One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(2)

“No, Papà, just some idiot…”

A moment later, the Honda motorbike pulled up next to the pretty girl for a second time. This time, the boy reached out and grabbed the open windowsill with his left hand, revving the motor slightly with his right hand, just enough to keep from having to lean too hard on the moving car, though that shouldn’t have been a challenge for those sixteen-inch biceps.

The only one who seemed to be struggling with the situation was the father. “Hey, what’s that reckless fool up to? Why is he driving so close to the car?”

“Don’t worry, Papà. Let me take care of this—”

She swiveled decisively around to glare at the boy.

“Listen, don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Nope.”

“Well, find something.”

“I already have.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I want to take you for a spin. Come on, we’ll go for a fast ride on the Via Olimpica, open her up so you see what this bike can do, then I’ll take you somewhere nice for a quick breakfast and drop you off right in front of your school. I promise.”

“I doubt your promises are worth very much.”

“True, true.” He smiled. “So you see, you already know all about me. Admit it, you like what you see, don’t you?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“All right, that’s enough now.” She opened a book she’d just pulled out of her Gherardini bag. “I need to think about my one and only real problem.”

“Which is what?”

“My Latin test.”

“I thought it was sex.”

She turned toward him, shocked. This time, without a smile, not even of feigned courtesy.

“Get your hand off my window.”

“Why, where do you want me to put it?”

She pressed a button. “I can’t tell you, my father’s listening.”

The power window started to close. He waited until the last second and then, yanking his hand out of the narrowing gap and shooting her one last glance, pulled away from the car. “See you later.”

He didn’t stick around to hear her curt reply: “Oh, no you won’t.” He leaned slightly to the right and veered away. As he took the curve, he shifted gears and revved the bike’s engine, accelerating sharply until he’d vanished into the line of cars. The Mercedes continued straight ahead, with no one left to interfere as it carried the two sisters to their school day.

“Wait, you know who that guy is?” Her sister’s head suddenly popped forward between the two front seats. “They call him A-Plus.”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s nothing but a moron.”

Then she opened her Latin textbook and started reviewing the construction of the ablative absolute. Suddenly, though, she stopped reading and gazed out the window. Was this really her only problem? Certainly not the one that guy had said. And anyway, she’d never see him again. She went back to her textbook with renewed determination. The car turned left, on its way to Falconieri High School.

“That’s right, I have no problems, and I’m never going to see him again.”

Little did she realize how wrong she really was. About both things.





Chapter 2



Their motorcycles were powerful and so were their muscles. Step, Pollo, Lucone, Hook, the Sicilian, Bunny, Schello, and lots of others. All with unlikely names, and challenging histories. Statuesque and smiling, quick with a wisecrack, their rough hands bore a few extra marks, reminders of past brawls. Okay, so maybe some of them didn’t have much money in their pockets, but they knew how to have fun and they were friends. That was enough.

They were stopped there, in Piazza Jacini, most sitting on their Harleys, old 350 four-strokes with the original array of four exhaust pipes or with the classic four-in-one, which made a lot more noise. Motorcycles dreamed of, yearned after, and finally obtained from their parents after endless, relentless begging. Or else by making sacrifices out of their own pockets.

Step smiled. “I hear that there’s a party on the Via Cassia.”

“Where?” the Silician asked.

“Number 1130. It’s an apartment complex. Wanna go?”

“But will they let us in?”

Schello reassured them. “I know a girl who’ll be there.”

“Who’s that?”

“Francesca.”

“In that case, they won’t let us in,” the Silician said.

Everyone broke out laughing.

“Oh yeah? Wait and see. We’ll get in, and we’ll liven up the place!”

“Come on! That’s the spirit,” Schello shouted like a lunatic. “Let’s go!”

Everyone in the piazza exploded in tune with that shout, starting up their motorcycle and Vespa engines, honking horns, shouting.

The windows of the buildings all around the piazza started creaking open. A distant burglar alarm began to blare. Old women in their nightgowns shuffled out onto balconies, shouting in worried voices, “What’s going on?” A voice yelled for everyone to shut up. A woman who believed in law and order threatened to call the police.

As if by magic, all the motorcycles moved at once. Pollo, Lucone, and the others took running starts, leaping onto their seats as the mufflers spewed out white smoke. A few beer cans rattled and crashed as they rolled along, and the girls all went home.