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"I was bullieda lot. Kids at school were cruel. They made fun of me because I didn't look like them, didn't talk like them, and didn't eat the same food they did. They were mean, and as soon as I was old enough to leave, I did."
"And your mother?"
My heart pounds because I don't know how much she'll tell me. She shrugs. "I never saw her again."
She's not ready to tell me the truth. That's OK, for now.
"Ironic, isn't it?" she says, laughing and shaking her head at the same time.
"What is?"
"Both of us came from nothing, and now you're filthy rich, and you'll give me diamond rings and fancy cars and fancy phones, and neither one of us really even needs these things. Do we?"
I'm thankful I'm driving, because it gives me an excuse to look ahead of me and not meet her eyes. Because goddamn, if she didn't just hit the nail on the head.
"I like good whiskey," I say. "Cigars. And I have to admit, even though my apartment isn't very fancy, I do like nice cars."
"OK, great, so you just spent, what, five percent of what you own?" She laughs, shaking her head.
Less than that, but she's right.
“Well,” she says, "I also like chocolate. The really good stuff can be expensive."
"I’ll buy you a chocolate factory."
She snorts. "Very generous of you, but I don't want to actually work there, I just wanna eat all the chocolate."
"I can arrange that."
She talks easily, the whole way to my apartment. It's only a twenty-minute drive, but I must admit, I like hearing her speak.
"We're here."
I watch her take in every detail—the small garden in the front of our building, and the old concrete stairs. She opens the door and steps inside. "Oh my God, Adriano," she breathes. "It's beautiful."
I stand back and let her take her time looking at everything. I have a single bedroom with only a bed, a dresser, and a desk. But there's a large window overlooking the city, and it's calming in here with antique lights instead of glaring modern fixtures. The kitchen is simple and clean, with white cabinets and marble countertops, and I have a few handpicked pieces of vintage artwork on the walls.
When I hired someone to furnish this place, I told them to keep it simple and classy with a nod to historic Italy. They did it perfectly. The walls are painted ivory, with minimal artwork, gleaming, original hardwood floors, and exposed brick walls. There's an antique coffee table, a mid-century modern chair, and a classic leather sofa in the living room. And that’s it.
She squeals when she opens the door to the bathroom, which features a claw-foot bathtub, an antique vanity, and the same antiquated overhead lighting. Beside the tub is a small table with a basket I've filled with her favorite things. I asked Eden for help with that one.
"Either you got snoopy, or you have excellent taste in skin care," she says, lifting one of the small bottles of lotion.
I shrug. "Eden helped me."
"With what? Decorating this place? Because it definitely has her signature style." She turns to face me, shaking her head. "You told me your apartment was simple, but this isamazing. It's so…you."
I look away.
"Glad you like it. We’ll spend a lot of time here when we're not at the club."
While we were in Maine, I had security measures installed here as well. My place is off the books, and only Sergio has my address. Still, she willneverstay here alone.
"Let’s get some food."
"On it." I pull up DoorDash on my phone while she wanders into the bedroom.
"Adriano, these flowers are beautiful."
