Six

“Thirty minutes huh?” Tony muttered, slamming the taxi’s door shut.

He runs his hand through his hair, full of annoyance.

“What? Did they think Piazza Navona was in Florence fucking backyard?” he fumed.

He finally opened his wine bottle and took a long swig.

“Hah.”

He turned around and middle-fingered the taxi driver.

Like a real drunkard tourist.

“Asshole,” he murmured.

‘Much better.’

Tony had been itching to open his bottle of wine between transportations, but held back.

Every time he glared at his wine, he could feel people side eyeing him on the train.

It had taken him an hour and a half, two trains and a pissed off cabbie to get here.

‘The fucking Piazza Navonna.’

He stumbled slightly as he tried to lean down the taxi’s window.

“Carta? Macchina funziona? (Card? Does your machine works?)” Tony shoved his card into the driver’s face.

The driver grunted and snatched his card.

He knows that the driver was cursing him in every colorful Italian cuss word that the driver knew.

But Tony did not care.

He was more irritated with the whole set up.

The warmth of the sun did little to soothe his ire.

Once the driver was finished, he almost threw the card to Tony's face.

Then without warning, while Tony was still touching the window, the taxi took off with a loud beep.

“Fuck you too!” Tony shouted.

Once the taxi was out of his sight, he turned around and spotted the cafe with the red awning.

He stepped towards it, while drinking his liquor.

**

Hours later..

Piazza Navona simmered beneath the late morning sun.

‘Or its afternoon already?’

The cobblestones were already warm.

A red awning cast shade over a cafe table.

Its corners flapping lazily in the breeze.

Tourists passed by snapping pictures of fountains.

Unaware of the silent tension in the air.

Tony now sat alone at the corner table.

Reclining like he owned the place.

Still pissed off but he managed it well.

Well, he didn't own the place.

But his bottle of wine said otherwise.

It was already half empty.

He drank straight from it.

And he just sat there for how many hours now—not even ordering anything.

He looked at his beloved wine bottle.

Irritation kicked in—it was almost empty.

‘Dammit.’

A pair of sunglasses lay abandoned on the table top earlier—someone's else's.

‘A careless tourist, maybe.’

And now he was wearing it like he owned it.

He slid it on without hesitation.

‘Fit fucking nicely.’

They made him feel and look invincible.

Around him, four people sat under the awning aside from him.

A man in a beige coat pretending to read yesterday’s newspaper.

And a couple speaking softly in French.

Inside, two more people nursed cappuccinos while talking to the waitress.

He didn't trust any of them, even the cook.

‘Agents. Every damn one of them.’

He eyed them one by one behind his sunglasses.

What gave them away?

Well, for starters—the guy in beige has not been turning the pages of his newspaper for how many hours now.

And the couple?

They weren't even french kissing each other!

‘Oh come on!’

He can sense them all, feeling him up.

Giving him subtle glances.

‘As if I wouldn’t catch them,’ he smirked a bit.

He could smell the quiet tension.

The kind that clings to trained people, trying too hard to seem ordinary.

He let his chair scrape noisily against the pavement and slid into the seat closest to the edge.

‘And then, there is this one,’ he thought.

A woman in a long red dress.

Dark skin.

Long wavy hair.

There was a kind of elegant calm in her movement.

Her dress didn't belong in the sun—it belonged in an evening gala or a film noir dream.

She sipped from a porcelain teacup like she had all the time in the world while reading a book.

‘To kill a mockingbird.’

He raised his eyebrow.

‘Really?’

Then he slowly offers a toast of his bottle to the woman’s teacup.

“It’s a little early for a party, isn't it?” Tony started.

The woman didn't look at him right away.

Just lowered her teacup with a smile and closed her book.

Crossed one leg over the other—slow and practiced.

The woman clinked his teacup to Tony’s bottle.

“Says the man drinking wine like it's holy water.”

“It is my holy water,” he said dryly.

Sliding his stolen sunglasses down just enough to meet her gaze.

“Besides, I wasn't even talking about the drink..”

Tony gestured his bottle to what the woman was wearing.

“I meant the dress.” he took a sip on his bottle—but his eyes were focused on the red dress.

“Hah.” he settled the bottle down on the table.

And look up at the woman’s face.

“Not exactly your average tourist get-up.”

She tilted her head.

Still smiling.

Still poised.

“I like to make an impression.” she said.

“And you have succeeded.”

Tony took another long swig and leaned back.

“You planning to tell me who you are, or are we playing spy games now?”

She finally looked him dead in the eyes.

The smile faltered for just a second.

“You were late, Antonio Santa De Leones,” she said, like a password.

Tony froze. ‘Shit.’

‘That goddamn name.’

How can his name sound foreign and familiar at the same time?

He had almost forgotten that name.

‘And honestly, Tony sounds way cooler.’

The air between them changed—sharp now.

Electric.

“And you are?” he asked, his voice flat, suddenly serious.

She finally set down her teacup with a soft clink, but still holding the book.

“Someone who shouldn't be in here. But let's skip that dance, Tony. We both know this wasn't a coincidence. We found out about your bloodline.”

The woman went straight for the kill.

Tony’s throat went dry.

“Congratulations,” he said. 

“At long last, you did a good job having done a thorough background check on me. Instead of blindly believing what you see on a single piece of paper.”

The woman lowered the book that she’s holding.

“It’s purely accidental to be honest.”

The female agent lifted her cup again and took a long sip.

“Then let’s hear this fairytale of yours.”

Tony emptied his wine bottle.

“Make it a good one,” he said after finishing it.

“It’s because of your recent fiasco in East L.A..”

Tony’s face became grim. But said nothing.

“They are debating whether to recruit you to the team, since they said, you are the best of the best. And since you are not ‘busy’ now..” the woman trailed with a slight chuckle. 

“They said you have the time to spare..”

The woman set down his teacup again and leaned in to Tony.

As if sharing a secret.

“Although, you have one weakness.”

“You’re not really my type.” Tony shot down the woman.

“Ouch.” she faked the hurt.

“If you don't get straight to the point, then I’m leaving.” 

Tony decided to stop listening to bullshit.

“But I think otherwise,” she continued her tale. 

“You’re reckless, unpredictable. I’ve no need for such a headache.”

Then a pause.

Some tourists passed by.

“And when I finally looked at your profile, I saw your surname.” her eyes gleamed.

“Santa De Leones. The mafia royalty here, ironically in Italy.”

She uncrossed her legs and crossed it again, but this time with the other leg.

“A run away at seventeen. INTERPOL helped you get to America?” she’s not really asking. 

She already knew.

“Hmm.. maybe that's why you never turned up to the CIA's database. They wiped, even your ass clean.” she smiled.

Then she paused.

She measured Tony.

“You did not change your surname?” she quietly asked.

Tony smirked.

“Honestly? It’s kinda personal,” he paused and sighed, feigning indecision. 

Scratching his chin.

“..But I’ll tell you,” he grinned. “...It’s my brand.”

He looked around then back at the woman.

“My sin.” he finally revealed.

“It’s my way to atone forgiveness to the people that this goddamn surname victimized.” Tony whispered.

“If they traced me back to my surname and decided to kill me, then I’ll let them. After all, they’re only delivering me my sentence.” he continued.

“Huh. I never take you for being a patriot.” the woman said.

Tony raised his eyebrow.

“It’s you and your guys fault for not being thorough with who you recruit. Honestly.” Tony said sarcastically.

“You were the black sheep of the Santa De Leones?” she’s not asking but confirming.

“Ding-ding. You've got that right sweetie. And I have never had any contact with them for like..”

Tony pretended to think.

“Seventeen years?”

“Do they keep tabs on you?” she continued to press.

Tony chuckled darkly.

“Would you if it were you? After you tip all of their ‘business’ sites and dealings to the INTERPOL? I’m telling you, that’s what I did.”

Then he paused.

“I do not like drugs. Nor weapons,” Tony said truthfully.

“Then you are perfect for the role,” she said, putting down the book on the table with a quiet thud.

“Pffttt… In case you forgot sweetie, forced vacation means—terminated,” Tony mocked.

“It was you guys who made it a trend.”

He taps his long fingers on the table.

“I was with SEALs when the CIA came knocking.”

He looked the woman in the eyes.

“Ever wonder why they handed me to you guys so easily?”

It was the woman’s turn to raise her brows.

“Because I’ll always be a black sheep wherever I go.”

Tony stopped tapping his fingers.

“We’ll reinstate your rank, Tony,” the woman sighed.

She started to negotiate.

“Hell, we would even raise your rank. And we’ll take the blame over your last mishaps. Where your team died,” she’s trying to sound convincing.

“We know you felt guilty. That you can't face your team’s family face to face,” the woman said.

“That's what’s eating you right?” she asked.

Tony feels like his hands have gotten heavy.

“You can never wash away the blood on my hands if that's all what you’re offering,” Tony shot down her idea.

“Just three months,” her voice has a desperation in it. “I need you in my team.”

“No can do.” Tony cold heartedly rejected it.

He started to get up.

“Don't you wanna burn your bloodline? Erase it from your veins? Deliver justice to the people your family destroyed?” her last resort.

Tony stopped moving.

“Can you do that? You?” he asked. Voice low.

“Are you wondering how high up am I? To make it happen like a prophet?” she smiled with relief.

Feeling like she had already won.

She flicks her hair.

“You won't find me on the roster, Tony. And I don't usually do the introductions.”

She smirked. “Just invitations.”

“So is this your another recruitment pitch? You think I'll just walk into a burning house because I share the same family name?” he started to sit down again.

Then a beat.

“Or… would you rather get used to the sound of a cold metal prison door slamming shut?” she asked.

“Are you threatening me right now?” Tony bared his fangs.

“Technically, you're still one of them. It's still your surname. And that’s the truth.” the woman responded.

“I haven't spoken with them in years.” he defended.

“We know, or we don't know, depends on you,” the woman was playing games.

“And If I say no?” Tony asked.

Silence.

“Then you enjoy your wine a little longer,” she said with a shrug. “You won't be enjoying them soon.”

‘Fuck.’

He looked away for a moment, toward the fountains, the crowds and the laughing kids running with gelato in hand.

Then back at her.

“You got a name?”

“Beth,” she said finally.

“That's all you'll get.” she added.

He nodded, lips curling in a smirk.

“Then order me another bottle of wine, Beth. Looks like we’re going to talk about family.”

**