Black Death And White Roses (1) Mafia Romance

38. You are all the same

Roxana

For the whole three hours of the flight, I was certain it was Stefano's men who captured me again. I was also positive I would get at least one teeth-clattering slap and probably some more honouring after reaching the villa.

In a way, it was not bad, because I know that if Ivan had gotten me first he most certainly would have tortured and killed me. Picture lengthy torture where all your limbs get torn out or broken first. I think about it and feel sick. I am so sorry, Dani. There are no words to express how much. I promise he will pay for it and for that, I need to stay alive.

Currently, I am thinking of suffering through the year with Stefano and using the money to get my revenge. The fact that there is still Vitali who will want some cash is another problem, just as pressing, because there is still Kary, aka the only person I have left. I told her to leave Switzerland and go hide, to never talk to me again, to go to the police, to do everything just to not die and I feel awful because I fucked up her life. See poor Kary, trying to help people and getting shit in return; nobody can tell me life is fair.

The small Cessna plane is rattling with turbulence. Maybe I die earlier than expected.

It looks like my time didn't come though. We land in Italy, according to what language people are speaking but something is different, the landscape, the buildings and I don't recognize anybody. In theory, Tomaso should come and pick me up, unless he got punished.

I get shoved into a car and we drive hastily on busy streets but it's not Catania, Taormina or Palermo. Then it hits me when I see in the distance the silhouette of the Colosseum. We are in Rome. But why? Is Stefano here?

In half an hour we enter an underground garage and I get shoved out of the car and brought into a small room that looks very strange. There is some old blood on the floor and walls. It cannot be good. Roxi, come on, there is no possibility for stuff to be good, didn't you learn it by now?

Music sounds in the distance, very faintly. Strange. After some waiting, heavy steps thunder in the hallway.

An old man enters the room. I don't know him at all but the air gets thicker with the unspoken, authority he exhales. 

His clothes are very elegant and so is his mannerism. The navy blue suit he is wearing is tailored perfectly and ironed with precision. In his left hand, he is holding a cane with a silver handle in the shape of an eagle's head. When I look longer at his face it appears vaguely familiar but I can't remember where I saw him before, probably in the mob gathering. 

One thing is clear, we are not in Kansas anymore, meaning this is certainly not Stefano I am dealing with right now. Mobster number four?

"Signorina Ceban, a pleasure meeting you," he says in heavily accented English.

Oh, I am famous. Now joke apart, why does he know who I am? I am a nobody. 

"And you are...?"

"Lorenzo Medici-Ricardi."

"Oh, like the guy from old age that sponsored Michelangelo? That's a name."

He shows the ghost of a smile on his thin lips.

"Indeed."

"Well, how can I help you, sir? You took on quite some trouble to get me here and assure you I can't paint for the life of me. So, why? If there is nothing I can help you with I'll rather go. Respectfully." 

"Don't be impatient. A maid will bring you some clothes. I want you to shower because you smell awfully of gasoline and sweat, and dress in the clothes that you will be given and after that, you will be brought to meet someone. I advise you to be extremely compliant to his wishes."