I used to love breakfast as a child. It was my favorite meal of the day. The main reason was that I always found the food we usually ate for breakfast the most delicious and appealing of all the other meals. What kid would not prefer pancakes topped with chocolate, whipped cream, or strawberry jam over steak? It is true that Romans rarely stray from the typical espresso and cornetti.* However, I was not exactly one of them, was I?

   *Cornetto - literally "a little horn", Italian pastry resembling the French croissant, but usually sweeter and filled with crema pasticcera (custard) or jam and powdered with sugar and nuts

   The appetizing smell of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and toast makes me cease all fruitless attempts to tame my blow-dried, frizzy hair. I know from experience that any styling product will only make things worse, so I sigh in resignation and leave myself to the mercy of my nasty brother. He will surely make the most out of this welcome chance to taunt me.

   Luca wastes no time in proving me right. The moment I step into the kitchen, he yells, "Guarda questo angioletto (Look at this little angel)! He must have flown here straight from wild hair heaven.

   I glare at him and give him the finger.

   He fakes a startled expression and covers his mouth with a hand. "Mi dispiace, Sky (I'm so sorry, Sky)! I shouldn't have used the word "straight" when it comes to you. How inconsiderate of me."

   "Ha - ha - ha! Sei un coglione (You're such an idiot)!" I hiss. "If you want to tease someone, at least come up with jokes that are actually funny."

   "Boys!" Father's voice booms in the huge room, instantly drowning out our not-so-friendly banter. "Listening to this, one would never believe they are dealing with grown men. I feel like I am still talking to the immature brats I had at home fifteen years ago. You were two little devils alright. Nothing much has changed."

   His face lights up. His lips curve in a smile, which reminds me of my first year in Italy. Although I am constantly torn between love and admiration and the burning desire to strangle him, I can not help but admit that count Massimo de Angelis did his best to make me feel at home. Breakfast was his way of showing me that I was a part of the family. He changed his schedule and started going to work later just so he could spend more time with us every morning. Now that I know what a workaholic he is, I can properly appreciate the gesture. He always cooked whatever we wanted and made sure I did not miss out on anything I used to eat back in the US.

   It is hilarious to remember. Before I met my stepfather for the first time, I thought of aristocrats as some kind of mythical creatures that only existed in the movies. I imagined them living in gloomy haunted castles. There was no way they would not grow horns at night, or wings, or at the very least long fangs, and suck the blood out of any innocent victim who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can imagine what you are thinking. I agree. It sounds so silly. In my defense, I was only ten and loved to binge watch vampire movies on Halloween.

   What was my surprise when a well-mannered, very good-looking and quite friendly man met us at Rome Fiumicino Airport. He was an ordinary person. I mean that, of course, in the broadest sense of the word as he had no item worth less than five thousand dollars on him, except maybe the huge bouquet of red roses he gave to my mother. But I can not be completely sure about that either. The thing was monstrous. Mom was barely able to hold it with both hands.

   The count never allowed anyone in his Roman house or Palazzo di Angelis in Genova to say a single word of Italian without immediately translating it to me until he was sure I knew the language well enough to understand and communicate freely. Both family estates, by the way, were anything but grim or haunted. I was captivated by the exquisite works of art on the walls, the perfectly kept gardens with stone benches under orange trees and winding vines above cozy sheds where we drank caffe macchiato caldo* and aperitivo** with bruschetta alla romana*** every warm summer afternoon.

    *caffe macchiato caldo - espresso with a drop of cold milk

   **aperitivo - afternoon light drink with snacks

   ***Bruschetta alla romana - toasted bread topped with olive oil, chopped tomatoes, capers and pepper

   I got to love Italian dolce vita (sweet life), and even acknowledged that the idea of mom marrying the count was not the worst. I did not have close friends in New York to miss, but I found some new ones here instead. Life was good. 

   That was until I started school and felt my stepfather's iron hand for the first time. Massimo can be a loving and attentive parent, but he never lets things go unchecked. The man is all about control, long-term plans and objectives. You do what is necessary to achieve them and run with the ball. Otherwise, he will push you until you start running regardless of your wishes. No one can rule an entire empire by showing mercy. 

   He never treated me and Luca differently, but my brother, who was twenty at that time, was a hard nut to crack. The constant arguments in no way could stop him from doing what he wanted, and also the fact that he could move in with his mother whenever they got too heated. That fearsome woman, no less rich and influential than count Massimo, would allow and even encourage her son's every reckless endeavor, especially if it would anger her ex-husband. I was taken aback or rather insecure, so I did not have the courage to rebel. Maybe if I had been more like Luca, I would have become an artist instead of the secretary to the obnoxious marketing director I had a crush on for years. I am not even sure if my current situation is good or bad. Che sarà sarà (What will be will be). It is no use crying over spilled milk. At least I get the chance to be close to Jason, although that is hardly beneficial for my mental health.

   "Sky? Why aren't you eating?" Dad snaps his fingers in front of my face to catch my attention. "We must be at the office in twenty minutes, and I need to talk to you about something important before that. You better hurry. Now is not the time for daydreaming."

   "Important?" I try to show interest and stuff my mouth with eggs.

   "Yes." He nods. "You must have noticed that your boss, signor Marchetti, is somewhat impulsive. You probably knew this from the time you studied together in Austria. He is very good in some aspects of his profession, but his lack of restraint can cause a disaster in others."

   "Wait? Who?" Luka suddenly pricks up his ears. 

   "The marketing manager I told you about," father answers. "Jason Marchetti. He will lead the promotional campaign for the new skincare brand for men. It is the one for which you will sign an exclusive distribution contract with the largest European cruise line."

   "Oh, I see. And he studied in Vienna?" Luca flashes a wide grin. "It is an unusual name, isn't it? I wonder if there are many people named like that. It's highly unlikely."

   "And why does this even matter?" Dad asks, groaning in annoyance. I sigh in relief. My brother, who is obviously a total ass, smugly winks at me. Father impatiently cuts his stunts, "Luca, I really do not understand you sometimes. Focus. Let's not get off the point."

   "Which is?" I barely breathe out. My internal alarm indicator is glowing in bright red. The disaster is coming. I have absolutely no doubt about it.

   "I have a task for you," count Massimo announces. "A particularly sensitive one. I expect full confidentiality."

Bruschetta alla Romana

***

A/N

Hello, at the end of Chapter 9.

Thank you for reading and supporting ❤️❤️❤️

What do you think the task will be?

Is Sky going to get into more trouble?

And did his brother guess who his new boss actually is?

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Love: Anny

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