Chapter 6

(Renata Pellegrini)

I'm so hungry and my legs are so sore that I have the feeling I misheard, is this serious? Is the richest man in the world really offering me a ride?

"N-no, but could you tell me where the cab stand is?"

Is the money paid to me enough to pay for the cab? I know things here are more on account than in Brazil, a bus would be better, but just to disguise, I ask the cab rank and there, with people I will probably never see again in life, I ask where the bus stop is.

"You're not taking the cab," he says, looking me in the eyes.

"Yes, I will" I lie, "I just don't know where the point is."

"Sta mentendo per me, ragazza?", 'Are you lying to me, girl?', he says in Italian, his tone telling me that this question is more like a warning, like: keep lying and you'll see.

My cheeks burn, how can he be so convinced I'm lying? Am I so transparent like this? I could never hide anything from my dad, he always said I was a terrible liar, but I thought it was only because he knew me before I was born.

"Could you tell me where the bus stop is?", with his head down, I asked this time for the real information I wanted.

"Tomorrow, I'll tell you," he speaks.

"Why? I need to go home today, I'm tired!"

"I said I'll take you home," he insists once again.

"That wouldn't be appropriate, Mr. Fili... Mr. Valentini," I correct myself in time, he sighs, I hope he has given up, he looks ahead and taps his finger repeatedly on the steering wheel, he seems to be thinking about something.

"It's late, the bus won't pass now at 11:30 p.m., will it stay more than an hour alone in the dark place?"

Touché, he seems to have guessed that I am a fearful woman and I am afraid of being alone in dark places. Once I was almost abused, but I always try to forget about that trauma, in Brazil I started to avoid empty streets, I walked among drug dealers, and despite the strong smell of machines, they didn't mess with me. It was safer.

I'm still reluctant, what's worse, being alone at a dangerous bus stop or getting into the car of my boss, who is still a stranger to me?

"Better to go with the boss" - my conscience answers.

"Okay," I walk around and get into the car, the car smells brand new, like it just came out of the store.

He starts the car engine, and heads down the street. I am so nervous, this man takes me out of my comfort zone, and I don't just get to understand the reason. I keep looking straight ahead, almost I don't twinkle my eyes, I feel his gaze burning my skin, I feel I'm dangerously close to this man.

"Do I make you feel uncomfortable, ragazza?", he asks taking me by surprise.

"N-no, yes! Well... it's, I mean it's not every day someone like you offers me a ride."

"Don't take this the wrong way, I just saw her alone and didn't mean to be rude," he explains.

"You practically forced me into the car! You were so insistent and even used my fear to your advantage", I mentally hint, he keeps talking:

"Believe it or not, I am a gentleman who likes very much to save helpless young women."

"Humm, I know," I answer and in the same instant, I regret, "Oh, well, I mean you look like a nice person," I lie.

He doesn't look anything like a good person and is a bad man, very bad. From his pores ooze danger, from his mouth come out coarse words and when he speaks in Italian, he is sexy, leaving me weird inside. A good person wouldn't do that.

"Would you like to stop at a market before going home?"

"Would you take me, sir?" I ask with raised eyebrows. Why is this man being so nice to me? That doesn't make sense in my head.

"If I'm asking, it's because I will", he looks me in the eyes and I feel my cheeks burning.

"I want yes, sir", I answer, looking at the window glass.

We are in silence. He parked the car in front of a market for twenty-four hours, I opened the door and got out, I started walking for the entrance, and I felt his presence behind me. Will he really enter that market? I thought he only entered places of pure luxury!

I decided not to question it, we go into the market and I go to the food shelves, I buy several packages of crackers and pasta, I buy prepared sauce and then I buy parmesan cheese from the freezer and I buy some green condiments, all that was missing was a dry white wine, but that was it, enough for the expense.

"Are you going to make macaroni", he asks as I choose the onions.

"Yes," I answered without diverting my attention.

"Don't forget," he places a bottle of dry white wine in my basket.

"Where did you find it?", I ask suspiciously, I didn't know that they sold in the small markets this kind of drink.

"There," he points to a shelf with some types of wines and other drinks. How could I not see that?

"Thank you."

We continued to the cashier, and this damn tycoon makes one more kindness, and pays for my purchases. I didn't want to make a scene in front of the cashier, but I don't like to be paid for things, well, not when I have to pay. Not when I have to pay.

We get into the car again; I take a hundred notes and extend them in his direction.

"I want my change," I tell him and he looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Keep this," he orders, smiling, making me feel even more uncomfortable. "I want you to pay in another way," he says in a lower voice than usual.

My ass locks up. He can't be serious. I quickly pick up my hand, and a hurricane settles in my belly foot - Mr. God, help me!

"In what way does Mr. does mean?" I ask, feeling my fingers cold and my heart pounding inside my chest.