AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I've seen mansions before, but nothing compares to the sheer opulence on display out here.
My driver cleared his throat, and I looked at him. He motions towards the expansive staircase leading up to the house. I nod and, with a fortifying breath, take a step forward. Just then, I note the presence of armed guards, men with hard faces who track our approach. Their silent vigilance speaks to the severe power wielded within these walls.
My heels click on the paved drive as an escort leads me inside the palatial foyer. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, illuminating marble floors and gilded columns. Priceless art adorns the walls. I feel like an intruder like I don't belong.
Before my anxiety can swell, I spot Philippe descending the grand staircase. The music that had been playing faded to nothing, and all eyes turned towards him, yet he only had eyes for me. He strides towards me with a purposeful gait, his gaze never wavering.
My world stands still in that moment. He looks so handsome - wool trousers paired with a crisp white dress shirt, topped off with an impeccable blazer.
He walks closer and closer, and I try to take deep breaths. He reaches out his hand to take mine, and we stand there for a moment, mere inches apart. He greets me with a dashing smile, bends at his waist and kisses my hand. "You are radiant," he murmurs.
"Hello," I whisper, blushing as I look down, my lashes fluttering from the nervousness I feel.
Philippe chuckles, his mouth still closed in that soft, old-mannered way.
"Come now,mia cara. Everyone is dying to meet you."
My pulse thrums as we enter to find a few men waiting expectantly in the cigar room. Philippe gives me an encouraging nod before announcing, "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Tatiana Amante, a supreme vocal talent."
All eyes turn to me. I dip into a graceful curtsy, channeling poise despite the butterflies in my stomach. My eyes travel the room, trying to decipher who Philippe's father is.
Just then, an older, gray-haired man rises. "Gentlemen," he announces through a weakened voice that I know must have been the most powerful one in the room at one time.
"Let us proceed to the formal living where the ladies and the rest await. Miss Amante,” he turns to me, “thank you for gracing us with your presence here tonight." He coughs as a fit of wheezing overcomes him. Philippe approaches and offers him some water, but the man waves it away before continuing. "Let us no longer delay the privilege of hearing you sing.”
He then approaches me slowly, exuding an unmistakable air of power. When Philippe tries to offer assistance again, he declines and continues on his own - head held high.
As he reaches me, I realize with awe that this must be Don Accardo himself, when he kisses me on both cheeks. "Welcome to our home."
He offers me his arm, and I take a tentative step forward, laying my trembling hand on his arm. "Thank you, sir." I blush, at a loss of words for such a warm welcome.
"You can call me Don Accardo if you must. Nervous, child?"
"Thank you, Don Accardo," I bow my head slightly. I was thinking to myself that someday, Philippe would hold that title. "A little," I confess.
"Just remember, we're Italians. We think we're above the rest, but in our hearts, we're all fools. The whole bloody lot of us." Surprised, I glance at him sideways and catch the glint in his grey eyes. "Don't be nervous. It is us who must rise to your station," he encourages me.
We proceed slowly into the grand living room, and I silently pray that I don't mess this up. The guests have already assembled. Some sitting on elegant chairs and sofas that have been arranged in rows to face a makeshift stage.
Others are standing by small round bar tables. There's pin-drop silence as Philippe joins me on my other side and escorts me onto the small semi-circle framed by two majestic windows.
I was informed that the introductions were done prior to my arrival. All I have to do now is begin.
I start to sing, my clear soprano notes filling the opulent room. As I lose myself in the music, the audience fades away until it's just me and the soaring melodies. I pour every ounce of my passion into the performance. Gliding through each cadenza and arpeggio, I am an instrument-given voice.
When the last trembling note fades, I'm met with thunderous applause. As I dip into another curtsy, I see Philippe beaming with pride. His father, the imposing Don Accardo, regards me with an inscrutable expression. I can only hope my performance has made a good impression.
We adjourn to the grand dining room, where a lavish dinner awaits. Liveried servants pull out chairs for us as we are seated at the massive table. I find myself seated opposite Philippe, between a broad-shouldered man with a hawkish face and a heavy-set, younger-looking man.
Philippe seems to be amused by this, and I lift my eyebrows at him inquiringly, which seems to amuse him further.
As the first course is served, I observe the dynamics around the table. Though relaxed, there is an undeniable air of respect toward Don. No one eats until he begins the course. No one drinks until he takes the first sip.
Philippe defers to his father, seeking his opinion on business matters. I'm aware of being afforded a glimpse into the inner workings of a very, very powerful empire.
Midway through the second course, a cell phone rings, shattering the genteel atmosphere. All eyes turn to Philippe as he quietly takes the call, his expression turning grave. After a tense exchange, he ends the call and leans over to murmur something to his father.
Don Accardo gives a subtle nod of assent before conversation resumes, but an undercurrent of tension now electrifies the room. I wonder what sensitive news has just been relayed.
