you had a bike, and Peter remembered you saying where you had parked it.” Quintilius hugged himself, his lips turned up in a smile.
Lupo couldn’t remember having had that conversation, but in those days before the accident his life had spun out of control. “Thank you.” After giving the plate to Camelia, he stepped beside his bike and caressed its curves. “I don’t know what to say—”
“Follow me to the office.” Quintilius pointed at the bike’s keys already in place.
Lupo didn’t need to be told twice. He swung his leg over the saddle and gave the keys a turn to hear the engine roar to life. “I missed you so much.” When he revved the accelerator handle, his bike purred for him, and he rejoiced at the feeling of the metal horse rumbling between his legs. “Thank you,” he said again over the noise, and was rewarded by three radiant smiles.
Eager to feel the wind on his face, he drove the Katana outside, and the tires skidded on the gravel when he pushed on the accelerator. Satisfied by the figure eight he made, he slowed to a halt, then reluctantly wore the helmet Camelia pushed at him.
“No silliness allowed, pup.” She wiggled her finger on his face.
“Yes, mom.” He latched the helmet under his chin. With his hair cropped short, the helmet fit differently, looser. When he looked up at Camelia again, her eyes were bright, but she smiled.
“Have a great day,” she said.
“Likewise.” He smiled back at her, and waved at Ludwig who had walked to her side and wound his arm over her shoulder.
The Jaguar left its spot and stopped by Lupo. The driver’s window rolled down, and Quintilius said, “Follow me.”
Lupo nodded and turned on the engine again, maneuvering the bike on the gravel with more attention this time until they reached the end of the long driveway. The double-paneled wrought-iron gate opened for the Jaguar, and at the sight of the asphalt, Lupo hit the accelerator and passed Quintilius.
He had some fun changing lanes and driving in between cars, but stopped before he would get a ticket, and slowed down to let the Jaguar catch up with him. Lupo had a glimpse of Quintilius’s face on his rearview mirror, and was relieved to see that his father had an amused expression.
Quintilius’s shipping company had several offices in Rome, but the headquarters were in Trastevere, one of the city oldest neighborhoods. The Renaissance building was five stories tall with a marble façade that was being sprayed with high-pressure jets of sand to restore the white hue of the stone.
The Jaguar disappeared under the private garage’s entrance, and Lupo entered the cavernous place, then drove down the ramp and stopped where his father signaled for him to park. Lupo’s full name was on a plaque on the wall.
Lupo waited for Quintilius to join him. “Dad, this is—” He gestured toward the plaque.
“Exactly what you are entitled to.” Quintilius led him to the elevator, which opened as they approached its door. “Did you have fun?” He stood by the side to let Lupo in first.
The elevator car—paneled in red wood with polished brass details, and etched milky-white glasses—smelled of lemons.
Lupo walked to the middle of the car, then crossed his arms over his chest, standing with his legs wide. “It’s been a long time since the last time I rode my baby.”
“I got a feeling that you like speed.” Quintilius laughed.
“I was good at my job because of that.” He couldn’t help but smile. “That and the fact I like racing.”
“I’ll take you to a racing circuit.” Quintilius’s eyes lit. “If you want, we can drive up to Imola and rent the Enzo and Dino Ferrari Racetrack for a day.”
Lupo remained silent for a moment, opened and closed his mouth, then finally said, “That would be a dream come true for me.”
“I haven’t been there since my last race—”
Lupo was taken aback. “You were a pilot?”
“I’ve raced since the Roman times.” Quintilius took his chin in his hand. “I started with two-horse chariots and progressed to cars, but I had to stop my Formula One career in the sixties when I became famous—”
“And?”
“And it became evident I wasn’t aging like the other drivers,” Quintilius said, raising his shoulders. “You’re too young yet. One day, you’ll have to deal with your immortality if you want to live among the mortals.”
Lupo had thought of that once or twice, but it was too far away for him to consider all the ramifications of what Quintilius had said. “Do you miss racing?” he asked.
“I do.” The elevator stopped, and Quintilius opened the door for Lupo. “My last race was at Imola.”
“We should go back the first chance we get.” Lupo exited the car and was surprised to see a row of people waiting for them in the foyer.
A girl his age stepped forward and smiled at him. “Welcome to Lucius Seneca Quintilius & Son, Lupo.” With a flourish of her hand, she pointed at yet another plaque on the wall.
This one had the shipping company’s official logo printed black on cream. At the center of a stylized sail, there were the words the girl had just pronounced. Lucius Seneca Quintilius & Son.
Again, Lupo was at loss for words. “Dad…”
“This is my dream come true, Lupo,” Quintilius whispered, but in a room full of shifters he was heard by everyone.
An enthusiastic applause reverberated from marble floor to high-vaulted ceiling, then Quintilius presented each person to Lupo, explaining what they did for him. Quintilius started in reverse order and the girl was the last employee to be presented.
“Lupo, this is Vera.” Quintilius waited for Lupo and Vera to shake hands. “Vera is the newest addition to our company.” He gave her a big smile. “She came to us only a year ago, but she has become irreplaceable.”
Vera blushed. “You are too kind, sir.”
“I only speak the truth.” Quintilius patted her arm. “Lupo will need your help to get acquainted around here.”
Lupo gave his father a puzzled look.
“I might be travelling to Greece and Turkey shortly,” Quintilius explained, reading Lupo’s mind. “But Vera is my right hand. She’s more than capable to show you the ropes.”
Lupo turned toward the girl. “Then I hope not to be too much of a nuisance to you, Vera.”
“Not at all. It will be a pleasure—” Vera blushed deeper.
A pretty she-wolf, Vera was shorter than Lupo by at least half a meter. Curvaceous, with big blue eyes, and a short, blond pixie-cut with a purple strike to the side. Her voice was as soft as her curves, and her scent was equally inviting.
“My office is next to yours. Call me if you need anything.” She lowered her head in a show of deference to Quintilius, then she surprised Lupo by submitting to him as well.
Quintilius dismissed her with a smile, and she walked away. “Come, I’ll show you the place.” He took Lupo’s arm by the elbow and guided him toward one of the rooms that opened into the foyer.
Chapter Fifteen
Lupo’s first day at the office was filled with meeting more people, talking to the ones he had been already introduced to, walking from one room to the other, and overall trying to get a sense of what he would do on a daily basis. At the end of five intense hours, he still didn’t have a clue of how he could ever help his father run his company.
“I know it’s overwhelming, but everything will make sense in a few days, I promise,” Quintilius said when they were both leaving the building. “I have some business to take care of at the port in Civitavecchia, but I’ll be home by dinner time.”
“See you later then.” Lupo gave his father a one-armed hug, then went to his bike.
Instead of driving directly home, Lupo headed toward the opposite direction. He had promised Paride he would visit often and had every intention to keep his promise.
By the time he merged into the afternoon traffic, Lupo was gra
teful to have his bike back. He wouldn’t have made it in time to Regina Coeli otherwise, even though his father’s headquarters and the prison were in the same neighborhood. Drivers gave him looks filled with longing as he passed their cars in a joyful gymkhana. Out of respect for his family’s name, he stopped at lights and restrained himself before he would get a ticket for reckless driving. His fathers had gone out of their way to make him happy, and he wouldn’t repay them by acting disgracefully, but the itch to give the accelerator handle a full throttle was hard to ignore.
A red Ferrari, low and sleek, as sensual a car as only Ferraris could be, was waiting for the light to go green. Its engine purred, the noise a celestial tune to Lupo’s ears. He inched forward, passing on the left three or four cars, and a few other four-wheeled means of transportation—he didn’t count Smarts as proper vehicles, but Rome was infested with them. When he was at the Ferrari’s side, its driver lowered the window, and a beautiful brunette smiled at him, showing enough décolleté to dazzle a man’s thoughts away from her car.
The light changed and it reflected on the Ferrari’s red as a green halo. With a nod and a lick of her plump limps, the woman hit the gas pedal without removing her eyes from Lupo, in a blatant invitation to catch her. He knew the game. When he had been delivering for the Reds, his bike and jacket had drawn the attention of the thrill-seekers, both men and women. He remembered with fondness several lunches spent between silk sheets, after chasing lovely girls driving stunning cars.
Lupo let the Ferrari pass, then fell in line behind her. The brunette gave him a puzzled look from the rearview mirror, and he brought two fingers to his helmet for a salute, then turned right at the first intersection and continued on his way to Regina Coeli.
Thanks to his extensive knowledge of Rome’s geography—he had been one of the most reliable drivers the Reds had ever had—he pushed his Katana through secondary arteries, under arches and through private courtyards, sometimes driving across streets meant for pedestrians, until he arrived at Lungara Street with a few minutes to spare before five o’ clock.
Lupo (The Immortals Book 8) Page 10