Luigi’s face was flushed an angry red.
“These mafiosi are becoming too brazen,” he fumed, as he prepared to eat his noonday meal in the cozy apartment behind the reception area of the bed and breakfast.
“Oriana, did I tell you about the ruffians who dared to threaten me. . . me, Luigi, owner of the finest B&B in Napoli, just this very morning?” he asked with a huff that ruffled his luxurious moustache.
“Sì, caro, it is dreadful. How frightening for you,” his wife responded soothingly, as she carried a steaming plate of pasta to the table using her apron to protect her fingers from the hot crockery.
“Pah! I was never frightened! They don’t scare me, these bullies. When they asked about our guests, our private guests . . . as if I would tell them anything. . . I looked them right in the eye and I said I had seen no one of that description. I sent them away with a flea in their ears, you can bet.”
“But you didn’t make them angry, Luigi mio? These can be dangerous men.”
A worried frown wrinkled Oriana’s usually serenely smooth brow.
With the back of her hand she brushed at a wisp of dark, graying hair the cooking steam had teased loose from the thick knot at the nape of her neck.
“I care nothing for their anger, Orianissima,” he retorted with a snap of his fingers.
“I will protect my home and my guests . . . I wouldn’t have told those thugs what they wanted to know, even if the people they sought had been right upstairs.”
“Ah, Luigi! You are so masterful. I am the luckiest of women. Now relax and enjoy the calamari, it is just the way you like it, extra crispy and with fresh lemon juice in the tomato sauce.”
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