Page 41 of His to Honor

When he’s pissed, Matteo can be scary. Thankfully, I’m better acquainted with his sweet, caring side. He can be incredibly thoughtful when he wants. Tonight, he’s gone out of his way to ensure Rosalia has a birthday to remember. He arranged for us to travel into the city in a convoy of low-slung sports cars. Rosalia’s face when she saw the McLaren Artura waiting for her when she came through her front door was priceless.

I was driven to the club in the Bugatti Veyron Matteo’s been using while he’s here in Italy and Carlotta was treated to a ride in a Lamborghini. It meant we didn’t get a chance to spend time together before reaching the club, but I think the girls enjoyed arriving in style.

A black SUV filled with bodyguards trailed us here. I’m not sure whether they’re here because Matteo’s being protective of me or if it’s to make Rosalia feel like a queen. Either way, their presence is reassuring. I don’t know this city and though I doubt crime in Florence is more of an issue than it is back home, I like that Matteo is looking out for me.

He’s been remarkably relaxed about me having this girls’ night without him. I’ve been around the Volantes long enough to know the men all have a protective streak that borders on obsessive when it comes to their women. Though Matteo has always been the most laid-back of the brothers, relinquishing control doesn’t come easily to him. He did flinch when I came downstairs wearing a body-hugging black dress that barely covers my ass, but he didn’t insist I get changed. He just pulled me close and told me how much he’ll enjoy stripping it off me later.

“Welcome to La Stanza Rosso, ladies.” The doorman bares his teeth in a grin. With his bald head and sunken eyes, he gives off serious horror movie villain vibes. “Head straight upstairs.”

As we climb the steps, two guards from the SUV trailing us, a blonde woman appears at the top to greet us. Wearing a red corset top, black pants, and crazy high heels, she looks like a supermodel. The electronic tablet she carries tells me she works here.

“SignorinaCostanza?” she queries.

“That’s me,” I confirm.

The hostess nods. “My name is Violetta. Would you ladies follow me, please?”

Rosalia glances at me, and I shrug. Matteo told me to expect VIP treatment at the club, but it’s meant to be a surprise for the birthday girl, so I don’t want to give anything away. As the glamorous blonde walks off, we follow.

Rather than skirting around the edge of the packed dance floor, she cuts straight across it, parting the crowd. The woman’s command of a busy room is impressive. She clearly wields some power here.

“How did she do that?” Rosalia whispers loudly as we reach the other side of the room.

Violetta turns to her and grins conspiratorially. “I control access to the VIP area. People tend to avoid pissing me off.”

“VIP area?” There’s a note of hope in Rosalia’s voice.

“Yes.SignoreVolante has asked that you receive our finest hospitality tonight.”

Rosalia and Carlotta squeal in delight. Their enthusiasm is infectious and I feel a wave of excitement as we pass a burly security guard in a perfectly tailored suit and head upstairs to the mezzanine.

The lighting in the VIP area is low, but it’s not as dark as downstairs. There are large black sofas, several of which are occupied by men who obviously hold positions of wealth and power, and their female companions. I don’t recognize anyone, but Carlotta nudges Rosalia and points out an older, distinguished-looking man with a younger woman draped overhim. From Rosalia’s excited gasp, I guess they’re celebrities here in Italy.

Our bodyguards remain at the top of the stairs as Rosalia, Carlotta, and I follow Violetta to a table overlooking the club. I’m surprised to find Damiano waiting for us. Lounging on the sofa, he’s lord of all he surveys. When he spots us, he rises from his seat and refastens the button on his suit jacket.

He dismisses Violetta with a curt flick of the wrist. She bows her head and scurries away. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from saying something that will land me on Damiano’s shit list, but that was plain rude. Violetta was brimming with confidence a moment ago, but in Damiano’s presence, she curled in on herself. Do the Volante men have no idea of the effect they have on people? I scoff internally at the question. Of course they know. They just don’t care. It’s all part of the mafia persona.

“Don Volante!” Rosalia squeals, obviously shocked by his presence.

“Rosalia.” He smiles benevolently as she shuffles nervously from one foot to the other. “You look very grown up.”

Even in this half-light, I see her cheeks reddening. She self-consciously tugs the hem of her silver dress down. I get the sense she doesn’t wear such sexy clothing very often. From the brief conversations we’ve had, I know her mother is the type to disapprove. Thankfully, Damiano seems to notice her discomfort and steps closer to me, leaning in to greet me with a kiss on each cheek. “Giulia!”

“Damiano,” I acknowledge him.

He turns to Rosalia’s friend. “And you must be Carlotta.”

The tall, skinny brunette looks as if she might faint. It’s understandable. Even if Damiano’s reputation didn’t precede him, he cuts an intimidating figure with his above average height and muscular build. I’m not entirely at ease with him myself.

I look past him and notice, for the first time, the bottle of champagne resting in an ice bucket on the table. There’s also a bouquet of red and white flowers and a beautifully wrapped package. It’s a long, thin rectangle, so I’m guessing it contains a necklace or a bracelet, perhaps.

“Did you do this?” I ask.

“Of course.” Damiano flashes Rosalia another smile. “It’s not every day you turn eighteen, is it?”

“No, Don Volante.” Panicked, Rosalia nods vigorously.

Amused by having her so flustered, Damiano grins as he waves a server over. A young, dark-haired man with the face of a demi-god hurries across the room. Does Damiano hire his staff straight off the runway?

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