"What are the tattoos like?"
Niamh bends to pick her purse up from the floor and retrieves her phone. She scrolls through it and then hands it to me. There's an image of a man's upper body. His left arm is covered with trees. Birds burst from the canopy at his shoulder. His other arm has roses in black and red. The design spans his shoulders to meet at the center of his chest. It's stunning.
"Gabriele did this?" I can hardly believe the man who created such vivid images lives in such a drab, soulless house.
Mila holds her hand out for the phone and I pass it to her.
"He did," Niamh confirms.
"It's remarkable." Mila returns Niamh's phone to her. "But perhaps the most pertinent question is why do you have pictures of a naked Lorenzo on your phone?"
The explanation never comes. Just as Niamh opens her mouth to respond, Mila's phone pings loudly with an incoming message. As she opens it, I hold my breath. She reads what's on the screen and nods decisively.
"They're five minutes out. The mission was a success." She reads on. "Gabriele is hurt but it's nothing serious. He took a hit to the face."
"The face?" I can't keep the horror out of my voice. If someone has damaged the other side of his face I will hunt down their corpse and disembowel it.
Mila sends a message and then grimaces when the reply comes. "He has a black eye and a small cut to the brow."
I shake my head. Stupid, stupid man. He cannot take risks with his eye.
"Santo!" I yell.
He's been standing guard outside the room. He enters immediately.
"Can you find me an ice pack, some painkillers and a frying pan?"
"A frying pan?" He looks bemused.
"Yes. Once I've seen to his eye I'm going to use it to knock some sense into my husband."
"And you were worried you weren't cut out to be a mob wife." Niamh laughs. "I think you'll do fine."
Yes, I think. I will. I was born to rule this world. It's about time I started to believe it.
NINETEEN
Katya
After the horriblefew weeks we've had, with the threat of Boris Orlov hanging over us, the peace that's settled over the house feels entirely foreign.
During the raid on the farmhouse, Orlov and eighteen of Andretti's crew were killed. Andretti himself escaped but the damage Gabriele inflicted on his operation means he's unlikely to show his face around here again.
For the first time since I arrived in Rome, I can breathe.
Gabriele, without prompting, arrived at my bedroom door this morning and announced he was taking me to the Villa Borghese. It's a huge park where he spent time as a boy with his mother and brothers. I can see the appeal. It's incredibly serene.
He's promised to take me back to the Galleria one day. We tried to gain entrance this morning without a booking.
Most people would take one look at Gabriele and throw the rules out of the window, but not Signora Delmonico, the fearsome septuagenarian who was manning reception. She was completely immune to the so-called Beast of Rome.
It was impossible to miss the way Gabriele’s jaw tightened. He’s not a man who’s used to being denied, yet this formidable old woman batted him away like he was nothing more than a gnat buzzing about her. That had to have dented his pride.
Unable to view the art, we opt for a walk by the lake. It’s pretty. The park is quiet today and for once the heat of the Roman sun is tolerable. It helps that we’re in the shade of the trees most of the time.
We stop at the water's edge and Gabriele points out the Temple of Asclepius sitting on its island.
"Who's Asclepius?"
