The Milanese Stars

Chapter One

Vita laid out the glossy brioches and colorful macaroons at the Café Milano, located on Via Rosa street, in time for the swarming tourists of Milan. The summer months proved good for business in Italy, but more so in Milan, when the music festivals, exhibitions, and the seas beckoned people from all over the world. Their exploration of this historical city fueled by food and drink from her café meant more money in the till. Hearing it ring made her heart skip.

These days another kind of tourists swarmed the area—Polizia. Hundreds of them. Ever since the renowned Buccatino store had been pinched last week, the place teemed with them. Pinched was an understatement, since the

Carabinieri marched up and down the street too, flashing their badges and lights.

The door chimed. Vita looked up from the display counter and put a cup under the espresso machine. Alice, a good friend and one of her most loyal patrons, drew near to the counter. “They finally brought in the big guns, huh?”

Vita looked up at the Modern Art lecturer, here for her morning cuppa and croissant with jam. Alice bent to fetch a Euro from her strappy purse, her spectacles perched dangerously close to the edge of her nose.

“It must have been quite a loot,” Vita said, handing over the steaming cup and a paper towel to the pale-skinned woman. She’d bonded with Alice. A strange kinship existed between them, and Alice proved herself to be a bold, independent woman with a quiet grace to her. Aristocracy. Blue blood came to mind. But Alice never made her feel inferior.

“By my estimates, it’s somewhere about seventy million, give or take, but that’s a rough guess.” She hunched closer and continued in her posh London accent, “I did some digging. Apparently, after a heist, the value of the diamonds drops quite a bit. Whoever those twockers are, they got very lucky.”

Vita laughed, something she didn’t have the opportunity to do often. Alice loved to talk in riddles, and given what happened on the street, it seemed prudent to keep quiet. The Polizia could be crazy sometimes.

“There’s quite a crowd investigating it, though,” Alice said over her frothing brew. “Isn’t it unusual they called in the Carabinieri?”

Vita nodded, pouting her lips. “Everyone knows the Polizia can’t handle major crimes. A heist as big as this would bring in the professionals. The real ones, I mean.”

“Take care of yourself, Vita. Don’t worry. Give my love to your sister.”

With a wave and a wink, Alice left. Vita wiped the few drops of espresso from her counter, scrubbing over and over with her gloved hands until the wooden table shone. It probably was one of the reasons why her café was more popular in the area. Tourists loved the cleanliness and she’d been clinical about it. She didn’t touch a thing in the café without her gloves on. They were her safety net.

She thought about what Alice had said. Seventy million. Knocked down to ten million after the loss in value, it would still be a killing. She could do well with a fraction of that money. Buying the shop instead of renting, it didn’t seem like a distant dream with money like that. Her landlord rang up. “Vita, the current contract is up for renewal. The same twenty percent of the profit plus rent or do I need to look for new clients.”

“Give me another two days,” she told him. With taxes, Tecla’s hospital bills, and the rising expenses, it had become difficult to buy the best ingredients that went into making delicious macaroons and pies. Milan was not a cheap place to live. Prices and taxes had gone up, but customers willing to pay hadn’t, and that meant profits were shaved to a bare minimum. With a glut of cafés in the area, Vita had to offer the most delicious food for competitive prices.

She put on her apron when the door chimed again. Half expecting her regular customers, she stood stunned when she saw the tall man in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes walking toward the counter. There was something different about him. He had an air of confidence as if he was used to being in command. His black suit fit snugly across his broad shoulders. The scent of his cologne hit her hard, a combination of pine forest and mandarin. He belonged to a different set. His kind of crowd didn’t come to her café for their morning cuppa.

Vita said the first thing that came to her mind. “Bon Giorno.” She took in the etched cheekbones, the strong nose, and the cleft in his jaw. His hair was a dark chestnut brown, combed to the left, and his eyes were whirlpools of gray with flecks of black.

He smiled. “Good morning, Madam. Can I get a cappuccino?” he asked, bending down to observe the display. “You got lots of delicious things here but what’s the sweetest thing you have?” She noticed his eyes drift to her lips.

“It depends entirely on your taste,” she said, flashing her dimples at him. He was cute, she had to admit. He’d dressed in an exquisitely cut suit over a snowy white shirt and a thin blue satin tie. He was tall and lean. As he tapped his long fingers on the display, she couldn’t help noticing his engraved cufflinks. And he didn’t have a ring on his left hand. Christmas had come early. She boxed in her excitement. He stepped closer to the counter and his scent filtered to her; she could almost taste him. If she were a dog, she would have drooled all over him. But she was Vita. Goofy, silly Vita.

“How about the salted caramel macaron. I love sweet stuff.”

“Good choice,” she said, quickly regaining her senses, although her heart galloped with the mild flirtation. Heat suffused her. Did she just flirt back with him? Her? Maybe it was his cologne. Gosh, it drove her crazy. “Would you like to have it here or take away?”

“Takeaway, please. I’m in a bit of a rush.” His eyes glanced over her café.

His deep, timbered voice, caused goose pimples to flare all over her. She observed him from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t a tourist, but he wasn’t Italian. His twangy accent revealed he was an American, but he wasn’t sightseeing.

Fear seized her. Could he be with the police? They didn’t dress like him though. They couldn’t afford to, and if they could, they wouldn’t flaunt it in public. Curiosity got the better of her, but she went with her gut, and her gut told her to keep her mouth shut.

“There you go,” she said. His fingers brushed against hers as he handed her three euros. She held her gasp and made a receipt. She itched to ask him who he was and what he was doing here. A million questions raced through her mind, the most important one being, “Do you have a girlfriend or do you even like women?” She exercised restraint, biting her lip.

“That’s your receipt, and have a nice day, Sir.”

“I will. Thank you.” He paused. “Do you serve meals?”

“Yes, after eleven thirty, when the lunch hour crowd comes in.”

“I’ll be seeing more of you then,” he said and left. She watched him march out of the café onto the road. Women were turning their heads. Men nodded at him. Even old women smiled at him. She took two steps to the window and saw him walk to Buccatino’s—Don Giovanni’s diamond store. It sat diagonally opposite her café, across the junction. Warning bells clanged in her mind. So, the handsome hunk had something to do with the store. The less she saw of him, the better. Because if he was here to catch the thief, he didn’t have to look too far.