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Vittorio Castelluccio
Answers.
Mon Feb 20, 2006 17:24
66.244.88.49

Ahem.

Vittorio did not wish to tear his gaze away from Sonnet’s features, knowing whoever was standing in the doorway was likely of her family. What had happened to the grand scheme where he slipped in to offer the flowers to an unconscious woman, and slipping back out with none the wiser? Refusing to frown, the Italian finally turned away, peering towards the door.

The woman standing there had aged well, though lines about her eyes only enhanced the exhaustion he saw upon her features. Did red hair come naturally in that hue? Canting his features to the side, Vittorio wondered if this was the girl’s mother. It would be only appropriate, wouldn’t it? Feeling his grand scheme crumbling to little bits between his fingers, he took a step forward and offered a slight nod. What else was there to do? The woman had just found a strange man in what was likely her daughter’s hospital room.

“I apologize,” Vittorio murmured, glancing toward Sonnet as if to make certain she was not disturbed. “I simply wanted to visit with her for a moment,” the man explained, gesturing at the bed. “After last night…”

“You were there?” He had to admire the woman, for her voice did not quake or shiver like a typical female would. There was strength there, one that he had to be wary of.

“I was.” Vittorio allowed himself a frown now, absently adjusting his gloves. “There were three men, though Sonnet admirably defended herself so as to permit Luciana an escape.” His words were carefully chosen at this point, and he realized that it could have been so much easier if he had insisted Giulio come with. But, no. He had to be stubborn.

“You were the one that… helped my darling daughter?” It appeared she knew at least some of the details, if not all, which was hardly surprising at this point. But tears had begun to pool in the woman’s eyes, causing Vittorio to procure a kerchief from his suit pocket.

Shh, Signora…” Offering the carefully folded cloth, Vittorio observed as the woman collected herself in a short amount of time, though tears still threatened. Very admirable. She must have been where Sonnet gained her strengths. For he had seen men beaten far worse than the woman in the hospital cot, that were unable to be half as strong as she. He found that amazing.

“Well, you will join us for lunch once Sonnet is well enough, won’t you?” It was as if her question were a command! Vittorio could not help it, for he smiled at her perseverance.

“It would be an honor, Signora…

“Isabel.” Vittorio quirked a brow at the sudden intrusion, turning to study a man that could not have been late into his twenties, haggard as the rest of the family must be. “… They’re waiting in the lobby for you.” Of course. The relatives would gather some place in hopes of conveying good thoughts and wishes for the injured woman. As if the mass consciousness of such a small group could affect Sonnet’s recovery rate.

Vittorio merely offered this Isabel woman a slight smile, and even a gentle squeeze of the hand. In that family’s eyes, he was likely Sonnet’s savior, which did not sit well with the man. Luciana and her ill-reputed husband knew of his actual business, and it would only be time before these people did as well. Frowning, wondering why he even cared, the Italian turned toward the man that had interrupted the short conversation he had held with the woman. Dressed in undertones of gray and black that would have been more well-suited for one of his men, Vittorio quirked a brow as he settled down into a chair beside Sonnet’s cot.

“What do you want.”

Oh, it was a demand, was it not? Amusement rolled through his mind, knowing very well that the fellow was only protecting what he viewed as his family. Well, that was fine, he could understand that.

Instead of answering straight away, Vittorio allowed his gaze to rake across the fellow’s form. Top to bottom, from the dark sneakers to the black pants, and gray shirt. Of course, the clothing looked worn and comfortable, perhaps a little too well-fitted. To each their own, he supposed. Yet the admirable perturbed look gracing the man’s features was too good to pass up. To stay? Or perhaps leave. Either way, he could ruffle this man’s feathers. Besides, that face was too pretty to be practical.

“I simply…” What were the correct words? “Wanted to convey my well wishes.” It did not sound correct, yet it was the most accurate he could think of. “Sonnet lost consciousness last night before I could say so.” Was it entirely appropriate to do so when the person was beaten? Of course it was! The location and time never mattered, but the sentiment did.

“Well, you have.” Oh? Vittorio’s imperious brows lofted once more, eyeing the fellow that had to be at least a handful of years his junior. Comfortable, worn clothing, a bag of… dear God, was that fast food? Refusing to shudder, the Italian merely gave a tight-lipped smile. Stronger and hardier fools had never crawled beneath his skin, and he would not let this boy do the same. Instead, he procured one of the infamous crisp business cards, and paused to write something on the back. Instead of his cell phone number, it was the hotel and room number.

“Perhaps, if you find you need… anything…” The slight smile returned as he assessed Michael’s reaction, offering the business card. “You will call, yes?” Without waiting for a response, Vittorio turned upon heel and strolled out of the room.

Nor did he wait to see if the young man, who remained nameless, would follow him through the hospital. Instead, Vittorio located the elevators easily enough, and followed them down into the lobby level, where Giulio waited. He did not see Isabel, which was all the better, for he had no desire to be trapped in a gathering of like-minded people in this forsaken country!

Everything went well, I trust?” Giulio had to know something, if the man was posing such a question. And with a smirk, no less!

Of course. Meeting with the girl’s family proved to be… enlightening.” As they strolled out the door to the waiting town car, only receiving a few odd glances, the Italian man thought of something. “Giulio, I want you to phone that restaurant in Little Italy we visited last night. Have them deliver dinner to Sonnet’s… friend.” Of course, it would likely serve to irk the man further, instead of placating his nerves. So be it.

After all, he could never let a pretty face go by.

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