My Life My Choice

Chapter 4

Chapter 4“Pronto?”

“Piero, it’s Giacomo; they are just leaving the apartment. I will follow him, and when I can find him alone or when he leaves to go home, I will approach him.”

“Giacomo, it needs to be done today, Mr. Moretti is getting very impatient with us.”

“It will be done today.”

None of this made any sense to Giacomo. Normally he and Piero would pull up in a car and abduct Steelgrave. That would be so much easier and quicker; Giacomo would do what he was told to do.

Maria and I spent the day together. We laid on the banks of the Arno, enjoying the warm sun, and watching the crew-teams race. The sky is so blue this time of year with large cumulus clouds passing over the Ponte Vecchio.

Warm in the sun yet cool with the need of a sweater in the shade. Near the end of the day, I turned to Maria and said, “It’s getting late, Maria, we should go, I still have a long drive.”

She smiled and nodded. We walked back to her apartment, and I kissed her goodbye.

“I will see you in a few weeks, Maria, for the baptism?”

Maria smiled. “Yes, Warren. You will email me the date?”

I nodded yes and gave her another kiss and left to go find a taxi. Halfway down the block, a large man approached me.

***

“Mr. Steelgrave, I have a message for you from Mr. Moretti. He would like to meet with you at his house.”

Before I could respond, he handed me a small envelope and continued,

“This is his address and directions you are expected no later than tomorrow.”

He then turned and walked away. I opened and looked inside. There was a small hand-written note, it read: Caro Signor Steelgrave; I have supplied my address and phone number in case you have forgotten how to get here. Please call at your earliest convenience with a time we can expect your arrival. It was signed, Signor Moretti. At that moment, a taxi pulled up, and I got in.

“Parti Inglese?”

“Yes.”

“Please take me to the parking garage Sosta Lunga P3 near the airport. The driver nodded, and we were off. On the way to my car, I wondered to myself why would Mr. Moretti want to see me. I knew better than to say no. Mr. Moretti is head of the Moretti crime family. We have met twice. Once to negotiate the release of a friend’s son Tom Marino who was being held for exchange of some Tesla files. Tom got the files to me for safekeeping, and the Moretti family kidnaped Tom to trade for the files. After Tom’s release, Mr. Moretti’s oldest son was killed while trying to assassinate me at my daughter’s wedding. This led to our second meeting. I was concerned that his son’s death would lead to retaliation toward my oldest son. Despite being warned about meeting with such a ruthless man, I arranged a meeting.

We met, and I was surprised by the man’s intelligence and pragmatism. The meeting took place in his extensive library at his home. I was surprised at the collection of signed first edition books he had read. When I told him of my concerns, he gave a small smile and replied he had the same concerns.

“After all, the attempt on your life was at your daughter’s wedding. For many in Italy, such disrespect for the family would not be tolerated. Such back and forth retaliation can get out of hand and is bad for business.”

We shook hands, and I thanked him for his time. I left the house surprised that such a ruthless man could earn my respect and had to remind myself of the evil that lurked under the surface. I had been summoned to his house: I was concerned.

I made the drive from Florence to Muriaglio in a little under five hours and got home a little after midnight. I went up the stairs and entered the house and went straight to the bar in the living room and made a martini. I walked out onto the terrace, put on some jazz, and sat down to think. It was very still, and the view looking out over the village with the moon rising was stunning.

My thoughts turned to Maria and the weekend.I hope I didn’t open pandora’s box. My dad told me never to sleep with a woman that you’re not planning a long relationship with. They take it as a commitment. I have always heeded that advice,This weekend, I crossed the line. I didn’t realize how needy I had become. Maria wanting the weekend to be so much more. The day after, the party had me feeling like I had let her down in front of her friends . . . still, I argued with myself it is time that I start to live again, and not keep living like a hermit.

My phone began to buzz; it was my daughter Stephanie.

“Hello”

“Hello, Dad. . . . I’m not disturbing you, am I? I know it’s late there.”

“Not at all, I was just having a drink before going to bed. What’s up?”

“I have the date for the baptism and wanted to check with you if it was OK and not a date of a festival; it seems they have one every couple of weeks.”

“Just text me the date, and I will check and get back to you.”

“Dad, there is one more thing I want to discuss and didn’t feel right putting it in a text.” After a long pause as she was struggling with finding the right words, she continued. “The guest list has gotten a little larger. I asked John to be the Godfather . . . , and Cindy to be the Godmother. I hope that’s OK. I know the two of you aren’t seeing each other, but Dad, she sang at my wedding and saved your life taking a bullet meant for you. If not for her, there would not be a baptism in Italy. I hope you understand.”

This was a shock. I sat there thinking through what Stephanie said before I responded. John was my eldest son from my first marriage, her stepbrother. Cindy? All that came to mind was a quote from Raymond Chandler. “There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.”

“I understand, Stephanie, It’s OK. In your text, send a list of guests so I can arrange places for them to stay.”

“Thanks, Dad. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steph. I love you.”

We hung up. I sat thinking, Maria, Cindy, and an ex-wife and maybe two ex-wives at the baptism. Great, just great. I drained what was left of my martini and headed off to bed.