Page 43 of His to Honor

“It’s just a gift,” I assure her. “The Volantes are grateful for how well you’re taking care of the house.”

“Tell them you didn’t want to insult Don Volante,” Carlotta suggests. She gets up from her seat and holds a hand out to Rosalia. “Let’s go dance.”

Rosalia grabs her friend’s hand and then turns to me.

I shake my head. “Maybe later.”

As they walk off, heads close together and giggling, one bodyguard moves from his position to accompany them while the other remains in case I somehow find myself in danger.

I get my cellphone out of my purse. I’m a little disappointed that there isn’t a message from Matteo checking in on me, but then I realize that’s unfair. He’s giving me the space I wanted to go out and experience Florentine nightlife.

There is, however, a message from my brother.

Came by your place this morning. Heard you got into a car with Dante Parisi and a suitcase. What the fuck are you up to?

I snort in amusement. One thing you can say about Phillip is that he doesn’t mince words. I didn’t tell my family I was coming to Italy because I knew they wouldn’t like the idea of me being alone here with Matteo. Though he’s been in my life for years, as we’ve become older, my dad’s been more critical of our close friendship. I guess he thought it would ruin my marriage prospects or something like that.

Knowing the truth will get out in the end, I reply to Phillip, telling him I’m fine and I’m in Italy. Predictably, my phone rings seconds after I send the message. He’ll suspect I’m hiding something if I don’t answer, so I accept the call.

“Hey, little brother.” My greeting is supposed to remind him I’m the older sister, but it rarely works. He thinks he’s got to look out for me.

“Don’theyme, Giulia. What the fuck are you doing in Italy?”

I sigh. He’s riled up. “Antonio sent me.”

“The boss sent you to Italy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why? What does he want you to do?”

“Nothing much. He wanted me to come see Matteo.”

I can hear Phillip grinding his teeth, an annoying habit he developed as a child. “You’re in Italy with Matteo Volante?”

“It’s not a big deal, Phillip.” I don’t want to get into a conversation about where I’m staying and who else is with us. There’s going to be an inquisition when I go home, but I’m going to put that off for now and have a fun night.

“Not a big…”

“Look, Phil, I have to go. I’m out with a couple of girlfriends.”

“Since when do you have girlfriends in Italy? Is that… are you in a club?”

Sensing a lecture coming on, I mutter a quick goodbye, cut the call, and switch my phone off. I shove it back in my purse and grab my glass of champagne. I get up and wander over to the metal railing to look down into the club.

It’s packed. People crowd around the bar and there’s barely any space on the dance floor. The pounding music creates a feverishatmosphere. Nightclubs aren’t my favorite environment. When I go out with friends, I prefer a bar or restaurant. I do love to dance, though. Spotting Carlotta and Rosalia on the floor below, I decide to join them.

I take another sip of my champagne and put the glass down on the table. It was nice of Damiano to have a bottle ready for us, but I don’t much like it. As I head for the stairs, the bodyguard steps aside to let me pass. He follows me down to the main part of the club, but hangs back as I move onto the dance floor to join Rosalia and Carlotta.

“Giulia!” Rosalia acknowledges my presence. “This place is amazing!”

“Sure is,” I agree, but she’s already returned her attention to a young, dark-haired man with a boyishly handsome face. Carlotta’s focus is also on a man. They’re kind of cute together.

Not wanting to get in the way of their flirtations, I turn to head back to the VIP area. I can dance up there without being a part of this crush. A lifetime of dire warnings from my dad has made me wary of being caught in a crowd with no clear escape route. I only make it a few steps before someone blocks my path. A tall, blond boy of about eighteen or nineteen stands there, a strange smile on his face. He says something in Italian, speaking too quickly for me to understand.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ah, you’re English.”

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