by Rachel Renee
His head tilts back. “Military training?”
“You know it.”
“You hiding muscle underneath that jacket?”
The fact that he had to ask makes me a little self-conscious. Sure, I may not look athletic and actually, I didn’t spend a lot of time doing physical activity until the military, but I’m fit. I can run miles with the ability to still hold a conversation. And yeah, there’s muscle under my jacket.
“I’m no Lou Ferrigno, but…”
“I’m messing around.” Charlie winks. “Just trying to see what you’re made of. It’s good to see that there’s fight inside that ‘professorly’ exterior. You’ll do well. Ruby won’t suspect that you’re doing the job you came here for.”
I huff at his nickname for our objective, but I appreciate the fact that the man in front of me sees my potential. Most people would probably consider me “nerdy.” Eliza used to tease me a bit about how smart I was and that I needed to get out more. She was playful but I knew the truth. I’ve never been weak, and until the plane ride, never prone to panicking over anything. My mind is strong and my body tough, thanks to my upbringing and my training. It’s just going to take a little time to get used to this person I need to be for this job.
“What about you?” I turn Charlie’s questions back at him. He wants to know about me but hasn’t said much about himself. He smiles at the change of topic but doesn’t hold back. He’s former military. Trained at Glynco, and The Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC), the same as me, but he has been at the job almost as long as Rubio. He says he works out on occasion but has a slight pudge that hangs over his belt. His muscular arms protrude through his rigid shirt, so maybe that’s his focus. He makes jokes about his role and as he smiles over at me, hints to the fact that he’s happy he now has a son.
By the end of the night, I’ve decided I truly like Charlie and am looking forward to working with him throughout the assignment. It’s nice to be able to feel like I’m not completely alone.
The curtains were left open last night so this morning I wake to the sun shining brightly through the glass doors. I’m on edge after the nightmare that woke me from a dead sleep. I’ve only seen a dead body on television, to see it displayed like that in my dream; it was pretty gruesome. I’ve never been one prone to nightmares, nor shaken after enduring the occasional one, but I think with the scenario that I’ve placed myself in, I’m going to be a little more keyed up.
I stretch out completely, loosening my limbs, before hauling my body out of the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. At first glance, I was leery because it looks so thin, but it was firm and that’s just what was needed for me to get a good night’s rest. The wood floor clods under my feet as I trudge to the bathroom to get a quick shower and shave before starting my first official day on the job. I don’t know what to expect, but I plan to be ready for whatever it is.
After I’m prepared, I move toward the kitchen to find Charlie sitting on a stool at the island, sipping coffee and staring intensely at a newspaper.
“Anything interesting in there?”
“Not a thing,” he answers, folding up the paper, laying it flat on the granite. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.”
“Me too. That’s not normal for me. I usually wake with the slightest sound.”
“I actually dreamt last night, and that’s saying something for me.”
“Out enough to dream is an accomplishment in my book.” He grins. “Want some coffee?”
“Nah. Going to head straight to the caffé. I want to get started.”
“Rubio may not show his face today. You got something to keep you occupied?”
“I’ll bring the laptop along. And the books that I’m teaching from next semester. I have some items that I need to start on.”
“Look at you. Star pupil, if I must say.”
“You think it’s too much. A laptop? Should I leave the computer and just take some pens and paper?”
“You might stand out.”
I feel my face scrunch in disgust. I should probably leave the laptop behind this time. Not a lot of people carry them around, and most are still using their desktops.
After making sure I have what I need, I grab the leather laptop case, pulling the laptop from it and setting on the table inside the front door. I grab a notebook and some pens from inside the desk, placing them in the laptop’s spot, and give a quick wave to Charlie. “Wish me luck.”
“You’re going to need it.” He’s chuckling as I shut the door behind me. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Grabbing the wallet from my back pocket, I check it to make sure the cash is still inside. I’ll need it to buy my breakfast. The agency gave me quite a bit before I left and then opened a bank account that I can draw from as I need to. I’m never to use credit, one less thing that someone could use to trace me, but apparently my bank account is unlimited.
There’s a nice breeze blowing once I hit the sidewalk. Seeing the scooters lined up once again makes me kind of disappointed that I don’t get a bike of my own. I don’t actually need one. I can walk to a ton of places or catch a taxi to go someplace further. Charlie has a car we can use when we need it, as well. I don’t know what his job is or where he goes during the day, (I asked last night but he wouldn’t respond) which kind of bugs me because he knows where I am. So does my buddy, Moretti. They are my contacts, but right now, the only things I really know in terms of finding them throughout the day is their phone numbers. This will have to be resolved sooner rather than later. I need to know who I’m working with.
The streets are abuzz with people, everyone enjoying the beautiful morning, possibly headed to work, or to get breakfast. The kids are squealing as they rush past with their parents usually clinging to bags, walking a few paces behind. Everyone seems to be smiling and enjoying the fact that they are alive to see one more day. I find myself feeling the same way and as I walk into the same caffé I visited last night, and the grin continues.
“Buongiorno,” I hear all around me. I enter the same greeting as I pass by on my way to the counter to order my coffee and breakfast. I remind myself that I need to speak Italian or at least keep with the accent anytime I speak. As I approach the man behind the cash register, I wait to see how he greets me before I proceed.
“Buongiorno,” he says. I start to say good morning in return and plan to order in Italian but he then says, “What can I get started for you?” in English.
Just the accent then. “May I please have the cappuccino and”—I take a quick glance back to the pastries—“this.” I point to an object that’s flaky and buttery.
With a furrowed brow, he replies, “Good choice.”
I nod but don’t speak. I didn’t like the sound of my voice and am nervous the man behind the counter can tell it’s rehearsed.
“Sei di Firenze?” he asks.
Maybe I didn't blow it after all. “Sì, in visita per l'estate.” Letting him know I’m visiting for the summer. That’s my story, after all. I was hoping he’d ask me more questions, so I could practice my cover, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns and begins to prepare my drink and plate my croissant.
Once he sets the items down in front of me, I pay the man the money owed and thank him for my breakfast.
“Buon appetito,” he shouts as I move into the crowded room. I raise my hand in acknowledgment as I force myself to take a look at the patrons among the tables. I will Santi to appear in front of me but after I’ve scanned the entirety of the caffé, my powers seem to be nonexistent. I find a spot near the back of the establishment and head that way. Seems like a good place to set up camp for a few hours.
After setting my meal on the table, and my bag upon the floor, I plop down softly into the chair beneath me. I get myself settled, sitting back against the wood and pulling my cup of coffee along with me. I pretend I’m drinking as I do another scan of the caffé. I’ve been told my target is here every day and I’m h
oping this one is no exception.
By the time I’ve finished my beverage, and my croissant is just a flake in my memory, the man known as Santi Rubio finally strolls through the front door. He’s not very big, although, I knew that from the report, but his head is held high and the way the people move out of his way proves he’s a force to be reckoned with. Santi’s dark hair is cut short but is splayed all over his head as if he just rolled out of bed and walked right in for coffee without looking in a mirror. I take note of his clothes, jeans, a darker wash, and a buttoned-up blue shirt with sleeves rolled a couple of times. I can’t see his shoes from where I’m sitting but I can only imagine they are expensive.
Santi’s father has made millions helping the Italians steal resources and money from the United States. The secrets that he has shared and the dealings he has committed has helped put his home country in debt. That’s why I’m here—to find out his contacts and to help put a stop to the business arrangement he has with the locals.
I watch as Santi waves to the man behind the counter, who moves quickly to start preparing something for the guest of honor. He stops at a few tables, touching the women’s hands and they fall over him as he moves onto the next. I can’t help but chuckle at the scene. This is real life, not some cheesy film you might catch on cable during a lazy Saturday afternoon.
Santi moves through the restaurant with the smug look of superiority plastered across his face. When he gets close enough that he could spot me staring, I quickly look to my book and pretend I’m busy writing something important down.
I feel a shadow looming over me and take a glance up at the figure. “You’re in my spot,” he lets out angrily. “I’d appreciate if you’d sit somewhere else.”
I feel my eyes widen at his arrogance and realize this is the moment I’ve been training for. How I play my cards now will determine how this whole mission could go down. First step, apologize, and so I do. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just about finished here.”
“You look completely finished to me.”
“With my meal, but not my work. Since there was no sign saying this seat was reserved, I would appreciate you allowing me to finish what I’m doing.”
“Finish over there.” He motions with his thumb to a seat across the caffé.
“No, thanks. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
The guy literally starts whining and huffing. Is he for real? There’s no way I’m going to be able to make friends with this spoiled brat. Which will make things easier for me when the time comes to bring his father, and possibly him, in, so I guess that’s a bonus.
“Listen. I apologize for being in your normal spot. I will be finished momentarily and you can have it. In the meantime, please sit.” I push out the seat across from me with my foot.
If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. Santi Rubio huffs and throws himself into the chair opposite me. When the man with the coffee appears at our table, he and Rubio have a quiet exchange in which the man asks if I should be removed and although Santi hesitates, he eventually says no. The man glowers at me for a moment before turning and retreating to his spot behind the counter.
“I appreciate that you did not cause trouble for me.” I muster a smile as I stare at the kid across the table. His blue eyes are piercing and I feel like he sees right through my ruse.
He never speaks as he slowly sips his beverage, staring at me the entire time. I look back at my work and pretend to finish up what I’m doing. After about thirty minutes, I place my books in my bag, pull my bag up on my shoulder, and say ciao to my new friend. He doesn’t know it yet, but I plan to sit at his table every morning until he either caves and decides to let me stay or he has me thrown out. From what I’ve seen so far this morning, I’m guessing the latter will be happening first.
5
It takes some time for Santi Rubio and me to have a conversation. After that first morning, I claimed to take the only empty seat available. I had two cups of cappuccino, the first one empty and the second one just made when he arrived. Marco, the man behind the counter, got after me that first morning but since hasn’t said a word after I told him I was a paying customer and the seat in the back of the room was the quietest and where I needed to sit to get my work done. I may have said that Santi and I had an understanding and the man seemed to believe my story. We really didn’t have an understanding, but Rubio stopped huffing and puffing by the end of the first week. I think he grew accustomed to seeing me sitting there, sipping my coffee and working with all my books and notebook strewn about the table, when he finally dragged his lazy ass out of bed.
I never tried to talk to him, just focused on my coffee and my work. I was actually able to complete the first semester of coursework during this time. I was thankful for the silence because the way this is going, I’m planning to be here to teach in the fall.
As I’m sipping my drink, day one, week three, I hear from across the table. “What are you working on?”
I’m so surprised that I almost spill the coffee that had just been lifted to my lip. “Scusami?”
“What are you working on? Seems important?”
I stare at the eyes that have been so cold and clouded for the last couple weeks and see a glimmer of interest, finally. “I am a professor and I’m creating coursework for the fall semester.”
His eyes widen. “You don’t seem old enough to be a professor.”
“This will be my first term.”
Santi shrugs. “Where?”
“Florence,” is my answer.
“Where?” he asks, the frustration anger in his voice.
This kid has no patience for anyone. Just yesterday a beautiful woman walked by and accidentally tripped over his foot that was sticking out as Santi lounged back in his seat. He was irate that she touched his expensive shoes, but never mind the fact that she spilled her entire cup of coffee down the front of her flowered dress. As he yelled, I got up from my chair and helped the woman to the restroom. After dropping her off at the door, I went up and ordered her another drink before grabbing some napkins and wiping up the last of the coffee remnants from the floor. Rubio scowled at me the whole time. When the woman finally reappeared from the bathroom, she was heading straight for the door to leave. Santi’s eyes widened at me, like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, I hopped up once more and raced toward her, ushering her back to the counter and explaining I had ordered her another drink. She was very thankful, kissing me on the cheek before leaving the caffé. When I arrived back to the table and sat in my seat, there was a look in his eyes, curiosity maybe, hatred…I don’t know for sure, but that’s when I finally felt like I might be able to get somewhere with him.
“Dove?” he asks once more.
I realize I forgot to answer and so I finally let out, “Universita Degli Studi Firenze,” I say in Italian since he shouted at me in his native tongue. I see recognition at that moment and for the first time, directed toward me, I see a smile appear.
“That’s where I will attend.”
I feign ignorance and act excited about our mutual destination. We talk about the city that I am supposedly from. Santi Rubio seems enthusiastic about living in Florence during the school year and asks me all about my favorite restaurants and nightlife. I throw out a few names of some places colleagues enlightened me with but disappointed him when I couldn’t answer his nightlife question. “I have never been much of a partier.”
“But you just graduated. What did you do at night? How did you meet girls?”
“I didn’t date much.”
He wouldn’t let it go. “What do you mean? Are you homosexual?”
A small laugh escapes. “Just because I did not date much doesn’t mean you should jump straight to that conclusion.”
He bites his lip, his eyes darting to and fro.
“No. Just focused on my studies.” I tell him about Eliza but tell him we broke it off just before I came to Rome for the summer to stay with my father. If Santi a
nd I do develop a relationship, I don’t want him to wonder where she is once we’re in Florence in a couple months.
I’m not sure what sets him off, but as soon as I stop talking, he immediately grabs his cup and saucer, moving swiftly from the table and up to the counter. My eyes avert back to my books but occasionally peer over them to watch what Rubio is up to. He talks to Marco for a few moments, his hands moving rapidly as he speaks. After his cup is refilled, Santi strolls back in my direction and plops down in his chair once more. I think he’s going to speak again, but he sits silently, sipping his coffee and staring at a magazine he pulled from the table next to us.
I feel good about the fact that we had a conversation today. I’m not sure why it ended so abruptly, but it was a start. I pack up my belongings and call it a day. Catching Rubio watch me out of the corner of his eye, I make sure to make it obvious that I’m leaving. After I stand, I tell him goodbye and leave the caffé in a hurry.
Once I arrive at the apartment, I’m greeted by the most beautiful blonde woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She races up to me, grabbing my hands and kissing me on both sides of my mouth. “Niccolo, it is so nice to finally meet you. Your father has told me so much about you.” She speaks in the loveliest Italian tongue I’ve ever heard.
I’m completely stunned by what just happened so the words I speak come out as a stutter. “Oh, and you are?” I don’t know why I asked it that way and in English no less.
“I am Sophia. I live here.” She points behind her. “We are neighbors.” She answers in English as well.
Her lips are bright red and full, so beautiful, all I can think about is the fact that she just had them pressed against my face moments ago. I feel myself growing in my pants and have to turn away before I embarrass myself even more. I’m supposed to be a hardass. Beautiful women should not have such an effect over me. After breathing deeply for a few moments, I turn back around. In Italian, this time, I apologize for my rudeness and tell her she just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting someone so beautiful to greet me upon my arrival.
