UNDER MR. RICCI

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE RULES OF MR.RICCI

(Marina)

The moment I stepped out of Giovani’s office, I felt my entire face burn.

I had never wanted to disappear more in my entire life.

His friend had caught us.

Us.

In his office.

Right beside his desk.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying desperately to erase the memory from my mind.

It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t.

My brain had apparently decided that replaying the most embarrassing moment of my life was its new favorite hobby.

“Ms. Bianchi?”

I blinked and snapped back to reality.

Leo was standing in front of me, watching me with concern.

“Is everything okay?”

I straightened immediately.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

The lie came out far too quickly.

I cleared my throat.

“Can you show me to my office now?”

“Of course. This way, please.”

He turned and walked down the hallway, and I followed silently, grateful for the distraction.

A few moments later, we stopped in front of a wooden door only a few steps away from Giovani’s office.

Leo opened it.

“This is your office, Ms. Bianchi.”

I stepped inside.

It was beautiful.

Spacious, elegant, and far more luxurious than I had expected.

But I barely noticed any of it.

My mind was still stuck on what had happened behind that other door.

“Thanks.”

I walked toward my desk and dropped my things beside it.

I had barely taken a breath when Leo spoke again.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing.”

I turned around.

He held out a thick book.

“This is a book containing Mr. Ricci’s dos and don’ts. These rules are to be taken seriously.”

I stared at the book.

Then at him.

Then back at the book.

“…What?”

He placed it in my hands.

The words MR. RICCI’S RULES were printed boldly across the cover.

I frowned.

What in the actual hell was this?

Who needed an entire book of rules just to work for them?

Curiosity—or perhaps poor judgment—made me open it.

I flipped through a few pages.

RULE NUMBER ONE.

DO NOT TOUCH MR. RICCI UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

I slowly raised an eyebrow.

Interesting.

I turned the page.

RULE NUMBER TWO.

DO NOT SPEAK WHILE MR. RICCI IS SPEAKING TO AVOID SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES.

I stared at the page.

Then I looked at Leo.

He looked completely serious.

I looked back at the book.

“What is all this?”

“There are more.”

“More?”

“Over fifty.”

My jaw nearly dropped.

Over fifty?

I hadn’t even made it past number two and I was already tired.

I flipped through the pages again.

There were rules for everything.

Everything.

“There’s also a recipe on page five for how Mr. Ricci’s coffee should be prepared,” Leo added.

I stopped turning the pages.

“I’m sorry?”

“He should be served within the next twenty minutes.”

I stared at him.

Who gives someone a recipe for coffee?

I turned to page five, half-expecting to find a joke.

I didn’t.

Instead, I found an entire set of instructions.

COFFEE RULE

Coffee: Black coffee. Nothing else.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup filtered water

• 1½ teaspoons freshly ground coffee

• Absolutely no sugar

• Absolutely no milk or cream

Preparation:

1. The water must be heated to exactly 93°C (199°F). It must never reach a full boil.

2. Add 1½ teaspoons of freshly ground coffee to the filter.

3. Pour the hot water slowly and evenly over the grounds.

4. Allow it to brew for approximately 3–4 minutes.

5. Serve immediately in a preheated black ceramic cup.

6. The coffee must be served at approximately 65°C (149°F)—hot enough to drink, never scalding.

7. No sugar. No cream. No milk. No sweeteners. No exceptions.

8. Served exactly at 8:00 AM.

I stared at the page for several seconds.

Then I scoffed.

Who drinks coffee like this?

It wasn’t coffee anymore.

It was a laboratory experiment.

“I’ll show you to Mr. Ricci’s kitchenette,” Leo said. “I’m afraid you’re already late, so we’d better go.”

I dropped my Birkin on the desk and followed him, the ridiculous rule book still in my hand.

We walked only a few steps before reaching the executive kitchenette.

Leo stopped at the entrance.

“Good luck, Ms. Bianchi. I have work to do, so I’ll be on my way.”

I gave him a polite smile.

“Thank you, Leo.”

He nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

I stepped inside.

The kitchenette was immaculate.

Of course it was.

Everything in Giovani Ricci’s world probably had to be perfect.

I placed the rule book on the marble countertop and opened the cabinet, searching for a cup.

A black ceramic cup.

Naturally.

I found one.

Then came the water.

The coffee.

The temperature.

The measurements.

The brewing time.

I glanced at the clock.

This was ridiculous.

I had come here to work, not become a professional coffee maker.

Still, I followed every instruction.

After what felt like an entire lifetime, the coffee was finally ready.

I stared at it.

Perfect.

At least, I hoped it was.

I placed the cup carefully onto a small tray and took one last look at the rule book.

Please let this man simply drink his coffee and leave me alone.

I walked out.

The moment I entered the hallway, my confidence disappeared.

Because now I was going to see him.

Giovani.

After everything that had happened.

I tightened my grip around the tray and kept walking.

His office came into view.

The familiar door.

The gold lettering.

My heart immediately began beating faster.

I stopped in front of it.

For a moment, I simply stood there.

Then I took a slow breath.

“You can do this, Marina.”

I lifted my chin.

“You can do this.”

I knocked softly.

“Come in.”

His answer came almost immediately.

My fingers tightened around the tray.

I opened the door.

Giovani was standing by the window, his attention fixed on the city beyond the glass, a cigarette between his fingers.

For a second, I simply watched him.

Then I remembered myself.

I walked toward his desk and placed the coffee down carefully.

“Sir, your coffee is ready. I’ll take my leave now.”

I turned.

“Stop.”

I froze.

My stomach dropped.

Of course.

I slowly turned around.

Giovani had moved from the window and was now walking toward the desk.

I lowered my gaze.

I suddenly found the floor very interesting.

He stopped.

Silence filled the room.

I could feel his attention on me.

Then he reached for the coffee.

He took a sip.

I held my breath.

Nothing.

He took another.

My heart sank.

Was it bad?

Had I somehow managed to ruin the most complicated cup of coffee in existence?

Finally, he looked at me.

“Piccola Rosa.”

I swallowed.

“Yes?”

“This is a little hotter than the temperature written in the book.”

Oh, s**t.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was in a hurry.”

A faint scoff escaped him.

“If you weren’t my Piccola Rosa, I would have fired you.”

I looked up.

His expression was almost amused.

“But I can’t do that to you.”

He paused.

“Never.”

My face warmed.

Then he added casually,

“And don’t call me sir when we’re alone.”

I blinked.

“What should I call you?”

His gaze remained on me.

“Papi.”

My entire brain stopped functioning.

“Like you did that night.”

My face immediately turned red.

“Okay, sir. I have to leave now.”

I turned toward the door.

“Sir?”

I stopped.

I slowly looked back.

He was still holding the coffee, an unmistakable trace of amusement in his expression.

“Isn’t it inappropriate, sir?”

“Inappropriate?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

I said nothing.

“You need me to remind you?”

My face burned even hotter.

I shook my head quickly.

“No.”

And before he could say anything else, I excused myself and hurried out of the office.

I made it into the hallway.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Then I froze.

Someone was standing directly in front of me.

My breath caught.

My eyes widened.

There was only one question running through my mind.

What in hell’s name was he doing here?