Chapter 4
Talia was wearing the same deep-red silk gown she had worn to her brother's engagement party six months earlier. Her brown hair was pulled into a sleek, classic bun at the nape of her neck and classic pearls gifted to her by her Turinese grandparents glinted on her wrists and neck and strappy black dancing heels on her feet.
As the car slowed to a halt at the curb, the woman leaned forward to glance out the window and her stomach gave a pleasant lurch of surprise. Outside was the grand façade of the Baglioni, one of the most upscale and oldest Italian establishments in the city. Talia was swamped with a feeling of relief that she would be meeting Luca Changretta, a man who was still very much a mystery to her, in such a familiar place.
The woman had no time to dwell on that train of thought any longer as the vehicle side door was opened and Changretta offered her his arm. She allowed herself to be helped out of the chauffeured automobile the American had sent to pick her up and was greeted by the usual silhouette of a tall, hawkish, well-dressed man with half a smirk and coal black eyes.
Stepping back half a pace, Luca looked the seamstress up and down appreciatively and let out a long, low hum of approval. "You look beautiful, Talia."
"Thankyou." There was an immediate prickling heat of a blush spreading across her cheeks.
The American wasted no time in tucking her arm through his and leading her inside the brightly lit establishment. "The music here is not so good as it is in New York, but we'll make do, won't we?"
"Ms. Mangiameli, benvenuto (welcome)!" A uniformed doorman inclined his head with a familial smile for the brunette woman as she and Changretta entered the Baglioni's grand foyer.
"I've been here before."
Changretta merely raised his eyebrows in reply at Talia's statement. He had guessed as much: it was one of the reasons why he'd decided to bring her here.
He knew he was still vaguely intimidating to her, and that by taking her out at all he was putting the seamstress in considerable danger. The American man's solution to both problems had been to take her somewhere familiar and filled with Italians only, thus greatly reducing the chances of the Shelbys having eyes anywhere within the establishment.
The woman's deep brown eyes were trained on the ceilings vintage frescos that surrounded groups of fine old Parisian chandeliers. "This is where us Italians have… well, everything. Birthdays, engagements, weddings. I've been here more times then I can count."
Changetta squeezed the arm of hers still in his and prompted: "Well, seein' as you're the regular then, Talia, I'll leave our next move up t'you."
"Oh, the main lounge is great!" The woman began brightly, raising her free arm that wasn't tucked into Changretta's toward an open glass door quite close to where the pair were standing. "It's open and you can see right out onto the street."
Luca's hawk-like gaze followed his date's arm as she moved direction, now pointing toward the far end of the lobby, where huge double doors stood wide open and the faint sound of big band music could be heard. "The dining room is adjacent to the dancefloor through there. It's called a dining room, but it's more like a club... tables and booths everywhere." She grinned as the American's face split into his usual wolfish smirk.
Talia found herself being pulled along in Changretta's wake as he led the way and commanded the dining room attendant find them a booth immediately.
"Talia, I need you t'be honest." Luca angled his head toward Talia's as the pair sat comfortably in their booth together after yet another spate of dancing. "Are you enjoying being here with me?"
The woman looked at him, her brown eyes wide. She was slightly sweaty and her fingers were trembling a little with leftover adrenaline as she held a fresh glass of champagne. There were already two half-empty bottles on the table.
"I can't get a read on you," the man continued, his American drawl sounding oddly husky, like he was in confession. The thought of what a man like this said in the confessional made Talia shiver.
"Besides bein' absolutely stunnin', you don't give much away, y'know, Talia. An' most people, when they see me, well… they run in the opposite direction." The grin he gave her then was charming but strangely mournful.
"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" She replied boldly, not taking her eyes off his. She was glad the dim lighting in masked just how deeply she was blushing at the compliment he had paid her. "I saw this… " the woman pulled her right hand out of Changretta's left and pressed a finger lightly to the tattoo on his neck. "And these… " She rubbed a thumb across the tattooing that spilled out of his sleeve before gripping his hand again tightly. "I said yes, Luca."
The brunette shook her head a little, as if to get the thought out of her mind and onto her tongue: "You don't scare me."
Turning his whole body to hers in the darkness of the booth, he placed his free hand about her waist, squeezing for a second. It was a warning.
"I should. You don't know what I am."
Talia scoffed, feigning nonchalance at Changretta's grip on her body. Between the big band music, the champagne and the dim lighting, she was ready. For what exactly, she wasn't sure.
"Si, non mi conosci, ed io nonconosco te. Ma… (Yes, I don't know you, and you don't know me. But…) I know you pay your debts. I know you're kind to me. I know you're Italian. What else is there?"
"A lot," Luca muttered thickly, looking away. "A whole fuckin' lot."
"Luca… se vuoi parlare, ti ascolto (If you want to talk, I'm listening)." Talia raised her hand to touch the side of his face gently and drew it back to hers.
The woman's fingertips brushed against Changretta's lips softly and then he was leaning down, leaving no more space between the two. His lips were on hers, and her free hand settled around the back of his neck.
Talia was dimly aware that with this closeness came a whole host of new sensations, including the distinct smell of smoke and liquor and Italian musk, and the sheer heat of Luca's body against hers seemed to spike her own temperature by a hundred degrees and made her head swim dizzily.
Changretta's hands were holding onto her waist possessively as they kissed each other deeply and slowly, with no impatience or frenzy to it at all, like this was always going to happen, and they were always going to be here.
The two were interrupted a moment later by a purposefully loud waiter collecting the empty bottles of champagne. The waiter spared the pair a disparaging look, to which Talia, newly emboldened, stared blatantly back in return.
Luca, however, slightly disheveled but still incredibly authoritative, reached into his suit and took another swathe of notes from his money clip. "Altri due non aperto, per favour (Two more unopened, please)."
The waiter nodded stiffly and held out his hand for the crisp bills, but instead, Changretta slammed the money down on the table in front of him and added venomously: "Fai tuo lavoro e vafuncolo, uh (Do your job and fuck off, uh)?"
The waiter swiped up the money uncomfortably and departed the booth with a carefully guarded expression that Talia was sure was hiding a mixture of insult and intimidation.
Still reclining lazily in the booth, the brunette began to laugh: a light, lilting sound that drew Changretta to her again like he had been magnetised. Pressing another kiss to the side of her face, he commanded in a voice that made Talia shiver yet again: "Tell me about the first time you ever came here."
"I was engaged here when I was very young," the seamstress revealed after hesitating for just a moment. "We'd grown up together, as children of immigrants do. He died in the Great War, though, so we never… " Talia trailed off, her face gone slack and her eyes unfocused, seeing right through Changretta and into the past.
"I've been married before." Luca declared gruffly as he sat up and away from Talia suddenly.
Talia's attention snapped back to the man in the booth, all memories of her long-lost fiancé abruptly dissipating.
"What… what happened?" The woman asked hesitantly, sitting up just as Luca had done. She was completely unsure just how much she could ask the American man to reveal of such a sensitive story.
Thankfully the pair were given a moment to breathe as the sullen waiter from earlier dropped off their bottles of champagne.
"She didn't think much of the vows we took at the altar," Luca said shortly, the expression on his face a pained one. The man reached out and plucked the closest bottle of champagne from its ice bucket and began opening it methodically. Talia watched the muscles in his hands flex under tattooed skin as he successfully pulled the cork and set about pouring two glasses.
"It wasn't in her nature to be loyal." He touched the tips of his long fingers to his chin as he placed the bottle back on the table, before flicking his fingers away in a violent gesture, as if banishing something, perhaps old memories, away entirely. "I divorced her."
"That sounds awful. I'm sorry." Divorce was rare where Talia lived, though not unheard of. Maybe the process was more common in America.
"It wasn't pleasant," Changretta agreed, as he passed the woman a glass of champagne with a grim smile that made something in Talia's heart lurch painfully. "And don't apologise, Talia."
He put one hand to her knee and the other brushed the side of her face gently. "How about, let's have no more talk of the past tonight, 'uh? Shall we dance some more?" The man gestured toward the big band still playing at the far end of the increasingly busy dance floor.
Talia let a smile arch her lips as she drank a little and asked: "Still not as good as New York?"
Shrugging over the rim of his own champagne glass, Changretta remarked, back to his usual wolfish self: "The company is certainly makin' up for it."
Author's Note: Yikes, sorry it's taken me forever to get this chapter out! I am still enjoying writing this story, but I am back at work now and so have far less time to write for fun. Let me know if you liked this chapter! I envision this having just two or three more chapters (I am keeping to canon end of season 4 with this story).