Page 54 of Beauty and the Mafia Boss

I take two steps inside, but the room is dark, I blink to get used to the lack of lighting. When I open my eyes, however, the terribly silent man behind me has already solved the problem by turning on the lights and my eyes blink for a completely different reason: disbelief.

I lose speech, the ability to move and even reason. All I can do is, motionless, admire. The room is a library. No, no, the room isthelibrary. Holy crap!

The space is immense, and the walls are covered with dark wooden shelves that go from floor to ceiling on the ground floor and on the mezzanine that surrounds the u-shaped room.

On both sides there are stairs to the second floor and, in the middle of it all, on an unusually large Persian rug, there is an immense sofa, flanked by two small side tables and in front of which there is a giant leather armchair and a center table.

A chandelier hangs from the intricate plasterwork ceiling, and, in front of the bookshelves, there is focal lighting. Lampsare spread over almost every surface, there is even one on the long, rectangular worktable, just an arm's length away from me. The smell of paper and wood is almost like a toxin taking over my body and shooting waves of pleasure through it.

“You can take your Italian lessons here,” Vittorio says behind me, and I don't dare turn my eyes in his direction. Not when I know they're probably blushing as I try, at all costs, not to cry.

“Thank you,” my mouth says, but my head is screaming completely different words.

It's just a library, Gabriella. It's just a damn library. I say to myself, but that doesn't lessen the emotion, making my heart dance inside my chest. Vittorio doesn't need to see this. He, however, is not willing to agree.

Despite the silence of his footsteps, I feel his approach as he circles my body, stopping in front of me and cutting off most of my view of the rest of the room. He becomes everything I see. I lower my head, hiding, but his fingers come under my chin, forcing me to lift it.

The stubborn tears decide this is a good time to roll down my face. This time, Vittorio does nothing to stop them. He just watches them, watches me, in absolute silence as we both breathe in the smell of wood and paper around us.

“Thank you,” I say, now looking into his eyes.

And of all the people in the entire world, I know that I ended up in front of the only one capable of understanding and that these words, these two simple words leaving my lips, are not just because I was introduced to a good place for my Italian classes. Vittorio's scrutiny seems to last an eternity before he pulls away.

“Seven o'clock, Gabriella. Don't be late,” he says, and once again, without saying goodbye, he leaves.

***

“Signorina[74] Gabriella?” The familiar voice calls me as soon as the library door opens and, lying on the library sofa, holding a book in my hands, at first, I just turn my face, but then my body stands up on its own.

Rafaella throws herself on top of me in a bear hug, and I close my eyes, loving the affection that reminds my chest of another hug much less tight than this one, given by arms much more fragile than those around me at the moment, but they were the only others to ever surround me with so much affection.

I take a deep breath, waiting for the calm that always sets in when I force the box in my chest to silence. Today is determined to be a day of strong emotions.

“You look beautiful! Even more beautiful, I mean,” Rafaella comments after giving me a good look when I feel stabilized enough to walk away. I click my tongue, dismissing the compliment. “I’m serious.” I exhale slowly.

“What's this aboutsignorina?” With a mocking smile on her face, the Italian bows in a sloppy bow before responding.

“Your new housekeeper introducing herself,SignorinaGabriella.” She raises an index finger in the air. “And Italian instructor.”

“What? Was Luigia fired?” I question immediately, scared, but the laugh that bursts from my friend's throat is enough of an answer. I misunderstood, thank God. “What a scare, Rafa! That is wrong!”

“I said your housekeeper, notSignoraAnna’s” she explains, and I frown before widening my eyes. Only then do my eyes notice what Rafaella is wearing: a suit exactly like Luigia's.

“Vittorio hired you as a housekeeper!?” It's a question, but my surprise is such that it comes out as an exclamation.

“We're already calling him by his first name, huh?” She asks with a mocking air, and I blush.

In my head I’ve always called him that, but for Rafaella, the only one I've ever spoken to about Vittorio, I always remembered to put the word Don in front, until now. The events of the last few days are messing with my head.

“Can you get straight to the point?” I divert.

“Yes, the Don promoted me to housekeeper in his ward. His specific words were ‘your job will be to look afterSignoraMattos’”.

“What?!” Another question that leaves my lips in the form of an exclamation.

“The servants' wing is a gossiping chaos!”

“About what?” Rafaella puts her hands on her waist in a typical Italian posture, I can already tell.

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