Infernale

I stood kneeling on the thick red carpet, clenching my fists firmly on my upper thighs, trying to reduce the shaking of my body. I know this office by heart. I'm even the one who chose the colors and the carpet I'm standing on today. I selected every decorative element and every supply. However, the man sitting comfortably on the black leather chair in the office is not the one for whom I made the decoration. He takes a puff on his cigar and leans forward toward my face. Thus, I am forced to close my eyes so they are not burned by the smoke he has spit in my face. He remains silent and takes another sip of brandy, rattling the single ice cube shaped with an ice pick in his crystal glass out of habit. "Santo..." I start to say, but I fall silent as soon as I meet his dark eyes. How ironic to have given him such a name. He's the worst of them all, and he's named Saint. He is dressed in the three-piece suit typical of the men of the Family. Like them,

I suddenly turn around and can't stop smiling. I leap forward and take Matteo, Elio and Santo's third brother, in my arms. The resemblance between the three brothers is undeniable. They are all tall, dark, and typically Mediterranean. The three brothers have inherited eyes of a blue so dark that they seem almost black depending on the light. In addition, they all exude natural charisma on different scales. As the eldest, Elio inspires authority. Santo, the second brother, provokes fear with his mere presence. Finally, Matteo, the last one, is a born seducer. He is ten years younger than them and still breathes the carefree joy of life. Out of habit, he puts an arm around my shoulders and guides me down the stairs. Then he dramatically shakes my cell phone in front of my eyes and gently reprimands me. "Lulu, don't walk down the stairs looking at your screen!" I give him a beaming smile and take my phone back. It was a remark I

It's been a week that I've been living like a voluntary prisoner within the luxurious walls of the villa. I spend my days arranging Henry's schedules, checking and processing the company's emails to keep the company running. It breaks my heart to admit it. But the outside world is still spinning without my presence. Elio is already awake. He had to get up early this morning to answer a phone call. I don't need to ask to know where he is. The answer is obvious: the office. So I take the time to get dressed. Elio left the office so quickly that he didn't have time to prepare the outfit he wanted me to wear today. I feel bold. It's as if the simple act of finally being able to choose my clothes gives me back the freedom I thought I had lost. I dare to be provocative. After putting on my makeup, I choose a "masculine" office outfit and put on a pair of black high-waisted palazzo pants. Then, I opt for a white lace blouse that I tuck into my pants. Sin

We finally arrive in front of Trattoria Andrea. I have become accustomed to having lunch there at least once a week. Dino, the owner, is a family friend and has always made us feel at home in his restaurant. Trattoria Andrea is a charming little Italian family restaurant. It's a red brick building with green and white blinds decorated with hanging flower pots and planters in the front. The interior is simple and charming. The furniture in the room is made of light wood, and the seats are dressed in red leather upholstery. The tables have a white tablecloth spread over them and a small bouquet placed in a glass yogurt pot. This place is a cocoon. The smell of coffee fills my nostrils, and I'm surprised I've never had breakfast here despite working two blocks away all these years. A young woman with light brown hair cut into a bob wipes a few coffee cups with a white towel. Her tired eyes light up when she sees me. "The Madonna! Lulu!" I sm

Quite frankly, I didn't need to share this information with him. But seeing the Santo Ganovese get all worked up is incredibly funny. "She accepts tips from that stronzo?" he almost starts shouting as he reaches out with an indignant hand in the direction Henry has taken. "Exactly." "Why?" I cringe at his question and feel like openly mocking him. "I don't know, maybe because Henry tells her directly at the register that she can keep the change, and he doesn't make her run out into the cold street so he can say that to her." "He's a weakling." The Madonna! How hard it is to keep from laughing! "A rich weakling," I retort. The Ganovese are the biggest fortune in the state. "Polite, kind, helpful, thoughtful..." I list. "Rubbish. Is this the kind of politeness that appeals to women?" "Maybe so. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Santo kicked one of the hall cha