La Vita Dolce Ch. 03

She crawled out of bed. Woken by the sharp rapping at the door. Her fingers tentatively lingered on the door handle.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Room service," came a reply. Not Alejandro. As if sensing some hesitation, on her part, the voice called out again in halting English. "I have brought breakfast."

Natasha was suddenly aware of the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She wrenched the door open. A young waiter stared at her open-mouthed.

Natasha glanced down at herself. The sweatshirt barely grazed mid-thigh. Her feet were bare. Embarrassed she jumped behind the door and held it open.

The waiter wheeled in a cart piled high with platters. The delicious aroma wafted past her nose and she lifted the silver food cover. An American style breakfast, complete with eggs and bacon.

"Ah, grazie." She sighed in delight. The young waiter smile courteously and Natasha tipped him generously before he bowed slightly and left the room.

Natasha's hand was on the door handle when the door across the hall opened and Gianni Angiolini stepped out into the hall. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, cocking her head.

He didn't see her right away. His keys jangled as he locked the door. He turned stopped short when he saw her standing there.

Her dark brows rose and the corner of her lips lifted. "Following me?"

He managed to affect an equally surprised look. "Natasha?" he grinned uncertainly coming towards her and stopping before her doorway. "What are you doing here?"

She stared at him incredulously and fixed him with a skeptical look. "I'm staying here while my uncle is away." She said. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I'm in the process of moving. I'm staying here 'til things get settled in my new place." It wasn't a complete lie.

Natasha looked at him. He looked good in black leather Ameriranian-style jeans and plain tightly fitting t-shirt over black motorcycle boots. His hair was mussed and he was unshaven, lending him a slighlt unkempt but irresistible look.

"Going out?" she asked.

"I was just going to breakfast." He gestured to the elevator. "Would you like to join me?"

Natasha glanced back into her room. "Um, actually a wonderful breakfast was just delivered. It could feed a small army." She laughed.

"Oh?" Gianni grinned at her.

"Join me?" she asked boldly. There was a bit of a challenge in her tone.

He glanced down the hall. "Sounds great."

Natasha stepped back and allowed him entrance to her room.

He let out a low whistle, looking around. "This is nice."

"Thanks." She said and closed the door.

He turned to face her. His eyebrows lifted and an amused smile slid over his face. His hands slid into his pockets and he stood, regarding her. "This is an American style?"

Natasha's face flamed. She tugged at the hemline on the sweatshirt.

The movement illustrated her slight discomfort, inflaming Gianni's protective instinct. An instinct which, at the moment, was in direct conflict to his body's desire. He was trying hard to ignore the throbbing that had invaded his loins.

Christ. How long was he supposed be endure her company...this beautiful, charming young woman, the expanse of her golden unmarred skin bare to his gaze... Yet he couldn't make her his?

She smiled at him shyly. "Give me a second." He watched her long slim legs take her into the bathroom. He'd give her forever.

She emerged in a pair of worn blue jeans, a tear across the knee.

"Bella." He praised with a smile.

She cast him a dubious grin.

He meant it. He liked her this way. In her designer finery, she was a goddess, beautiful and seemingly untouchable. In a sweatshirt in jeans she was a bit out of place amidst the luxury of the suite but no less beautiful. She looked like the college kid she was. In these clothes she was relaxed, slightly shy. She was human.

They ate out on the terrace. It was a beautiful day.

"Malto Bene." Gianni said leaning against the iron railing and looking out over the rooftops. Natasha leaned on the railing next to him, their shoulders touching. She nudged him. "So you like American food?"

He turned dark eyes on her seriously. "I like many things American." He said softly looking at her intently.

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. "You are trouble, sir," she admonished.

He smiled thinly but eyes remained on her as she returned her gaze to the scenery. "I have to go." He said suddenly and pushed himself back from the railing.

"Already?" she sounded disappointed. "What about breakfast?"

He slipped an arm around her waist. "Alas, but I must!" he said theatrically.

Natasha threw back her head and laughed. Gianni admired the smooth column of her throat. He drew from his pocket a business card and handed it to her. "This is my club. Come tonight." He wrote a number on the back and became suddenly serious. "This is my cell phone. If you need anything," he said, "Absolutely anything...call me."

Natasha took the card surprised by his sudden seriousness. "I thought you were in stocks and trading?" she asked.

He chucked her under the chin. "I'm a man of many interests," he said dismissively.

She led him to the door. Before he left he grasped her hand unexpectedly and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Arrivederci."

"Ciao." She said and closed the door with a soft click. She leaned her forehead against the smooth wood of the door. Yes. She was in trouble.

***

Natasha went shopping. She returned to the Via Condotti. From Gucci she bought a shimmering mesh halter dress. The gold metallic color along with her skin made her seem to glow. It was shockingly short and made her legs appear to go on forever. From Prada she bought matching handbag and golden stilettos.

Her hair was pressed straight to hang like a dark curtain nearly to her waist. She lined her eyes with kohl and glossed her lips. She dusted her body with ultra fine glitter and sprayed a hint of Dior's Poison at her wrists and throat.

Tonight she didn't feel like herself, like the somewhat bumbling girl-child not even out of college who joked to escape her discomfort. She was striking.

At twelve she left her room. She sauntered through the lobby past a group of businessmen who halted their conversation to watch her pass by.

Signore Valeriani's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"Not a word." Natasha hurled at him as she strode by.

She lowered herself with carefully into the seat of the Beemer conscious of the eyes that watched her and the shockingly short dress. She smiled a mockingly sweet smile at Signore Valeriani and the car lunged away from the curb.

***

The black Z8 pulled up to Berimbau. A neon sign throbbed pink, blue, green, and orange lights over the people lined outside the building. The sounds of Brazilian music which had overtaken Rome throbbed through the warm night air.

Natasha stepped out of the car and handed the valet her keys. Heads turned and watched her as she walked to the end of the line. Great.

She spread her hands through her hair and arched her back. As long as they were going to stare, she might as well give them a show. She twisted her body and stuck one long leg out and her skirt slid up her thigh. Men smiled and she saw a few mouths drop open. She smiled coyly and stretched her arms in a sexy pose. The women mostly turned away, pretending they hadn't been checking out their competition.

A tall dark man in a suit approached her, obviously security. "Miss James?"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Angiolini is expecting you inside." He offered her his arm and led her past the line of ogglers and into the club. Reggaeton and Merengue music pulsed through the room. The security guard pointed to one of two balconies overlooking the dance floor. Black velvet curtains shielded its interior from view. "He's waiting there."

Natasha smiled her thanks and began to wind her way through the dance floor when a hand closed around her wrist. Natasha, whirled expecting to see Gianni, was disappointed. A complete stanger leered at her. "Ballare con me." He slurred, pulling her closer.

Natasha shook her head, no, but pasted a polite smile on her face. "Nessuni ringraziamenti. No thanks."

Instead his grip tightened around her wrist and he dragged her into the crowd.

Natasha was pulled tightly up against him. She squirmed and pushed against him but it was like pushing against a brick wall.

His hands roved brazenly over her body. His breath reeked of alcohol. He pulled her hard against him and ground himself against her. His lips came down towards her. She turned her head abruptly and he planted a sloppy wet kiss upon her cheek. Natasha felt sick. And angry. He'd probably ruined her make-up.

She thrust her knee up into his groin and she watched with grim satisfaction as his eyes bulged and he bent over. His stunned expression quickly turned angry and he made as if to reach for her when he suddenly froze. His eyes were fixed somewhere over her shoulder. He straightened with some difficulty, his eyes tinged with fear, and with a chagrinned air he held up his hands and disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha stood trembling, half unnerved and half enraged. She flinched as a light hand touched her shoulder and Gianni came around to face her. He lightly touched her cheek as his eyes held hers. "Are you alright?"

Natasha smiled weakly. "Bene."

He smiled and surveyed her quietly. "Bene."

His arms slid around her and he held her close, engulfing her in the strong safety of his arms. They danced to the slow sensual beat. His body, tall and muscular, fit perfectly with the slim, sensual curves of her body. She felt secure in his arms.

He turned her in his arms settling his hands on her hips as she moved to the beat. As he moved to pull her back against his body she reached up and wound her arms around his neck. Her fingers strayed to his dark locks as he reverently pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

But someone watched them from the balcony above, his eyes lingering on the woman nestled against Gianni Angiolini.

Sensing watching eyes, eyes not so different from his own, Gianni looked up at the figure standing there. His brows drew together ominously and his arms tightened protectively around the woman. The watcher grinned maliciously before backing away from the balcony railing and disappearing to the crowd.

***

Devonnee had not noticed that a car followed her home. Gianni had had one of his employees follow her. He was concerned about her safety, but he had other things to attend to that night and could not see to it himself. The feel of her body against his haunted him. He ran his hands through his dark hair. He hadn't meant for this to happen. He hadn't meant to her want her so badly. He couldn't keep this up. It had to stop now.

***

Natasha slipped into her room around 5:30 that morning. It was dark as she headed for the bathroom. She tossed her handbag on the bathroom counter and went into the living room searching for the light switch.

"Back so soon?" the table lamp flicked on. Alejandro at on the couch, his gaze hooded.

Natasha stood frozen.

Alejandro stood and stalked towards her, his eyes boldly raking her form. "Did you get all dressed up for me?"

Natasha could say nothing.

His hands slid down her arms with deceptive tenderness and he pulled her toward him. His fingers made slow mesmerizing circles over her shoulders. "You've been naughty."

"No I-"

"Shh." He hushed.

She pulled away.

He buried one hand in her hair and she gasped as Alejandro put his other hand on her bottom, pulled her tightly against his hard crotch.

In a bruising move that could hardly be called a kiss, he ground his lips against her mouth. Natasha tasted blood as his teeth nipped hard at her lower lip.

She pushed against his chest. Her arms were trapped between their bodies. His arms were heavily muscled, too strong for her. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her immobile.

To he own disgust she whimpered at the pain. He abruptly tore his lips from hers and lift his head to glare into her eyes.

"Let go." She murmured softly.

"No problem, Ms. James." He smirked at her and shoved her violently away from him.

She caught herself on the doorframe of the bathroom, her eyes widening in shock.

There was no mistaking the menace in his eyes as he came slowly toward her.

She pushed off from the door and bolted around him. She reached her suite door but just as she opened it his fist crashed into the door slamming it shut. She was sure the wood should have shattered at the force of the blow.

He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her kicking and screaming back into the room. "Why must you make everything so difficult?" he shouted at her.

Her elbow caught him in the nose. She twisted from his arms but not before he managed to grasp her wrist.

"Are you nuts?!" she shrieked as his hand came back. With a deliberateness that caught her off guard and terrified her, the back of a large bronze hand connected soundly with her cheek and sent her sprawling to the floor. His ring caught and made a shallow cut in her cheek.

Her head hit the bedpost with a crack and her head spun. She attempted to scramble to her feet, but he advanced quickly, and gathering her in his arms, he tossed her uncermoniously onto the bed.

Before she could move he was upon her. The hard lean length of him pinned her to the bed. She struck out at him wildly in panic, her nails attempting to rake his flesh.

"No!" she screamed as she writhed beneath the terrible weight of him.

He straddled her hips. He was fumbling with the top of her dress. She balled her hand into a fist and punched him in the jaw.

She instantly cradled her abraded knuckes in her free hand and decided that no reward was worth the pain in her hand.

His had face turned to the side with the impact. He turned slowly, to stare down at her, the rage in his eyes making her cringe from him. He drew back one arm, balling his hand into a fist.

Natasha stared in terror at him. A the fist and the muscles bunched behind it. She was going to die and she didn't want to see it coming. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Holding, his position, Alejandro stared down at the woman who was pinned beneath him. She was flat on her back. Her arms flung over her head, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her dark hair, fanned out around her head. Her cheeks alluringly flushed, her dark lashes fanning against their blush.

The fight had enraged him but the sight of her lying beneath him thus enacted another furious response.

Hands roughly closed around her wrists and his hot, punishing lips met hers. Her surprise kept her lips soft and her mouth parted easily for his tongue.

Natasha was surprised to feel his lips on hers rather. He wasn't going to hit her again. But her relief was short-lived. She felt his hand travel up her thigh and his fingers grasp the strap of her underwear as he slid them down her legs.

"No, please!" she cried as pushed a finger into her. His finger brushed her maidenhead and she arched her back and whimpered in pain.

She could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against her thigh though the material of his pants.

Her hands were splayed against his chest as she pushed at him but he was too strong. He took both her wrists in one hand and jerked her arms over her head. With the other he came up and yanked her dress down. He lowered his head and his mouth was savage on her breasts. His free hand worked its way between her knees and pushed her thighs apart. He lowered himself between her knees. He then yanked his crimson colored tie up over his head and stuffed the silk material into her mouth. She gagged and choked.

She heard him fumbling with his belt, and his zipper come down, and then felt the tip of his cock against her entrance. He slid it up and down her slit, closed his eyes and groaned.

Natasha spat the tie from her mouth, stared up at him, and said the only thing she could think of. "He'll kill you, you know."

Alejandro stopped, poised to enter her. He looked down into her face, stunned.

She let out a half-hysterical giggle. "Don't be stupid. You won't be able to hide. There's nowhere you could go. He'll find you and kill you." She said, tears streaming down her face.

She watched the emotions passing his face, lust, anger, fear.

"Bitch!" he hissed and flung himself back from her. He hurriedly pulled up is pants and zipped his fly. He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You stay in this room. You leave for nothing."

He came and gripped her jaw in a painful grasp. "And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you myself." He ground out.

He turned and stomped from the room, slamming the door so hard in his wake the bedside lamp trembled.

Natasha could do nothing. She couldn't scream, couldn't cry. She just lay there staring at the ceiling. Her head felt fuzzy, she couldn't think straight. Suddenly she felt sick. She scrambled up from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She retched into the toilette.

She began to cry in wild uncontrollable sobs. Her arm swept the contents of counter onto the floor. Her purse flew to the floor and her cell phone skittered out. She picked it up, opened it, and with trembled fingers dialed.

"Ciao?" Gianni's voice was on the other line.

For a second she could only sob into the phone. "Gianni?" she said haltingly.

"Natasha?" he was alarmed. "Are you okay? What's happened?"

She cried harder.

His voice grew frantic. "Natasha, baby, please. What's wrong? Tell me." His voice was full of emotion he hadn't known he possessed.

Her sounded small and frightened on the other side of the phone. "Help me please." And she broke into fresh sobs. She stammered. "He was here and he...he..."

"Who?" Gianni demanded.

"Please -- " The line went dead.

Natasha let the phone slip from her fingers as she sank down to the marble floor. She curled into a ball, clutching the torn remnants of her dress around her. She felt the cool marble beneath her cheek before she slipped into darkness.

***

Gianni drove like a madman through the streets of Rome. The jag screeched to a stop. The stunned valet called after him as he raced into the hotel. He didn't bother with the elevator but dashed up the steps. He's never been so afraid in his life.

He reached her door and pounded his fist on it. "Natasha!" he shouted.

There was no answer.

He tried the doorknob still yelling her name.

Still no answer.

He drew a gun from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. He backed up and placed a well-aimed kick near the door knob. On the second try the door burst open. The room appeared to be empty when he noticed the bathroom light on.

Natasha lay sprawled on the bathroom floor. With a curse he tucked the gun back into the holster and fell to his knees beside her still body, gently taking her into his arms and turning her to face him. He felt something wet on his hand and was kicked into rage by the sight of the blood coming from a shallow cut upon her cheek.

She started awake, screaming and struggling in his grasp.

"Natasha! It's me!" he cried. "Natasha!"

She stopped suddenly and looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. "Gianni?"

"Oh, God." His eyes took in her torn dress, bruises coloring her jaw and arms, even her thighs. She started to cry and he carefully helped her to her feet. The movement caused a new pain and a wave of dizziness. She reached out to Gianni, wanting to hold on to something solid. He gently supported her and led her to the bed. When she balked he stopped.

"Natasha?"

She feebly tried to stand on her own but her knees buckled and he scooped her up into his arms.