Page 21 of Ciao Bella
It was cold in Rome, with temperatures in the low forties, but the sun was shining, and it was Italy. Who cared whether it was cold, wet, hot, or snowy? They were in another country not chasing bad guys.
One thing the men were able to do was reach out to some old contacts, including Torro’s father, for recommendations on places to stay. With the group wanting to be near one another, their choices were limited to standard hotels where they would be spread out on different floors or renting an entire large home. And it would need to be very large.
They were in luck. Father Nicholas convinced an old friend to rent the group his massive villa. Thirty-two bedrooms, with more than thirty bathrooms, a chef’s kitchen, swimming pool, and so much more. It was on the outskirts of the city with spectacular views of the history below.
“It’s just perfect, Gaspar,” gushed Alexandra.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Erin. “I cannot believe that you all did this all by yourselves. I mean, a 15th-century villa as our home base! It’s wonderful, and the smell of the grapes. Oh! I’m in heaven.”
“You deserve this, baby,” smiled Nine.
They continued up the long, winding drive toward the villa, finally parking the vans in the designated spots. The other two vans pulled up behind them, and everyone stepped out, stretching and admiring their accommodations. One had nothing except luggage and would be left at the villa while they made their day travels.
A few moments later, a young man on a moped pulled up and stepped off the tiny motorbike.
“Good afternoon,” he smiled with a thick, heavy accent. He was handsome with curly black hair and dark brown eyes. His big smile telling all of them that he was used to women falling at his feet.
“Good afternoon,” said Ian. “Are you the man with the keys to the castle?”
The young man stared at him, cocking his head sideways. Then he laughed, nodding at him as he pulled the big old iron key from his pocket.
“Sorry, my English isn’t so good.” He let them into the villa and gave a quick tour of where everything was located. As he started to leave, he turned to the men and looked around the room at everyone.
“Is there something else?” asked Ghost.
“The ladies, they are all so beautiful. They belong to you?”
“They are our wives,” said Ghost, looking at the young man.
“Ah,” he said, nodding at the older man. “Then I leave you now. Signore? Arrivederci! Ciao bellas!”
“Bellas? What the hell?” growled Ian. “Just when I thought I wouldn’t have to kill anyone on this trip.”
“Ian, behave,” frowned Faith.
“Choose your room, drop your bags, and get ready to meet the pope. And watch your fucking language. It’s the pope,” said Gaspar. The men all raised their brows at him, shaking their heads.
“Gaspar, really?” said Alexandra.
“Oh. Sorry. Just watch your language. No telling what Mama has in store for us once we get there.”
“Does she really know the pope?” asked Tailor.
“She seems to have known every single one since 1951,” frowned Gaspar. “I don’t know how, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to know how. It all terrifies me.” Gaspar noted the grin on his brother Gabriel’s face, watching as he and his wife took their choice of room. He wondered if it wasn’t his father who had the connection to the pope, not his mother. In the end, it didn’t matter.
All set in their rooms, they were dressed appropriately to meet the head of the most powerful church in the world. Able to rent two large tourist vans, holding thirty people each, they loaded up and made their way from the outskirts of the city into the intense and chaotic Roman traffic.
“I hate driving here,” frowned Baptiste. “Maybe we should have hired drivers.”
“No,” said Nine. “We don’t want strangers in control of where we’re going.”
They drove past historic monuments, churches, and parks. Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, Piazza Navona, and then crossed the Tiber. As they approached the gates that they were directed to, the men all took note of the number of Swiss Guards in attendance. They might look like they were dressed for a parade, but they were no joke.
Trained as well as most country’s Special Forces, they protected Vatican City, all of its occupants, monuments, churches, and wealth.
“Hello,” said Baptiste. “We have an appointment to visit with the pope. My name is…”
“Mr. Robicheaux,” said the man very clearly. “And the vehicle behind you as well. If you’ll just hand the guards your passports, we’ll double-check all the names.”