Morning? Early afternoon?

For once, Ettore doesn't awaken before his bed partner. Instead, they are awakened by the sound of their mobiles.

Opening his eyes, Ettore around the room. Their clothes trail from the closet to the couch. Three open foils on the nightstand the remaining in the open drawer. Sitting up, he lays against the plush headboard. Cosette grumbles, slowly getting out of bed, not bothering to smooth down messy hair or cover her nudity. Walking to the closet, she finds their coats on the floor near the door. With a put-out sigh, she hangs the garments while searching for the mobiles. Answering her own, Ettore comes up behind her wrapping an arm around her, pressing himself into her back. Caressing her hip right over the cherry blossom and fox tattoo, reacting to his affection, she nuzzles his neck.

"What do you want, cousin?" (Italian)

"I heard you made a killing last night."

Ettore kisses her temple, taking the offered device from her hand, then moves back to the bed as he answers.

"Hello, Noona."

"I see you're not home. Did the harpies get you last night, or did you do the right thing and run away?" Ettore hears Vincenzo cackling in the background.

"I take I'm on speaker. Simply, they were disgusting, loud perfume with squeaky voices and grubby hands. Zan looked like she was playing dress-up in women's clothing. Her mother, the prowler, plays the concerned mother looking for the best match for her virginal, naive daughter. Considering how she tried to give me a hand job in the elevator, I felt like a lamb led to the slaughter. When are they going back, or at least we don't have to host them again."

Settling back on the bed, he hears Cosette move into the bathroom but doesn't close the door. That was either arrogance or because she had nothing to hide.

"Hmm, really, what birdie told you that?" Absently searching for her travel bag, she puts the call on speaker, "Just something I heard. Are you staying in Milan or leaving soon?"

"I'm scheduled to leave in two days and haven't heard anything from the office to keep me here. Why?"

" I want to speak to you about some investments. I was going to some high-profile auctions, but some things came up. So, I need you to look at what is available and see any prospects."

"Right, your lovely wife happens to have a planned get-together or two, correct?

"You know Ilaria, she loves parties, and since we will have a heat wave, it will be on Alvar's new yacht, "The Highlander," in the marina. So get your bathing suit, hat, and sunscreen."

Rolling her eyes, Cosette groans in defeat, and her tone turns murderous. "Cyrus Moretti, you little shit! I broke that fucker's nose last season. Keep the parties, and send the auctions. If I see that creeper, I don't care if he is your brother-in-law. I will do the world a solid and start slicing."

"Well damn, dongsaeng, whoever that is, sounds bloodthirsty."

"Please tell me you connected with the lovely Ms. Mastromonoco."

"Hmm. Cosette saved me from the harpies. I'll send the video if Nonna happens to see it. I guarantee it will be worth the embarrassment of them cornering me. Now I have to figure out how to stay in her good grace. At least until those two gorgons go back to China."

Squeal.

"Ettore, mister polite and proper, called her by her first name. See, Vinny, pay up!"

"You two made a bet. Seriously why do I put up with you two?"

"To make your life interesting, donsaeng. Just check in with Nonna, or she'll make us look for you."

"Yeah, little brother, I want to meet the woman that saved your virtue!"

"Gods, I hate you both. Bye." He looks for the recording, renaming it "Ode de Harpies" and pressing send to their group chat.

Knock, knock

Wrapped in a black with purple iris silk robe with a fresh face and combed back hair. Cosette leans against the bathroom doorframe. "So you didn't leave."(Korean)

Unease starts to creep up as he shakes his head and places his mobile on the night table, "No, I didn't. Was I supposed to?"

Moving to the foot of the bed, she yawns and covers her mouth as she contemplates her response. "I like to give a graceful out."

Still naked, throwing caution to the wind, Ettore crawls on the bed to her. Long black hair falls forward, hanging off his shoulders, covering part of his face. Moving the bedding out of his way, he tights his arms and chest muscles as he sits on the edge. Just a hands width away, he could easily pull her in.

From this angle, he can see the bruises and half-moon marks on her waist from last night. Not once did Cosette pull from him marking her skin. Just ask him to place them where she can cover them. What happened between them is a private matter. His ego was stroked and satisfied.

He remembers reading: Consent is the key to ultimate surrender or harmony.

Playing with the ends of the robe's belt, "At the moment, I like where I am."

Nodding in agreement, she steps between his legs. Softly finger combs Ettore's hair from his face and over his shoulders. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she straddles him. "Good, communication is key. If you don't like something or have a question, ask. And I will do the same."

Leaning back, he watches her slide the offending material off her shoulders, untieing the loose knot. Both ignore the whispering sound of the material falling onto the floor. Brown was a plain word. Sepia was a much better description of her skin. His palms wrap around her neck, and her eyes close as she melts into him. This woman unknowingly teases the beast inside him. Breathing heavily, his hands caressed down her shoulders and arms. The contrast of his light tan complexion against hers was strangely intoxicating. Gripping her wrists, he kisses each palm, then nips the inside of each wrist.

Softly giggling, she places butterfly kisses on his eyes. The heat rose with each shared breath, the stroke of their tongue and captured moan. His long fingers traced down her spine, into the clef of her ass, past the tightened star, into her warmth. The angle caused her to arch and grip his hair sharply, gasping. As he cupped a breast, alternating between sucking, biting, then soothing the lingering sting with his tongue, the different pleasure points began to overwhelm her. Just as she reaches her peak, he pulls her up further, spreading her thighs wider, latching on her pearl. Squeaking in surprise at his strength, with a growl, she spirals as his fingers hit the right spot with a nip.

Her mind shut down as he played with her body.

For the moment, she belonged to him.

Mid-afternoon?

Sitting on the opposite ends of the couch Ettore and Cosette munch on finger food on the serving and coffee tables as they discuss little things.

Favorite colors, food, and theme rides. The differences between the Millennials and Gen Z and the most crucial question. "Who was the better Godzilla?"

"Cosette, how can you call the American 1999 version the best?"

Scoffing at Cosette, he watches her eat a fruit salad, stealing a mango from her fork, "In Kong vs. Godzilla, the King could heal his wounds."

Sticking her tongue at him in retaliation, "Yeah, I'll give you that. But the '99 version is realistic with predator aspects, cognitive skills, and self-awareness." She pokes his naked thigh with her toe, "Passing those traits to the second generation."

With disbelief, "Did you analyze the traits of a fictional monster as an anthropologist or fan?"

Licking blueberry juice from her lips and sticking her nose in the air with superior arrogance, she replies, "I own it."

Her phone chimes to rolling snare drums. Scooting to the edge, she looks over her shoulder, pressing a finger to smiling lips. Then gets up, tightening her robe, moving to the desk next to the window.

"Ciao, Don de Luca; how may I assist you?" (Italian)

"Ms. Mastromonaco, I hoped to have gotten to you before you were at the auction and have some concerns and questions about your recommendations. I saw the Athenian pieces and found them to be a better find than the Spartan."

She picks up her catalog, turns to the blue tab, and responds, "No, sir, I recommend the lesser-known Spartan pieces as we can maneuver for lower prices. Lease the works to museums for circulation, build notoriety, then sell within five to seven years at a higher market price."

"Tell me, how can you guarantee this, Ms. Mastromonaco?"

"Circulating these rare art pieces through selected museums will help attract the most discerning collector. Review your purchasing list. This is a reoccurring theme to maximize your collection—the mobile appointment notification chimes. "I apologize, Don de Luca. I must go. I will call you once the auction is done."

"We will talk further on this action plan, Ms. Mastromonaco. I'm sure my wife will have some places in mind."

"I look forward to speaking with you then."

Closing the mobile, she bends to make additional notes, "Ettore."

"Hmm"

Turning to him, "What are you doing for the next thirty days?" (Korean)

Mid-afternoon in the Mediterranean Sea, South of Sicily, Maltese archipelago (40 days and counting)

From the patio door, Vincenzo watches his younger brother sitting at his desk, brooding. Ettore stares at the computer screens flashing stock data and multiple analyses. But he wasn't contemplating his next move to acquire a fledging company and build it further until it was prime to sell.

His body wasn't tense, nor did he give the vibes of an oncoming panic attack or rising violent anger. It was different, more profound, and primal. "Considering there isn't a pending family conflict, no open contracts nor negotiations, you seem off. Are you thinking of your lady?" (Italian)

Ettore braces his chin on folded hands, contemplating. Cosette gave him twenty-seven days/ twenty-six nights of her thirty days in Italy. "She didn't play games, hyung. She just invited me to be with her during her extended stay. She made it clear she didn't have patience or time for misunderstandings. No false promises were given. Hell even went as far to as Nona for permission."

"When did she speak with Nona?" Sheepishly, Ettore avoided looking at Vincenzo, "We were in Rome at the time and ambushed by her mother, aunt, and grandmother." Crossing his arms in disbelief, Vincenzo growls, "Dongsaeng."

Nervously waving his arms in defeat, "It was three weeks since we met, going to different functions. Per Kumiho's, Aunt Mattea is a record. She happens to know Nona. They went to school together." Vincenzo sat in the chair before Ettore's desk; the story was getting better. The very conservative man was even using hand gestures. He was so out of his depth and seemed to be enjoying himself. "Next thing we knew, we were heading to her Aunt's leather shop."

Confused, Vincenzo raises his hand," Wait, who or what is a Kumiho?"

"Seriously, hyung? You know a fox spirit? It causes mischief and plays tricks. Sometimes lure men to their deaths?"

Sharply shifting in his chair, "Like Naruto?" Then the word death caught his attention, " What do you mean deaths?!"

Gah! "Sometimes, I just don't know you. Look, do you want to know the rest of the story?"

Relaxing in the plush leather, Vincenzo nods. Hiding his smile, it's so rare he can rile his little brother up.