Free The Italian by Lisa Marie Rice

in his voice and she suddenly saw him. Saw him . Not the sexy foreigner, not the commanding judge. She saw the human being. The man who had sacrificed so much for duty.
    “Talk,” he said again. “Tell me things.”
    And she did.
    She told him her hopes for her fledgling design studio, about crazy clients she’d had, how much she loved her grandfather, what she liked to read. They had different tastes in books, similar tastes in movies. They both loved hiking and detested skiing. She felt humans were basically good and Stefano didn’t. He thought technology would save their asses in the nick of time and she didn’t.
    They talked and ate as the candles burned low and suddenly there was a knock on the door. Stefano stopped smiling, his broad shoulders slumped.
    Jamie touched his hand lightly. He turned his hand, held hers, brought it to his mouth. Stood.
    “Midnight,” he said. “My men are going off duty and now I turn back into a pumpkin.”
    Jamie fought back tears. Tears had no place here. She curved her lips, hoping he would take it for a smile. “It was her carriage that turned back into a pumpkin, silly. And anyway, that glass slipper would never fit you.”
    “No, it wouldn’t.” He lifted her to her feet and simply looked. There was another knock on the door. This time more peremptory, less discreet.
    In the space of a minute he had morphed from charming dinner companion to the judge. Stern, remote. Moving away from her with every heartbeat, though he was standing still.
    “I enjoyed this.”
    “Yes,” she whispered. “So did I.”
    “You will have to stay here until my car leaves the premises. My men will come for you.”
    “Okay.”
    He still didn’t move. A third knock. This time heavy—someone was taking his fist to the door instead of his knuckles.
    “I don’t think I can call you tomorrow, Jamie. But I will definitely call on Saturday. Maybe—” He stopped, bit his lips. “I must go.”
    She nodded, throat too tight for words.
    “I can’t kiss you. I simply can’t. I won’t be able to stop.”
    She nodded again.
    He turned and walked to the heavy door, opening it just as one of the police officers had a fist raised.
    “ Andiamo ,” she heard him say. Let’s go. The door closed behind him and she sat again, staring out the window, waiting for his men to come for her.
    * * * * *
     
    He checked the corridor then slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. There was no artificial light, only candles everywhere, a few of them still flickering, providing a dim light. The smell of hot wax rose above the smell of food.
    There was another smell too.
    He picked up a napkin off the floor and brought it to his nose. Ah yes. The smell of sex.
    Everything about the room was fine, elegant beyond anything in his experience. The heavy linen tablecloth, the plates, the crystal glasses, the silverware. The room itself was a pure example of the things he would never have in his life. At home, he and his wife ate in the kitchen, just barely bigger than this table. There were no frescoes overhead, only damp stains from a leak he couldn’t afford to fix because it would require breaking the walls and putting in new tubing.
    The fluttering curtains framed a view worthy of a prince—an ornate garden lit by torchlight. His kitchen window looked out onto a greasy courtyard and the wall of the building next door.
    This was another world, the world he was risking his life to protect, even though he would never have access to it.
    Or…maybe he would.
    He pulled out a cellphone. A very basic Nokia. Like everyone, he wanted an iPhone but couldn’t afford it, though he did have a better phone than this. But this phone was a one-off. He could only make one call, then had to destroy it.
    He punched a number and it was answered in a single ring.
    “ Sí .” The usual voice, low and deep with a strong Sicilian accent. He had no idea if this was the Big Man himself or a lieutenant.
    “They had