Stolen Hearts

CHAPTER 1: Meet Bella

I glanced down furtively at my watch before quickening my pace. "Crap" I muttered. My first day on a new job and I was late. The cool breeze of Milan ruffled the leaves of the trees ahead and blew a few stands of my hair out of its tight bun at the nape of my neck as I strode towards the renown restaurant Trussardi Alla Scala. It was a tall, elegant building, framed by a few cherry blossoms with a delicately carved archway. As I entered the restaurant I felt all the eyes turn towards me. Ignoring them, I made my way quickly to the back of the gigantic dining room towards the private terrace out back. I was used to being the center of attention. Even in the middle of the road heads turned my way, men stopped, women scowled. I had a slim frame, toned muscles from years of martial arts and military exercises. Although I was small, my looks more than made up for it. Long mahogany hair, big doe brown eyes and pouty pink lips. I wasn't conceited but I had heard from a young age that I was beautiful and it had stuck.

As I marched out to the terrace, a young waiter suddenly appeared before me. Stereotypically Italian. Dark hair falling into his eyes, tan, with a cute smile.

"Scusi Signora, can I help you? Maybe you are looking for someone?" he asked giving me a winning smile, that expose his pearly whites.

Ignoring the double meaning behind his words, I nodded my head brusquely. "Si per favore. I have a lunch date with Signore Whitlock and he told me he would be out on the terrace but I cannot see him? Do you know where he is?"

The boy pouted slightly at my words but gestured with his hand and muttered "Right this way." He lead me to a table slightly apart from the other, covered by a large parasol. A single figure sat at the table, back to me but I instantly recognized him. My guide pointed to the table and then turned to go back inside, obviously still upset that an attractive woman had refused his offer for a date.

I walked up to the table and, grabbing the closest chair, flung myself into it. The man sitting at the table turned to face me, a smile etched on his handsome face. He had tousled blonde hair that fell slightly on his forehead, right above his sharp blue eyes.

"Bella. Glad to see you're on time and stunning as usual." He greeted me in his southern drawl.

I shot a look at the clothes I'd thrown on this morning. A short, black work-dress, some patent black Christian Leboutin pumps and the Alexander McQueen clutch. This was my usual style outfit.. I narrowed my eyes but smiled in return. Jasper was one of my oldest friends and work partner and even though he teased me constantly, I still loved him.

"Jasper, you know as well as I do that I am rarely late. Besides, it's not like I was meeting with Aro or anything. It's you. No biggie."

He mock-scowled. "No biggie? Glad that you value our friendship so much. Maybe I should treat it that way too. You know, slip in a word here or there and that whad'ya know, Aro hears all about the lateness and absences!"

"You wouldn't!" I leapt halfway out the seat. Truth be told, I was terrified of what Aro would do if he heard about that. He might be all smiles and charm around people but when it came to screwing up jobs, even if it was one late meeting, Aro was unforgivable.

Jasper laughed. "I would, so sit your toned ass down and let's get this meeting on the road."

I sat slowly back down and leaned my elbows on my table. "Fine. But breath a word to Aro and I'll kick you so hard, you'll fly into the next year." He chuckled again. "So, what's this job about?"

Jasper took a sip of his wine before tilting his head to the side to answer. As he replaced the glass the sunlight reflected off the ruby surface and bounced off the white canopy of the parasol, instantly dyeing it blood red. "What do you know about the Brera Art Gallery?"

I shrugged. Didn't ring a bell. "Not much. Why? What's the job?"

"Well -"

Just then a waiter appeared at my elbow, smooth black uniform brushing my skin. I shrank back quickly at the unpleasant polyester feel. Surely such an expensive restaurant could afford better clothing for their staff? How those men could work under the burning sun with those things on, I'd never know. Seizing his notepad, the man plastered a fake smile on his face and announced in bad English: "Signora, Signor, what can I get you?"

Jasper turned and smiled his award winning smile. "I'll have the roast suckling pig with fried potato, avocado and lime. And we could use another bottle of wine. White. Bella, what'll you have?"

"Oh, umm-" I hadn't even looked at the leather bound menu. "Um, what's the special?"

The waiter looked bored. "Risotto Milanese style with calf sweetbreads or Salad of shrimp with carrot shavings, lemon juice and a soup." He recited in a monotone voice.

"Yeah, I'll have that. The Risotto."

The man nodded and left. As he shifted away, my head snapped back to Jasper, impatient for answers. This wasn't time to play games. "Now tell me. What's the job?"