Karol shot Massimo a quick glance, and the Italian replied, his eyes growing familiarly cold all of a sudden.
“Work. We do business together. Carlo’s people drove you from the airport and protected you while I was gone.”
“Have you ordered anything yet? If not, please, allow me to pick something for you,” the host said, sitting at our table.
After several dishes and a couple of bottles of wine, I felt full and completely out of place—the two men started talking business. From what they said, I deduced that Carlo was half Polish and half Russian. He invested in restaurants and owned a big logistics company dealing with international shipping.
The sound of Carlo’s phone interrupted their extremely boring conversation. The host excused himself and left. Massimo focused his eyes on me and reached out, taking my hand.
“I know you’re bored, but this will become a part of your life. You will have to participate in some meetings. You’ll be excluded from others. I need to discuss some things with Carlo.” He lowered his voice, inclining his head my way. “But then we’ll return home, and I will fuck you on each floor of the apartment,” he said seriously, narrowing his eyes.
I felt hot suddenly. I loved rough sex, and the threat of it was something I treated more like a promise worth waiting for.
I pulled my hand out of his grip and took a sip from the glass, leaning back in my chair. “I’ll consider it.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Laura. I was informing you of what I’ll do.”
His expression told me he wasn’t joking, but that was just one of the things I loved so much about him. He sat back, calm and composed, but inside he was burning. I knew that the more agitated he grew, the better the sex would be.
“I don’t think I’m in the mood today,” I said nonchalantly, shrugging slightly.
His eyes drilled holes in me with such intensity I could feel his gaze on me. He didn’t speak, but smirked with self-assurance, as if he was asking if I was sure of what I had said.
Carlo’s voice broke the silence.
“Do you remember Monika, Massimo?”
“Of course. How could I forget your lovely wife?”
The Man in Black stood up to kiss the woman on both cheeks, gesturing toward me.
“Monika, please meet my fiancée, Laura.” The woman shook my hand vigorously.
“Hey, nice to see Massimo in the company of a woman for a change, instead of Mario. I know he’s his main man, or consigliere, or whatever they call themselves, but I can’t exactly tell Mario I love his shoes, can I?”
Despite the difference in age, I knew Monika and I would get along. She was a tall brunette with a delicate face. It was hard to tell how old she was—she had either alien DNA in her or a really good plastic surgeon.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Laura. And I was just about to say the same thing about your shoes. Aren’t those the latest Givenchy boots?” I asked, pointing to her shoes.
Monika looked at me with a knowing grin.
“Ah, I can see we already have something in common. I don’t know how interested you are in their conversation, but I’d suggest a trip to the bar with me. It’s going to be fun, I promise.”
She laughed, revealing a set of snow-white teeth, and pointed to a spot on the other side of the room.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to save me for an hour now,” I replied, getting up.
Massimo didn’t get a word of what we were saying. He shot me a look, seeing me stand.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes. Monika and I are going to talk about something a lot more important than making money. Shoes, namely,” I said, sticking out my tongue.
“Well, have fun. We don’t have much time. As you recall, we have some things to take care of later.”
I stood rooted to the spot, staring at Massimo with puzzlement. Things? His eyes grew darker, his pupils dilating. Oh, those things.
“As I said, don Massimo, I’ll think about it.”
When I started to leave the table, he gripped my wrist and shot up to his feet, pulling me toward him and pushing me against the wall. He kissed me passionately, behaving like there was no one else in the room, or at least as if he didn’t care.
“Think quick, baby girl,” he breathed, tearing himself away from me.
I stood for a short while, studying him. He was someone else when there were people around—he wore a mask that he took off only when we were alone.
Massimo sat back at the table and returned to his conversation with Carlo, while I headed to the bar to talk to Monika. The restaurant, despite serving Polish cuisine only, was not one of those rustic wooden shacks with folk decor. It took up the entire first floor of an old tenement building. High ceilings and wide columns holding up the roof gave the room an unmistakably prewar feel. There was a black grand piano in the middle of the room, played by an old, elegant man. Everything aside from the instrument itself was white: the tablecloths, the walls, and the bar. It all created a cohesive whole.
“Long Island,” Monika ordered, perched on a bar stool. “Want the same?”
“Oh no. Long Island would be a bit too much. I had a rough night. A glass of Prosecco for me.”
For a long while our main topic of conversation was her awesome boots and my sneakers. She spoke of this year’s fashion week in New York, the support she offered to young Polish designers, and how hard it is to find good clothes in this country. But it clearly wasn’t her reason for pulling me aside.
“So you do exist,” she said at one point, changing the subject and looking at me with disbelief.
For a while I wondered what she was talking about, but finally I recalled the portraits in Massimo’s mansion.
“I know, it’s hard to believe, but it seems so. The only difference is I have blond hair now.”
“When did he find you? And where? Tell me something. We’re dying of curiosity here. Well, Karol not so much, but I’m positively bursting with it.”
Some time passed before I told her our story, omitting some details. I didn’t know how much I could tell a woman I had only just met. Even feeling like I had known her for years didn’t change my approach.
“You have a difficult task ahead of you, Laura. To be such a man’s woman is a great challenge,” Monika warned me, glancing at her glass. “I know what our men do for a living, so remember—the less you know, the better you sleep.”
“I noticed that questions aren’t exactly welcome,” I whispered, grimacing.
“Don’t ask about anything. If he wants to tell you, he will. And if he doesn’t, it means it shouldn’t concern you. And another very important thing: never question his decisions when it comes to security.” She turned to face me and pinned me with her eyes. “Remember—everything he does, he does to protect you. Once, I didn’t obey,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “And I was kidnapped.”
I glanced at her wrists, which had old, barely visible scars around them.
“They tied me with a wire. Karol found me a day later. I’ve never again second-guessed him when it comes to security or overprotectiveness. Massimo will be even worse—believe me. He has been looking for you for years, and he believes those visions of his. He’ll treat you as his most precious possession, certain that everyone else is trying to take you away from him. So be patient. I think he deserves it.”