The bar was overflowing with bodies; people stuffed together like sardines. It took approximately two seconds for me to feel overwhelmed and second guess throwing caution to the wind.

“I’m only staying for one drink!” I yelled over the crowd.

“Si, perfetta! One drink.”

I stayed tucked to his back as we made our way to a small table by the karaoke stage. The room parted naturally as if they could feel the charisma leaking off him. “You sit down, and I go to the bar!”

“Singular!” I reminded him, sitting down on the sticky chair.

In my 22 years on this planet, I had never stepped foot inside a bar. I had always been so dedicated to my studies that I never broke loose and had fun. Nor did I have any friends to whom I could have gone out with. I had been completely alone, fighting a silent battle with my mother for as long as I could remember.

Vincenzo leaned on the counter, the bartender gravitating toward him despite the angry waving dollars of the other patrons. Within seconds two maroon cocktails were set down in front of him. There was something ridiculous and fascinating about watching him… Life wasn’t something happening to him. It wasn’t something beating down his door. Vincenzo simply eased through, he existed.

A group of young women were watching him too from the other side of the room. They giggled to each other, pointing at the handsome curly haired brunette. He smiled at them before walking away with the cocktails.

He had one of those rare smiles, the dangerous kind where he could get away with anything. It came easy with prominent dimples and shiny white teeth… He would’ve pissed me off if he hadn’t been so charming.

The girls sulked when they saw him drop the drinks at our table. I had to stifle a laugh.

“What’s funny?” He beamed, taking the seat next to mine.

“You.” I shook my head, “Those girls are halfway in love and all you had to do was smile at them. Go over there and talk to them.”

He shrugged, taking a healthy sip of his drink. “Eh–I’m not interested.”

“Why not? They’re beautiful!” I took a sip and choked. “My God—this is straight liquor!”

“It’s a negroni, good, no?” He nodded, encouraging me to take another sip.

“No, not good—I only ever drink wine. This is too strong,” I wheezed, setting it back down.

Vincenzo immediately put it back into my hands. “Drink! We are having fun!”

I scowl at him, taking another tentative sip. It didn’t go down any smoother a second time. Scrunching up my face, I said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

He flung his head back dramatically. “I can get laid whenever. I’m here to make friends with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good to know.”

He poked my side. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I cocked a brow.

“Can you get laid whenever?” He smiled as if that wasn’t the weirdest way to phrase the question.

I snorted my drink, hurrying to grab a napkin before liquid ran down my chin. I gaped at him as I blotted up the mess. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why? Is it no? You don’t have a boyfriend?” He leaned in closer then whispered, “Girlfriend?”

I put my hand on his chest and shoved him back. “Neither. I’m not really a relationship person. I enjoy my solitary time too much.”

“Then we are alike.” He draped his arm over the back of my chair and looked out at the crowd, happily people watching. “Not so much the solitary, but relationships—not for me. I am a lover to many; it wouldn’t be fair to keep me locked up.”

“You’re so modest,” I chuckled sarcastically. “I’m sure the Italian accent doesn’t hurt.”

“Eh, I don’t get complaints.” He nudged me. “I could show you some of my skills.”

“Pass, but thanks.”

He sighed and took another drink. “Worth the try.”

I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, already feeling warm from the liquor. “I wonder what a day as you would be like.”

“I am not so wonderful!” He flopped his hand at me, “I am full of scars.”

“You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“You do not believe me—I can see by your face you do not believe me!” He mocked offense. “I am not a liar!”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I have proof! Look—” He lifted his shirt, blinding me with his sculpted torso. Unsure of why I was being flashed, I spotted a thick white scar about two inches big above his hip bone.

“Oh my god.” My fingers were on the scar in a second, feeling the raised tough skin. “I thought you were being metaphorical! Did someone stab you?”

“Si! Mio cugino Dante. We were 10—but it was still very scary!” His smile widened until he looked cat like. “I should thank him though; it’s a good excuse to get pretty girls to touch me.”

I pulled my hands away, mortified. “You are trouble, Vincenzo. You have too much fun.”

“No such thing.” He shook his head and lifted my drink back into my hands once more. “Now no more distraction. Tell me your troubles.”

“My troubles?” My stomach was painfully sour, and I knew it wasn’t because of the alcohol.

“Si. Why do you have so much worry?”

I asked myself if I was really going to spill my guts to little less than a stranger. Be it the liquid courage or the exhaustion of the day, I found that I couldn’t stop myself. I told Vincenzo the truth, at least part of it.

He listened as I relayed my plan about traveling to Europe, then hopefully Asia—how I’d only left the country once as a child and yearned to see more. That I was rebelling against what was expected of me for once in my life and it made me feel sick.

As I rounded to the biggest part of my troubles, my lack of job, he stopped me. “So you have no money at all?”

I shook my head, “no… I’ve never been allowed to work. I don’t even know if I’m good at anything.”

“There has to be something—everyone has something.” Vincenzo thought for a moment. “We should get more drinks. It will help me with ideas.”

“I said one!”

“New freedoms, Bella Rosa! Enjoy them!” He was already half-way to the bar. “We can do karaoke too!”

“Not happening!”

A few hours later I ate those words when one drink turned into five. Vincenzo remarked I was a cheap drunk, but I ignored him because regretfully I was having a good time.

I leaned against him for support on the stage as we drunkenly sang Islands in the Stream by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. Vincenzo knew a few words, so I was forced to carry most of the work. Which was fine because I loved this song and knew both parts by heart.

After the song came to a close, people cheered, and I had to all but drag Vincenzo out of the bar before he bought everyone a round.

Out on the street, I lifted my hair off the back of my neck, sweating from the humidity of the crowd and adrenaline of our performance. He took my hands and spun us around in a circle. “Bella Rosa! You did not tell me you could sing!”

My cheeks heated. “Hardly.”

“Now you are being modest!” He stopped spinning and bounded down the sidewalk. “You have to sing for me again! I will not take no for an answer!”

“Sorry, buddy. That was a once in a lifetime performance.” I shrugged, lifting my arms up.

“No no, I want an encore!” He clenched his fists at me, “Sei incredibile! You had everyone in the palm of your hand.”

My phone pinged as I got a car to come pick us up, “whatever you say.”

He clapped his hands together so loudly it echoed down the street, “I have a great idea! Sono un genio! Mio cugino—I mentioned him—”

“—The stabby one?”

“Si!” He looked like he was about to rip in two from excitement. “Our family owns a club—nice one unlike this—We need a new singer, you would be perfecta, Bella Rosa!”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not even drunk!” he protested.

“Really?” I crossed my arms amused.

“Si, could a drunk person do this?” He grabbed hold of a lamp post and began to use it like a stripper pole.

I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. “Yeah no, you’d have to be drunk to do something like that.”

He groaned, dropping his shoulders as he shlepped back over to me. “If I admit I’m drunk, do I get to sleep at your house?”

“Nuh uh.” I shook my head, feeling my phone ping again.

“You’ll have me sleep on the street—so cold hearted, Bella Rosa.” He grabbed my arms, shaking me back and forth. “You should at least meet with Dante! Sarebbe pazzo a non assumerti!”

“I’m not a singer!” I heard the car before I saw it, “I did choir in school but—”

“So you are a singer!” He swept his hand through the air as if imagining the headline. “Rose LeClair live at the Fiabesco! Sounds good, no? You will sell out!”

“Ahuh. Sure.” I pulled open the door to the SUV and nodded at Vincenzo. “Come on, time to go home.”

Vincenzo pursed his lips and stood next to me with his arms crossed, “promise me you will interview.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Freedom, Bella Rosa! All you have to do is try!”

I flattened my lips, “I’ll think about it.”

Drunkenly, he stumbled toward the SUV and crashed into the back seat. I climbed in after him and gave directions to the driver.

The ride couldn’t be over fast enough as Vincenzo went on and on about his quote unquote genius idea. Soon enough we pulled up in front of my building.

Before I could climb out, Vincenzo grabbed my arm and said, “I will tell Dante to expect you.”

“Don’t—”

“Tomorrow. Ten—he hates late people; address is on the card.”

I shook my head, holding the door open as I stood on the curb. “Goodnight, Vincenzo. It was nice meeting you.”

“Ten, Bella Rosa!”

I slammed the door closed.

Standing there with exhaustion pulling me down, I watch the car turn into a dot on the horizon… A club singer. Me?

Insane. More than insane! Asinine.

I pulled the business card out of my purse and ran my fingers on the thick cardstock, admiring the embossed gold calligraphy under the streetlights.

I couldn’t… It was too stupid to even consider.

***

An hour outside the city, a drive long enough for my anxiety to flourish and burn out, then go back again. My makeup smudged; I quickly ran my fingers under my eyes to fix my mascara in the rear view mirror, waiting for the gate to open after having my ID checked by security.

An hour to talk myself both in and out of this interview, my conscious sounding a little too much like my mother. I wasn’t what they were looking for. Which was technically true, I wasn’t a singer, but maybe they had another job available?

Even though my father had been dead for years, his words still rang in my head: you miss all the shots you don’t take. So, even if Mr. Filoli laughed in my face, at least I could say that I tried. At least I could say I took another step away from my mother’s grip.

The driveway was lined with lemon trees and their sweet fragrance blossomed in the heat. The smell soothed my nerves.

The house finally came into view, a large regal estate by no means modern. Limestone and stucco work with terracotta roofing, all tied together with bushy green vines and a marble statue fountain centered in the rounded drive.

I’d been to estates like this most of my life; growing up affluently had many perks. However, none of those places felt like this. It was warm, inviting even. Which surprised me because I knew what kind of people lived inside those walls.

I hadn’t found out much about the Filoli’s since being invited to interview yesterday. A night of googling revealed they were an old family, their name going back centuries in Italy. Nonno had come over to America in the 60s and started making some smart business deals.

What began as private security turned into more and more until he acquired many businesses of many different suits. From what I gathered, the old man used to be quite a shark. Now, he lets his grandson run the business. The grandson, Dante, I couldn’t find any public record on.

There was a brief mention, along with his brother Marco, in their parents’ obituaries. I stopped my search there, anything more felt like an invasion, and I had to remind myself that I wasn’t there to make friends. I was there to work, make some money, and get to Italy as soon as possible.

After parking my car in the staff assigned area, I walked to the front door, knocking politely. I waited and waited… Knocking a little harder this time, I tugged nervously at the hem of my pink tweed dress. The length seemed appropriate for the weather, but standing at the door I couldn’t help second guess the decision. Was it too short? Was the matching pink satin ribbon in my hair too childish? Did I even look the part of a singer?

The door swung open, and I’m greeted by a broad suited chest. I had to take a step back to crane my neck to look up at the man. He was talking on his cellphone, sparing me a glance as I’m ushered inside. Bickering angrily with someone on the other line about batteries, he closes the door behind me. Sealing my fate.

The man finally looked at me, eyeing me like I stumbled out of Polly Pocket’s play set.

Right, the outfit was a mistake then.

While I waited for him to finish his call, I took in the foyer, trying my best to keep my composure. The ceiling was high and vaulted, but the linebacker in front of me crowded the space uncomfortably.

There was a vase of poppies and lilies, both a demure shade of white. On each side of the foyer were marble tables with paintings hanging above them… Family portraits.

One was of a young frail blonde woman holding a baby, a dark-haired teenager scowling at the portrait artist stood behind her… Facing opposite, the second painting was of a man I’m assuming was Don Filoli at a younger age.

He had the same hound dog eyes. He stood with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a young handsome man. Neither of them were smiling.

Finally, the man ended his phone call and stuck out his hand in greeting. I gave him the same smile I gave to the board of admissions during my college entrance interview. “Hello, I’m Rose LeClair. You’re Mr. Filoli, I presume?”

The linebacker huffed out a laugh. “No. I’m Garner, head of security. Mr. Filoli is up in his office; I’ll take you to him now. He’s been expecting you.”

“Right!” I squeak, “Please lead the way.” I’d already embarrassed myself within the first two seconds of being there. Of course, Mr. Filoli wouldn’t be answering his own front door.

Garner led me into the main area, a dual staircase curved up on both sides of the room, a catwalk attaching them above. Between the staircase, an archway led to the living room and a patio. Glass doors reflected the cooling waves of a swimming pool on the ceiling, making it look like we were underwater.

We went up the right staircase and down a warm white hall lined with mahogany doors.

He came to a stop at a door with a keypad and rapped his knuckles with more aggression than I had earlier.

A deep voice barked from the other side, “Come in.”

Garner gave me a tight-lipped smile as if to wish me luck like I’d need it and turned tail.

Swallowing the ball of thorns in my throat, I entered the office. Instantly, I was hit with the scent of rich wood and old books, then something muskier… something personal like an expensive cologne. It was steeped into the room as if who ever occupied the space rarely left.

Mahogany bookshelves were built into the walls, the carpet a deep burgundy red. I didn’t want to consider why someone would want red carpet behind a keypad locked door.

A large imposing desk sat in front of a window. The white gauze curtains were drawn closed, casting a fuzzy angelic light into the otherwise dark office.

Obscured by a computer monitor sat Mr. Filoli. He hadn’t even bothered to look away from his screen as he pointed to the leather upholstered chair facing his desk. “Close the door and take a seat,” he ordered coolly as if he was already prepared to ask me to leave.

I did as he said and as I plopped down into the chair, I felt utterly ridiculous. I didn’t belong here. I looked like a pink paint spill on an antique Turkish rug.

“You have a resume?” he grunted, clicking his mouse.

So, no introductions then. This keeps getting worse.

“Yes, of course.” I fumbled with the latch on my purse then snatched the laminated sheet.

I held it out to him, but when he made no move to take it, I slid it across his desk until it bumped into his keyboard.

His hand paused mid-click.

With a self-soothing sigh, he picked up the resume and read it on the other side of the monitor. A few moments later, he sat it back down and slid it over toward me. “Thanks for coming. Garner will see you out,” he dismissed.

“What?” I’m confused; how was he dismissing me if I hadn’t even said anything?

“You have no work experience. So, again, thanks for coming.” He slid my resume a little closer toward me.

I’m outraged; he didn’t even give me a chance. I put my hand on the other end of the document and pushed it back toward him. “Well, if you look again, you’ll see that I was Section leader in choir for about ten years… and I understand that’s probably not exactly what you’re looking for, but I graduated top of my class at Northwestern so I can promise you I’m not incompetent. Any opening, I’d be happy to take it.”

He slid it back. “Listen, I only agreed to this interview because my nonno and cousin were very insistent. I don’t have time for every pretty face Enzo flirts with.”

My mouth gaped open, and I shoved the resume back more aggressively this time. “Excuse me?” My blood began to boil. “First, you don’t even introduce yourself or look away from your computer. Now you have the audacity to insult me and my intelligence. I didn’t work myself to the bone in school only to be treated like an airhead! This may be your home, but that doesn’t mean you get to disrespect me!”

My chest rose and fell rapidly as I tried to catch my breath… God… What’s gotten into me?

“Are you done?” He sighed.

“Yes, God.” I covered my face with my hands. “I am so sorry, Mr. Filoli. I swear I’m not psychotic, I’ve had a hard week. I never lose my temper like that.”

I heard his chair roll, and I peaked between my fingers. He was centered with his desk now, no longer hidden behind the computer… and my stomach dropped.

His hair, the color of roasted coffee, curled around his head, attempting to free itself from the gel he used to slick it back. There were hard lines between his amber eyes and around his mouth like he rarely ever smiled. If he wasn’t so terribly serious, I’d call him handsome.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dante Filoli.” I dropped my hands from my face, relieved that he’d taken pity on me. Those amber eyes flicked around my face a moment too long before he continued, “I’d like to apologize for my rudeness.”

I stuck my hand out and shook his gratefully. “I’m Rose LeClair. Apology accepted and I hope you’ll accept one of my own.”

“There’s no need.” Mr. Filoli sat back in his chair and picked up my resume once more, reading it over thoroughly this time. “Section leader through college… All honors… Volunteer work… Given your voice is actually good, I don’t see why you’d want this job, Ms. LeClair. You’re not bound to gain much notoriety at a place like Fiabesco.”

I shook my head, “I’m not looking for notoriety, Mr. Filoli.”

“Then what are you looking for?”

“Well, in truth, my main goal is to save enough money to move to Italy by summer’s end… I already have some saved, but I do truly need this job… I have a strong work ethic, and I can promise you that come September you won’t be disappointed.”

“So, you’re seeking temporary employment?”

I rolled my lips into my mouth. Why did that sound so bad? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned my plans… “Yes, but I swear that won’t change my dedication to the work.”

He sighed and tapped his fingers rhythmically on the desk, thinking something over in his head. “Fine… Go ahead.”

“Go ahead with what?”

He looked even more annoyed if that were possible. “Sing, Ms. LeClair.”

“Oh! Right… Okay, um…” I awkwardly stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of my skirt and closed my eyes. My heart rattled loudly in my chest, my voice drowned under the sound as I began to hum quietly. I peaked an eye open, procrastinating in fear of embarrassing myself in front of a man who clearly disliked me.

Frustrated, Mr. Filoli pinched the bridge of his nose. “Today, please.”

“Yes—sorry.” I rushed out a breath and started over.

Just come out with it!

I sang the first thing that came to mind, Cry by Cigarettes After Sex… I could hear the soft strumming guitar in my head, the lazy beat of the drum, and I let the lyrics drift from me. Each word pulling the melancholy out of my soul.

My hands were shaking, my body tense… but I put as much heart as I could into the words because I believed what I was singing. That’s what my choir teacher told us was the difference between a good and a great singer—not only did you have to believe what you sang, but you had to make the audience believe it too.

“I swear I’ll only make you cry… Maybe I’d change for you someday, but I can’t help the way I feel…” My voice warbled on the last word, and I forced myself to inhale.

As the imaginary guitar in my head lulled to sleep, I opened my eyes to gauge Mr. Filoli’s reaction.

He was staring at me. No applause—not like I was expecting any—but he didn’t say anything either. His jaw tensely worked, and his amber eyes narrowed. His long fingers dug into his arms in their crossed position as he rolled his chair back and stood.

“You have the job.” He said quietly, walking around his desk.

My chest fluttered, “Just like that?”

He opened his office door and motioned with his hand for me to follow him. I scrambled to grab my purse and rushed after him.

“Just like that.” Mr. Filoli sighed, turning a corner. We arrived at another set of stairs in the back hall, a hidden set meant for staff use. “Of course, that’s granted your background check comes back clean. Even if you’re a LeClair, Garner will find any skeletons in your closet no matter how deeply buried. We have to be thorough in our line of work.”

My mary-janes clacked loudly against the marble floor as I tried to keep pace with him. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Filoli. Thank you—wait.” My excited smile fell, “What does that mean, even if you’re a LeClair?”

He stopped suddenly at the foot of the stairs; I braced myself before I collided into his back. Mr. Filoli turned on his heels and looked up at me, his face smoothed of all emotion. Those lifeless amber eyes, however, sparked with danger. “I’m a businessman, Ms. LeClair. Why wouldn’t I know of your family?”

My mouth pooled with saliva, heart racing. “So… you know about my family’s dealings?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly as if they were inconsequential to him.

“And you still want to hire me?”

“Why would your family’s ties to Chicago’s law offices be of any consequence to me?”

Because I’m pretty sure you’re in the mafia…

I found myself breathless, staring down at his haunting face. He stirred a fear inside me I’d never felt, something vastly different than how I feared my mother. She was unstable… but Mr. Filoli was calculating. Fatal. The animal part of my brain knew it; my pebbled flesh knew it too.

The longer I said nothing, the more that look of danger in his eyes dissolved into something more… something more terrifying because I was certain that look was a reflection of my own.

I swallowed to try and moisten my dry throat, steeling myself. “I wouldn’t have a clue, Mr. Filoli.”

Pleased with my response, he stepped out of the stairwell and slid his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “There’s one more thing I must make clear, Ms. LeClair.”

“What’s that?”

He paused in the archway, towering over me as we stood chest to chest. He smelled like his office as if he’d slept at his desk the night prior and hadn’t had the time to shower.

Mr. Filoli commanded my gaze. “I won’t tolerate any romantic entanglements between you and my staff. That includes my cousin Vincenzo. Is that understood?”

The statement wasn’t unexpected, but it knocked me a little off balance all the same. “Of course, Mr. Filoli… Like I mentioned earlier, I plan on traveling the world. So, I have no plan on getting romantically entangled with anyone.”

“Good.” With that one word, that strange look in his eyes snuffed out and he gave me his back as we exited the staff hall into the main landing of the house.

Mr. Filoli pulled his hand from his pocket as we slowed to a stop. “I have another meeting I’m already late for. So, this is where I leave you. I’ll email the particulars. I realize we haven’t discussed pay, but my family offers exceptional compensation. I doubt you’ll find issue… If you have any questions, just email them… Right, well… It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. LeClair.”

I shook his hand. “Likewise, Mr. Filoli.”

With that curt farewell, he was gone.

My drive home was done in silence, and when I crashed onto my couch at home, I didn’t bother turning on the TV… I kept replaying the morning’s events over and over in my head… Reanalyzing everything I said, everything he said…

My mind wandered to Vincenzo’s flirtation then to Mr. Filoli’s strict orders of no romantic entanglements.

I wondered if he lumped himself in there as well, but I killed the thought as soon as it was born.

I couldn’t nurture an idea like that; it was poison.

I didn’t need a man or sex or anything distracting me from my goal… nor did I even think a man like Mr. Filoli even had urges like that—he was so cold blooded. I bet he would have to defrost the thing to use it.

Romantic entanglements… What a joke…

Though I couldn’t make fun of him, one finger pointed at him was three pointed back at myself. I was probably as frigid as he was… There was comradery in that, though I doubted Mr. Filoli would have thought so and I doubted he’d want to make friends over discussion of our sexual neglect. I doubted he’d want to even make friends to begin with. Neither did I for that matter.

Being friends with a man like Dante Filoli seemed like a death sentence.

Dante…

It was a strong name… but not very befitting.

Not that I knew the man, but I had the hardest time imagining him throwing himself into the inferno for love.

I know I wouldn’t.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: Present