I'M FEMALE, I'M MAFIA

ITALY - PRESENT DAY

The woman picked her up in Vernazza, a picturesque village perched along the rugged coastline of the Italian Riviera.

From her salt-and-pepper hair, and her lined face, Marianne guessed she was in her early fifties. She bought her a drink, then dinner, then a new dress and a pair of pumps and a few other things, spending lavishly on her in the quaint village shops.

There were no pretenses. They went to the woman's plush villa, which afforded a breathtaking view of the sea. When she asked her name, the woman looked at her with her brooding dark eyes and said, “Are names important, Bella?”

All she knew was that the woman was a businesswoman from Rome. She supposed it didn’t matter.

They were soon hungrily making love to each other on the king-sized bed. She hadn’t expected such energy out of a woman her age - she was insatiable. She often had to fake orgasms with older women, but not with this one.

They spent most of the weekend in the bedroom. In between s****l bouts, they hiked up and down the cobblestone streets of the village, admiring the view and the lovely, narrow houses that were painted in pink, blue and yellow pastels. They gorged themselves on the local cuisine - cappon magro, a pyramid made of fresh vegetables and a half dozen different types of fish, and the torta pasqualina, a cake made of eighteen layers of light pasta and stuffed with ricotta cheese.

They spoke very little. Marianne didn’t care. Words might break the spell, and she didn’t want this to end.

* * *

On the third day, the woman felt that she had won the girl’s trust.

The experiment she wanted to perform was far too important to delegate to one of her lieutenants. There was much riding on the outcome. She needed to see the results first hand.

But she had to be careful.

When the girl lay in her arms, spent, she said, “Did you know I am celebrating this weekend, Bella?” She stroked one of her full, firm breasts. “You are a gift to myself."

The girl looked up at her with liquid brown eyes. “What do you mean? What are you celebrating?”

She rose naked from the bed and picked up a small leather Gucci bag that was sitting on the coffee table. She knew the girl was curious about what was inside - she had been carrying it around everywhere they went, keeping it close at all times.

When she opened it, the girl gave a little gasp.

The satchel was packed with crisp, new U.S. hundred dollar bills.

“So much money,” the girl said in a hush. “Where did it come from?”

“I sold a flat in Portofino, a dilapidated hovel I have been trying to rid myself of for years. I finally found an American gullible enough to buy it, but he insisted on paying part cash. It’s only about fifty thousand dollars."

Even though the girl was trying to hide it, she could see the greed in her 21-year-old eyes. She was a bisexual velina, a soft hooker who survived on her good looks, roaming up and down the Riviera, living off one rich woman or man after another, staying a few days or weeks in a villa or onboard a yacht until the current sponsor tired of her and threw her out, after which she moved on to the next.

She said, “I was thinking of driving up to San Remo and trying my luck. Have you ever been to the casino there?”

“No,” the girl lied.

“You’d love it - it’s the largest casino in Italy. All the richest people gamble there." She also happened to know that the establishment had just updated its currency verifying machines with the latest software.

She motioned to the cash, feigning frustration. “Unfortunately, I left my passport in Rome. There’s no way to change this kind of money without one."

“I could change it for you,” the girl blurted, but then checked herself. “I mean, if you want me to." When the woman didn’t react, she said, “I have my passport right here,” and reached over to her purse and produced it.

She smiled. She already knew the girl had a valid passport. She also knew that she had left her home in Naples at the age of sixteen, and was unknown to anyone in these parts.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were driving up the coast, heading towards San Remo in a metallic blue Porsche cabriolet, the wind blowing through their hair. It was just before sunset. The highway ran up and down the rugged cliffs along the shore. Soon, the sky exploded into a riot of orange and indigo and violet.

Marianne was excited, looking forward to a few more days of luxurious meals, plush accommodations, and expensive presents. Maybe the woman would buy her a diamond bracelet at the casino gift shop. Why not?

When they reached San Remo, she surprised her again. She pulled up in front of the sidewalk that led to the casino entrance and handed her the Gucci bag. “Take that inside and convert all of it to casino chips." She motioned to the other side of the street. “I’m going to have a cup of coffee and catch up on a few business calls I have to make."

Marianne was astounded that the woman was going to let her walk away with all that cash. When she got out of the car, she leaned over and looked up at her and smiled. “Try not to gamble it all away before I get there!”

She walked up the long sidewalk towards the casino. When the uniformed man opened the door for her, she glanced over her shoulder. Her generous friend was just sitting down at one of the tables at the cafe. The woman waved at her.

Marianne was tempted to try and run away with the money. But she wasn’t some stupid puttana - she knew better than to try and steal from a woman like her.