Sinful Infatuation

Sinful Infatuation: Chapter 3

April 9

Nicoletti Estate

Long Island, NY

10:30 a.m.

She tried to keep in step with Matteo, but was constantly stopping and observing, silently admiring the expansive mansion---estate--- that she accidently found herself in.

“Where did you say you lived again?” She asked as they walked down cream carpeted stairs that led to a grand foyer with white plaster moldings and dark, walnut hardwood floors. Above her head were tray ceilings, from which an opulent crystal chandelier hung. Along the white paneled walls there were various paintings; every piece of abstract artwork differed from the other in style, color and technique. The effect should have been disagreeable, but the portraits were complimentary to each other, creating a harmonious, calming affect. And just briefly, Jourdain caught the scent of seawater. There was an ocean nearby.

Matteo barely spared her a glance over a broad shoulder. “Long Island, or rather, the Hamptons.”

She stopped short. “You live in the Hamptons?” She asked, her voice cracking slightly on the last word. Matteo, however, didn’t seem to notice as he continued walking, leading her down a short hallway and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a chef’s dream. The nautical blue and white theme carried through into this room as well, with the walls painted a deep navy blue, with white cabinets set against it. Stainless steel appliances shined brightly as it reflected the sunlight brought in by the voluminous bay window over the sink. A white marble backsplash and beige tiled floors tied in the look of the kitchen.

There were several workers in the kitchen. A chef was busy whisking something in a bowl on the island, and another was delicately aligning delicious meats on a silver platter. Upon the couples’ entry into the room, the workers briefly stopped their work, giving Matteo an acknowledging nod and her a curious glance.

Jourdain looked down at her rumpled uniform, suddenly uncomfortable. She subconsciously smoothed down the lumps and grooves of her hand-raked hair, cursing herself for throwing it into a haphazard bun.

“Gianni, glad you’re here. The Russians in Brooklyn, they’re going crazy over that shipment you--” Jourdain looked up at the guy approaching, coming into the kitchen through a doorway she hadn’t realized was there. As his brown eyes fell on her, he immediately stopped talking.

Jourdain glanced at Matteo---or “Gianni” as this man called him--- who was giving the anonymous man a hard glare, as if to say “shut up.” “Gianni?” she questioned.

“Just a name those of us call him. Buongiorno bella (good morning beautiful). I don’t believe you remember from last night, but I am Lorenzo,” Lorenzo introduced. Lorenzo gently grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, winking at her before turning back to a motionless Matteo. “We’ll talk later,” Lorenzo said, passing the two and walking towards the table in the eat-in kitchen. Matteo also walked to the table, indicating that she should follow. Jourdain noticed another guy sitting at the table, who was enjoying what looked like fruit parfait and reading the Wall Street Journal. He looked up as Matteo sat down. “Boss,” he acknowledged, handing Matteo the newspaper he had been reading, before returning to his food. “Sergio,” she heard Matteo mutter as he sat and began reading. Jourdain stood awkwardly, not knowing exactly where to sit on the 8-person table. As she reached to pull out a chair that was somewhat in the middle, she heard Matteo’s gruff voice say, “Here,” as he kicked out the chair to the left of him. She glared him, which he didn’t notice as he still continued to read his newspaper. Lorenzo smirked at her as she sat.