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Mrs. Greco hesitated, but the thought of disrespecting the boss’s future wife wasn’t something in her nature. Even while the dough had gained the perfect amount of volume and bounce to form and bake. It meant she had to not only toss but also restart her hard work.
I helped her make the decision. “Great, where should we start?”
Talia’s face lightened as she rushed away from the counter. Her hands cupped around the pastry, and she nudged it as she gave her father a quick kiss. “Finish eating,” Talia’s hushed tone warned before she twirled and walked toward me.
“We’ll start with the boring places and save the best for last.” She laughed.
“Perfect, lead the way.” My hand extended for her to walk ahead of me, and with a nod, I said, “It was a pleasure meeting you all.”
“You as well,” Mrs. Greco added, and Carlo’s head dipped respectfully.
When I followed Talia's black flats, she began telling me which switches worked for certain lights and which plants weren’t real. It was a difficult task to keep my composure, as she flipped and flopped between things she found significant to share. Mrs. Greco’s tour would’ve definitely been a dull experience compared to Talia’s description of the rooms and the names she gave to certain decorations.
The more I explored inside the house, I saw similar themed bedrooms. These bedrooms had warm tones, marble, and detailed furniture that matched the entire interior of the home, and his bedroom became my favorite room in the house. It was different, darker. As if he had transformed the rest of the house into this refined, elegant space for others to enjoy. But Lucca didn’t seem to be one to do anything to please others. He'd done it to his taste, and his room was a part of him others wouldn't be able to see.
As we walked around the house, men came and went in all directions. Their eyes always found me before quickly looking away with a curt nod. As soldiers, they were at the bottom of the ranks. All they were meant to do was follow orders and enjoy the money of their sins.
I didn't nod or talk to any of them. Not only was it not my place but also, as aprincipessa, there were certain etiquettes that were taught to me at an early age. Now, as the future queen of Miami’s underworld, the stakes had risen, and new unsaid manners had to be followed.
Thankfully, this was the easiest part for me.
There was one particular place where men emerged before leaving through the front door. “Where does that lead to?” The long corridor had a few doors to its left, but only two on its right.
Talia’s chatter stopped, following the direction my eyes had landed.
“Um. That’s the training room.” Her explanation was clear to me, but the hint of question in her tone gave her a sense of uncertainty about what really occurred behind that door. It was best if she didn't know, and I didn't pique her interest any further.
“You should show me the outside areas before the sun rises too high.”
Talia laughed and forgot her doubts as she turned toward the back of the house. “It’s not even summer yet, Ms. Katia.”
“Expect a summer wedding.”
I forced a snicker. “I’m in no rush.”
No rush at all, Talia.
We found Talia’s dad, Carlo, on the other side of the pool. He was pulling a few weeds and sweating underneath a beige colored floppy hat. Carlo gave us a small wave and continued working in the garden.
A few yards to the far left, a full-sized home rested inside the perimeter of the property. A small grass road connected a trail to the front of the house. It would be quite a walk to make, but a golf cart by its entrance explained how the path had been created.
“Does everyone live on the property?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Well, yes, we do. But ours is hidden behind Mr. Mancini’s.”
“Salvatore Mancini?”
Talia struggled with her reply. Uneasy, her fingers wiggled, rubbing against each other.
“Yes. After it was built, Mr. Moretti moved him in a few years ago.”
Moved him in?
As if Salvatore had no choice? I’ve been aware of Salvatore's ill condition. Hell, it was the reason Lucca had taken the seat before his time. Right?
I wanted to keep her talking, ask about Salvatore. To piece together the memories of the man I remembered as a child and put the missing pieces together. The godfather of not just one of my brothers but both, until one day I never saw him again. Instead, I left it alone. Talia was just too pure for me to use for information, and my questions will be answered with time.
As we walked back inside and the tour neared its end, there was one thing I wanted to know. Something that wouldn’t compromise her by saying too much.
