Ricardo

by Marita A. Hansen

  The soldier clicked the suitcases shut and pulled them out, grunting that it was pathetic she had her whole life in them. She ignored his rudeness, because right now, she had his life in her hands.

  The fat bastard jammed her belongings into the trunk of the Santini car, then climbed into the driver’s seat. The other soldier indicated for her to take the backseat. She climbed in and buckled up. She’d learned from Pedro that only Santini cars were allowed onto the property, their security more stringent due to the mafia war.

  She peered out of the window as the soldier drove her through the gates, past two gun-wielding men. As expected, the property was massive, the green lawns stretching for miles. She watched a man riding a horse over it, looking like he was monitoring the property.

  The car eventually slowed down, pulling her attention back to the front. A cream-colored, three-story Italian villa with pillars stood proud on the horizon. It was the best of Italy, with classical lines, bay windows, and the belvedere at the top of the house, where a man was watching over the property from the lookout tower.

  The driver steered around the side of the building, not taking her to the main entrance. He stopped next to an archway and got out, opening the door for her. She stepped out of the car, feeling like royalty, although she was dressed like a pauper. As instructed by Pedro, she had dressed down for the interview, although she’d ignored the man about not wearing makeup. It just wasn’t the type of makeup he’d warned her against. She’d darkened under her eyes to make herself appear tired, while she’d shadowed her cheekbones, giving herself a gaunt look. She’d also pulled her hair back in an unflattering tight bun, which right now was giving her a headache. But it didn’t matter, just as long as it got her the job, because she needed to look like an everyday person so Salvatore didn’t turn her away.

  The fat soldier waved at her to follow him, the other one staying behind with the car. She headed through the archway, which led onto a corridor, her eyes committing everything to memory. They rounded a corner, entering another passage. A few doors down, a curvy blonde turned to look at them, the woman’s expression alarmed. She scurried off, making Ivy think the woman had been doing something she shouldn’t have.

  Ignoring the blonde, the soldier stopped outside the door and knocked on it, calling out, “The job applicant is here.”

  “Come in,” a deep voice replied.

  The soldier opened the door, instructing Ivy to enter. She stepped inside, her eyes instantly going to a dark-haired woman. She recognized Concetta Santini from the dossier Pedro had given her. The Santini matriarch was a regal-looking woman in her late fifties. She was impeccably dressed, her purple skirt and soft pink silk blouse complimenting her violet eyes. And right now those eyes were directed at Ivy, glaring at her as though she’d interrupted something important.

  The man sitting behind a rosewood desk got to his feet: Salvatore Santini. He was extremely handsome, his regal face without a doubt inherited from his mother. He was also impeccably dressed, the cut of his navy blue suit accentuating his impressive physique, while his pale blue tie matched his eyes.

  Ivy smiled, pleased he was even more attractive in person, especially since she wanted him for her sister. She didn’t care that he was married, because wives were easily disposed of, plus he looked worth killing for.

  Salvatore’s mother refocused on him. “If you have any sense you will change your mind.”

  “Not happening, Madre,” he said, his expression stoic. “So please don’t ask again.”

  The woman’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing at him. “As long you don’t speak to Ricardo about it.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from him, you know that.”

  “He keeps secrets from you.”

  Salvatore’s eyes moved to Ivy, then back to his mother. “This isn’t the right time to discuss this. I have an interview to do.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “If you know what’s good for you, keep what I said to yourself.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t want to know.” She spun around and stalked out of the room.

  Salvatore sighed, then turned his baby blues on Ivy. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  “No need to apologize,” she said.

  “Thank you.” He indicated to the chair in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”

  Ivy slipped into it, liking his polite demeanor. From what information she’d gathered, he was now second in command, a recent occurrence that pleased her very much.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Isis,” he said, sitting back down. “I’m Salvatore Santini.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, too,” she replied, willing herself not to stare at him, his face so lovely to look at.

  He glanced at a file on his desk. “What brings you to Italy?”

  “I have a sister who recently moved here. I wanted to be close to her since she’s my only living relative, plus family is everything to me.”

  “Likewise.” He tapped the file with a finger. “It says here that you worked in Berlin for five years, then moved to Russia. Why did you leave Germany?”

  “My employer died,” because I killed him.

  His gaze moved to the fat soldier standing by the door. “Passaporti.”

  The soldier moved forward, holding out Ivy’s passports, only the name inside them not belonging to her. The Viper who’d altered her passports was a forgery expert, someone who could change any document, making it appear untouched.

  Salvatore took them and flicked through the pages of the older passport, stopping on one. “The first stamp for Germany is fifteen years old.” He looked back up. “That would’ve made you ten at the time, too young to work.”

  “I moved there with my mother and two sisters when she was appointed the head of housekeeping for a very wealthy man called Rudolph Huffman. Regardless of age, we were all entrusted with roles in the household.”

  “But you were a child?”

  “It wasn’t harsh work,” she lied.

  “What did you do?” he asked, appearing disturbed.

  “Minor chores, which I was paid very well for.” All she received was board and lodging, while the chores lasted ten hours a day—nothing more, nothing less, her employer a stickler for timekeeping. She continued, “Once I turned fifteen, I became his personal maid, which included cleaning his room and serving him dinner,” as well as letting him fuck me. “Tragically, his heart gave out,” when I stuck a knife in it, “so my family decided to move to Russia. We found employment straight away with a very kind man,” the bastard Black Russian, “but after my mother and oldest sister died in an accident,” were murdered by him, “I needed to get away. I fully intended on going back,” to kill him, “but my other sister decided to move to your island,” because I convinced her, I could get your family to help bring down the black-hearted Russian. “Anyway, here are my previous master’s contact details,” she pulled out an envelope from her pocket and handed it over, “just in case you want an oral reference.” I would love to give you a different kind of oral, cutie-pie.

  Salvatore took it. “Thank you, I was impressed with your written reference, but I always prefer verbal ones. They’re more personal.” He removed the slip of paper from the envelope and dialed the number. She listened as he spoke to her friend, who was an accomplished liar. After a few minutes, he hung up, his expression unreadable. “I just need to verify one more thing,” he said, turning to the computer. He tapped away on the keyboard for a few more minutes before refocusing on her. “I’ve already done a security check prior to your arrival, but I like to double-check things.”

  “As you should,” she said, unconcerned. The Viper who’d altered her passports had also manipulated the information on the web.

  Salvatore smiled. “Well, I’m pleased to say everything checks out, so I’ll move onto what the job entails. If you get the position, you’ll be attending to my brother, the Don. A number of years ago
he damaged his nervous system, which left him unable to feel in most of his body. Due to it, he needs a maid to help him with certain tasks, such as preparing his bath, since he can only partially sense heat. He’s burnt himself before, so you have to make sure the water’s at the right temperature before he gets in. You will also be required to shave him, which he likes done while he’s resting in the bathtub. My brother’s not a shy man, so if you have a problem with nudity, the job won’t be for you.”

  “It’s not an issue. I used to bathe my former boss’s handicapped son, and he was thirty,” she said, not lying, the Black Russian’s oldest son too sweet to have come from such a black-hearted bastard.

  Looking pleased, Salvatore smiled wider, making her smile back, the man so pleasant. Pity for his wife, because she definitely wanted him for her sister.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?” Salvatore called out.

  “Luca,” came the reply.

  Salvatore sat up straighter, his face perking up. “Come in.”

  The door opened. A young man, probably in his early twenties, slipped inside, holding a tray of strong-smelling coffee. He placed the tray on Salvatore’s desk by the computer, his mannerisms effeminate.

  Salvatore thanked the servant, who blushed, his expression telling Ivy plenty. The servant obviously had a crush on Salvatore, while Salvatore only had eyes for the coffee. He poured some into a cup the size of a small bowl, his gaze flicking to Ivy. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked, ignoring the servant as he left.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have the stomach for it,” she said. “I’m allergic to the beans.”

  “That would be hell for me, I’m addicted to the stuff.” He picked up the cup and took a sip, looking like he was in Heaven, his expression turning her on. Maybe she could have him for herself. She mentally shook the thought out of her head, aware he wasn’t suited to her. Pedro had said that Salvatore was moralistic, which was the complete opposite of her.

  “I must say,” Salvatore said, “you’re the first person that has impressed me. Too many women have walked through my door thinking their appearance could make up for their lack of experience. I hire people for their skills, not for looking pretty.”

  She nodded; pleased her costume had worked. She knew he’d just called her unattractive, although the man didn’t appear to realize it. Regardless, it didn’t matter, because his reaction was what she’d strived for.

  “Well, I’ve heard all I need to know,” he said, putting his coffee down. He picked up her passports and held them out for her to take.

  She took them with a thanks. “So, when will I find out if I have the job?”

  “You have it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “If you want the job, it’s yours. When are you able to start?”

  She smiled. “Today, if that’s possible. I have my suitcases in the car.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You were that certain you’d get the job?”

  “No. I just didn’t want to leave anything in my hotel room after some of my belongings went missing.”

  “You didn’t stay with your sister?”

  “I couldn’t. She works as an in-house nanny, so unfortunately there’s no room for me. I was hoping to find a job with accommodation, which was one of the reasons why I applied for this position.”

  “Well, I hope you like living here.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure I will.”

  He nodded, his eyes going to the fat soldier. “Has her luggage been cleared?”

  “Sì, Signore,” the man replied.

  “Bene, you can take it to the servants’ quarters.”

  The soldier nodded, telling Ivy to follow him. She bade farewell to Salvatore, then headed out of the room, smiling inwardly at how easy that had been. The soldier took her back to the car to get her suitcases. Once he’d collected them, they headed around the side of the house, the man leading her to a one-story stucco building, which she assumed was the servants’ quarters. The front door led onto a passage, with rooms on either side. He opened a door several down, ushering her in. The interior was sweet, the previous occupant having a penchant for flowery curtains and pretty pictures.

  The soldier dumped her suitcases by a single bed, giving her instructions to meet the head of housekeeping in an hour. Once he’d left, she went to the bathroom, washing off the unflattering makeup. She was looking forward to meeting Salvatore’s brothers, two in particular. Both Ricardo and Brando had sparked her interest the most, their photos stunning. Though power was what excited her, and Ricardo had more than Brando.

  She dried her face, then started applying new makeup, this time accentuating her features, rather than downplaying them. Once done, she smiled at her reflection, knowing Ricardo didn’t have a chance.

  ***

  Ricardo spent the next couple of hours with Valentino’s girls, talking to them, letting them cry on his shoulder, doing everything he could to help them. Eventually, he called his sisters, asking Anna and Bella to spend some time with the girls. Once they had arrived, he left, promising to return in a few hours.

  He headed back to his office, wanting to submerge himself in work so he didn’t have to think about anything. He settled behind his desk, phoning through to the D’Angelo Don. To his surprise, Frano allowed him to break the transporting contract his mother had made, not fighting him at all over it. And what was even more surprising was what Frano had said straight afterwards—that the D’Angelos were getting out of the sex trade. He’d been happy to hear that, since he’d always found his cousins’ business repugnant—to say the least. For his eighteenth birthday, his father had bought him a sex slave from the D’Angelos. He’d instantly set the woman free. His father had yelled at him that the slave had cost him two million, but Ricardo had retorted that if he fucked a woman it would be because she wanted him, not because she was forced to.

  He made several more calls, informing his allies and clients that he was now the head of his family. After that, he got stuck into numerous files on the computer, continuing to check what his mother had been up to, yesterday’s work only touching on it. After a few hours of staring at the computer, he finally leaned back in his chair, annoyed with what he’d found. His mother had gotten their family into every criminal activity she could make a profit from. It now made sense why their finances were considerably better after his mother had taken over. They weren’t just running guns, they were dealing drugs, laundering money through a casino, transporting sex slaves, as well as having a hand in the prostitution business. They even ran a porn studio, which made him wonder whether that was how his youngest brother had gotten into the trade. It was quite a revelation to find out what his mother had been doing behind everyone’s back, or some of their backs, because without a doubt she’d had help. Brando was the obvious candidate, and probably Alessandro with the porn side of things. He was just curious how she’d managed to keep it all a secret for so long. He may have spent the majority of his time dealing arms, but not to even have an inkling of what she’d been up to—it astounded him.

  A knock came from the door. “Come in,” he said.

  Lisa entered with a tray. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  He thanked her, the woman so thoughtful. He wished he felt something for her other than friendship, because she would’ve made a good wife. There was just no spark like with Bianca. He willed all thoughts of Bianca out of his mind, instead focusing on the tray being laid on his desk. He lifted the bowl’s ceramic lid, the smell and sight of the minestrone causing his mouth to water. Taste was one of the few pleasures he’d retained, something he was grateful for.

  “You treat me far too well, cara,” he said, picking up the spoon.

  She smiled. “I only treat you the way you should be treated.”

  “Grazie. You’re a true darling.”

  She smiled wider, staring at him as he swallowed down the first spoonful.

  “It’s very good,” he said.
>
  She continued to watch him.

  He lowered the spoon. “Is there something you want to say?”

  She started fidgeting with her hands. “My father wants me to move back with my famiglia, but I’d rather stay here with you.”

  He frowned. “As long as you’re not still harboring romantic notions towards me.”

  She shifted about, her upset expression telling him she was. He didn’t like upsetting her, but he didn’t want her wasting her life mooning after him when there was absolutely no chance of anything happening between them.

  “I live to serve you, master,” she said.

  “I told you not to call me that. We’re friends.”

  She nodded, although her upset expression remained. “Regardless, I still want to serve you. I enjoy looking after you as well as your famiglia. I feel as though I’m useful.”

  “You’re always useful, more so than you know. No one else administers my medication as well as you do. Though, it didn’t stop me from losing control today.”

  Her expression grew concerned. “You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?”

  “No,” he said, not wanting to tell her it was sexual. “I also felt someone’s touch today.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? Where?”

  “On my face.”

  She reached out, placing her hand on his cheek. “Can you feel me?”

  “No.”

  Looking disappointed, she let go. “You should have my father check it out.”

  “I don’t think he’ll want to see me after my madre fired him.”

  “He’ll still examine you.”

  “Maybe after Valentino’s funeral. Anyway, I need another injection.”

  “You can’t, I’ve already given you one.”