It’d kind of be a damn shame, too.
I ate until I was stuffed, then hung out in the kitchen drinking sparkling water.
Everybody in the other room kept chatting through dessert and brandy.
Finally, 10 o’clock rolled around and Adriano said they needed to go. “I’ve got an early meeting with my brothers tomorrow morning, so we need to get home.”
Huh.
That was the first I’d heard ofthat.
Mr. and Mrs. Lettieri kissed their daughter goodbye, hugged their son-in-law, told me it was good to see me, and then walked us out to the car. As we drove off, they waved before going back inside.
Bianca and Adriano sat close in the backseat, her head on his chest as he wrapped one arm around her. They talked inlow murmurs and occasionally laughed as I drove back down to Florence.
When I dropped them off at their building, I held the door open for Bianca.
“Goodnight, Giorgio,” she said with a warm smile.
“Goodnight,Signora.”
“Hey babe, I’ll see you inside,” Adriano said. “I just need to tell Giorgio a few things.”
“Alright, but don’t be long,” she called out as the doorman helped her into the lobby.
Once she was gone, I asked, “You’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning?”
“We’vegot a meeting tomorrow morning,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to tell my brothers everything you told me earlier about the prostitute and the drug dealers.”
I stared at him. “Don Rosolini, too?!”
“Relax. He doesn’t bite.”
“When did this get planned?!”
“Right after you called me, while I was waiting for Bianca to get ready.” Adriano started walking towards the doorman. “8 AM tomorrow morning –sharp.”
“You got it, boss,” I said, then got back in the car.
As I drove home, I was a tiny bit nervous – even though there was no real reason to be.
Don Rosolini had always been kind to me. He’d never been pissed off at me – nowherenearas much as Adriano, anyway. And I wasn’t afraid of Adriano.
But Don Rosolini was an imposing man. He had a way about him that commanded respect.
Plus, it was sort of like meeting with the CEO of a company when you were down at the bottom rung of the ladder.
You’re NOT at the bottom of the ladder,I reminded myself.You’re his brother’s lieutenant – the right-hand man to the capo of all of Florence.
After that, I calmed down a bit.
I got back to my apartment. It was in the historic district, too, about ten minutes from Bianca’s shop.
It was a nice place. One bedroom, a luxurious bathroom, a huge living room, new leather couches, glass tables, and an 80-inch TV on the wall.
