Page 26 of Unrelenting
Then I dress, choosing a white silk top with a halter neck and pink cropped trousers. It’s fancier than the jeans and shirt I’d usually wear to work since I’m only going to change into my work uniform when I get to the restaurant, but I like this outfit.
A part of me hopes Lorenzo will too if he turns up to walk me home, as I suspect he will.
After checking myself in the mirror, I grab my purse and leave for work. I napped for too long and missed my window of opportunity to get some shopping done.
It doesn’t matter. My need for new sneakers isn’t so urgent.
As I walk toward the river, I’m tempted to stop for gelato to help me cool down, but everywhere is packed with tourists trying to get out of the mid-afternoon heat.
The popularity of the city where I was born is both a blessing and a curse. I decide it’s more of the latter as I navigate the crowds on the Ponte Vecchio.
I could walk a few hundred meters and use one of the other bridges that span the river, but this is the most direct route to the restaurant.
My grandmother chose wisely when she opened Gianetta’s. We’re a stone’s throw from the River Arno and close to the Pitti Palace. We get a lot of tourists at the restaurant looking for authentic Tuscan cuisine.
Locals love Gianetta’s too. It’s a popular spot for couples to enjoy a romantic night out. They can enjoy an intimate dinner and then walk along the riverside.
Lorenzo has brought in a whole new class of customers, but I’m not complaining. His associates may be undesirable in some circles, but they’re model customers. They’re always polite to the staff, they tip well even though it’s completely unnecessary, andthey don’t cause trouble. I wouldn’t like to gain a reputation as a Mafia hangout, though.
“Excuse me, Miss.” A male voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I smile as I turn toward an older American couple.
“Could you?” The man holds up his cellphone and gestures toward the bust of Cellini that sits at the midpoint of the bridge.
“You want me to take a picture for you?” I check.
He lets out a breath of relief to find I speak English. “Please.”
I oblige as I always do. I get asked to take pictures for people almost every day. There must be something about my demeanor they trust because they hand over their cellphones and cameras without a second thought so they can pose for photos.
The couple put their arms around each other’s waists, and the woman, who’s at least a foot shorter, rests her head against the man’s shoulder.
They’re a sweet couple, in their late fifties judging by the gray hair and wrinkles. I take a few photos to give them some options, then hand their phone back.
I can’t help smiling as I’m walking away when I hear the woman ask her partner who Cellini is anyway, and the man replies confidently that he was a composer.
The urge to turn back and correct him almost overwhelms me, but I resist. It’s not up to me to play tour guide.
When I finally make it through the throngs of people and get off the bridge, I walk along by the river for a couple of minutes and then turn down the street that leads to the restaurant.
I’m surprised to see a metal fence has been erected around the entrance to the building next to mine. There are construction trucks and men in hard hats going in and out, carrying tools and lengths of timber.
It's been months since the last occupant of the building moved out, and I’m relieved it appears someone will finallybe moving in. Empty storefronts are a target for vandals and arsonists.
Though there hasn’t been much trouble next door, it has been graffitied by someone with no artistic skill whatsoever. It was a real eyesore, and that’s not good for business.
Hopefully, the construction work will only be carried out during the day so disruption for my customers is kept to a minimum. It would have been nice for our new neighbors to give us some warning work was about to start. I hope it’s not a sign that they’ll be difficult to deal with.
The last woman who occupied the building ran a store selling scented candles. She was a real sweetheart.
Making my way around to the private entrance at the side of the building, I enter my security code to open the door.
Every time I key in the numbers, I’m reminded I need to do something about the front door, which still has an old-fashioned lock. There’s also a metal shutter, but it’s secured with a padlock that could easily be removed. I should have seen to it a long time ago, but I never get around to it.
Perhaps I could ask Lorenzo to recommend someone. I’m sure a man in his line of business deals with a few security firms.
I dump my bag in the staff room and change into my chef’s whites. When I get to the kitchen, I find Nicolo and Stefan already there.
