Page 111 of For Your Eyes Only

If they don’t offer her the position, they’re idiots, and I’ll personally invest in the debut House of Rossi and position it directly across the street from Prada in Milan.

Looking down, I’m in the pink linen shirt Michele loaned me, with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. I’ve never thought of myself as a man who wears pink, but it’s clean, and beggars can’t be choosers.

I’ve been checking the clock constantly. She should be home any moment, when a brief knock precedes the door opening. It’s a short, round woman with her hair in a gray bun and tiny, squinty black eyes.

“Vero.” She scowls, and I smile, unsure how to proceed.

“I’m sorry,” I reply in English. “My Italian is not good.”

She switches to English, and as she speaks, I realize who she is. “I heard there were men sleeping here with my niece, many men. I couldn’t believe it, but now I see it’s true.”

“Are you Aunt Graziella?” I have to be sure, since we do have a language barrier.

“I am. Her poor father was my brother, rest his soul. He had no idea what the woman he married was really like or how she would raise his daughter.”

Anger flashes in my throat, and I don’t care if she’s an old woman, I step to her. “How did she raise her daughter?” The woman’s face only comes up to my chest, so I bend lower, meeting her judgmental glare. “Choose your words wisely.”

“Have you been sleeping here? In this room with one bed?”

“I was injured, and Gia took me in. She nursed me back to health.”

“Shenursedyou?” She barks a laugh, unintimidated. “How much are you paying for thisnursing? Is that how she was able to buy this house?”

“I bought this house with my own money.” Gia’s voice slices through our argument. “That’s all you need to know.”

Stepping back, I see her walking up the stairs with fire in her eyes. She’s gorgeous in a sleeveless black shift dress with her dark hair brushed smooth. She’s professional and brave and ready to fight for herself—only if I’m around, she’ll never fight alone.

“The money you earned taking in these men. Everyone in town is talking, and you thought you could hide it.”

“I never tried to hide anything.” Gia is the same height as her aunt, and the two are nose to nose. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

I stand tall behind her, crossing my arms.

The old woman glances at me. “Who is this man? Why is he here?”

“He’s my friend. He’s staying with me.”

“Are you sleeping in the same bed?”

“Yes.”

The old woman shakes her head. “Just like your mother.”

“What do you mean? You said I was nothing like my mother.” Gia’s eyes flash, protective anger in her voice.

“Your mother was aporca troia, aprostituta. She sold her body for money.”

My girl staggers as if she’s been hit, but I’m at her back, holding her up. “That's not true,” Gia hisses. “My mother was not that.”

“How do you think she afforded this place? She was a wicked woman, and she raised you to be wicked just like her.” Her aunt punctuates her words with a pointed finger. “I tried to take you to church. I tried to teach you better, but your wicked blood won out.”

Taking Gia’s arm, I move her to my side, wrapping my fist around the old woman’s pointing finger.

“Don’t do that.” My jaw is clenched, and she jerks her finger from my hand.

“What do you know?Sfigato!”

“He is notsfigato.” Gia’s eyes are blazing, and I hold her waist. “He helped me.”

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