Heading home

My bag, packed tight with all the documentation I had spent so much energy acquiring, made me a little nervous as it wasn’t safe while I was asleep. I lay flat on my back in the dark, my hand draped protectively over it. Every rustle of the fabric and paper seemed to echo in the quiet room. I knew that I wasn’t going to sleep well that night. My mind was spinning, a chaotic loop of strategies and worst-case scenarios. I knew, rationally, that I desperately needed the sleep. My body was exhausted, and I was going to need all of the energy I could gather for the next few days. In a few hours, I’d be heading back to Rome, step into the marble corridors of power, and face Parliament.

When the morning finally came, I sat up on the edge of my hospital bed, knowing I had to reach out to Rob, Vic, and—unfortunately—Thomas. I needed to let them know I’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow morning, but that I won't be stopping by to see them anytime soon.

Historically, Italy had a reputation for being fair and accommodating when diplomats decided to step away from government work. However, I wasn't sure how the government would react to me leaving them, especially with my Russian family connections. I hoped and prayed that it would work out.

At this point in time, I can no longer rely on Sera and Elena. I had unintentionally burned that bridge just by coming to their plastic surgery hospital, especially since some of the staff had seen us together.

That left me with only one person I could try to reach, though I had no idea if they would even help me. Things hadn't ended well between us before I headed to New Zealand. With no one else to turn to, I had to turn to Mike, but it would be in the morning. I knew my brother was still nearby, but I didn't want him involved in another governmental issue of me leaving government work.

I grabbed my phone to send a text to Rob, Vic and Thomas as a group.

“I’m leaving Naples in the morning and heading north. There are some things that I need to take care of. I won’t be seeing the three of you for a long time. Thomas, I expect you to keep Rob out of trouble and if you need anything, reach out to Bob. Vic, go home to your wife; we’re done. Rob, listen to my brother.”

After I hit ‘send’, I went through my contacts in my phone and blocked each of the three men I texted, cutting the ties until I could get out of Italy. With that finished, I slid my hand beneath the mattress of my hospital bed, searching until my fingers brushed against the sleek, cool surface of the smart phone Roberto had hidden there for me. I was grateful that it not only was a new phone but it was also an unlisted phone number. It only took a few minutes to transfer all of my contacts over to it. Once the new phone was fully up, I immediately sent my brother a text so he’d have it.

“Hey. This is the only number to reach me at now. I’ll be destroying the other phone when I’m on the road. Please don’t reach out yet as I’ve got some things to take care of. Rob, Vic and Thomas know to contact you until further notice.”

I put the phone down and tried again to get some sleep but it wasn’t going to come. I just stared at the ceiling for hours, watching the shadows shift as the night slowly wore away.

When I saw the sun rise, I knew it was time. I got up, showered, dressed in my favorite sun dress, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, applied deodorant and packed the rest of my stuff into my bag. I slung my bag that held my wallet and passports over my shoulder, then I grabbed the handle of my bag and started wheeling it to the front.

There was a brand new receptionist sitting behind the front desk. She looked up as I approached, her fingers hovering over her keyboard.

"Good morning," she said, pulling up my file. "Are you checking out?"

"Yes," I replied, keeping my voice level.

I had to go through the process of checking out, signing the final release forms, and verifying my details. Every signature felt like a milestone. By the time I was done, I walked out through the automatic doors. Sure enough, there was a car waiting out front for me. It was one last gift from Thomas for a long time—a quiet gesture of protection, or perhaps just his way of saying goodbye.

I walked up to it, opened the passenger door, and reached down. I found the keys under the floor mat in the front passenger seat. With the keys in hand, I loaded my bags into the back, hopped in, and started the engine. I set the GPS to the Parliament’s address. It was going to take a bit longer than the normal two hours due to the location of the building being in the center of the city but it was going to be worth the drive. I felt lighter after leaving government work.

As I drove, I mentally prepared myself and practiced what I was going to say. I thought of offering up my citizenship, my Italian passports or whatever else they wanted me to do – as long as it was within reason. When I got a little closer, I sped a bit as I was anxious. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, and my foot pressed heavier on the gas pedal. The heavy bag on the passenger seat next to me was a silent, looming presence. I kept repeating my arguments in my head, searching for the exact combination of words that would let me trade my work for freedom. As the historic Roman skyline began to break through the horizon, my heart hammered against my ribs. I was heading straight into the lion's den, and there was no turning back now.

I eventually made it and parked. Thankfully, there was a space right out front of the Parliament building. I grabbed my phone and my crossbody bag. When I exited the car, I locked it and headed inside. The amount of security I went through was indescribable, but I understood the reasoning. Once inside, I remembered that I hadn’t texted Mike. I knew that I was going to be ok without him as I headed to ask to speak to someone.

“Bongiorno, madam,” a friendly receptionist said when I arrived at the counter. “How can I help you?”

"Bongiorno, madam,” I said. “I’d like to speak with Ignazio La Russa or Lorenzo Fontana. Hopefully one or the other are available but I prefer both of them. Please let them know that Marie Alexdrovna Romanov is here.”

“Normally, they are unavailable to the public however, they both have been aware of you being in the country,” she said. “Have a seat and I’ll page them to the secure conference room.”

“No guards,” I said.

“Excuse me?” she asked. “What do you mean no guards?”

“I meant exactly that,” I said. “If I could travel all across the European Union – especially in Russia – without protection, they can walk into the lobby and back to their office without guards. No guards or I walk.”

“No guards it is then,” she sighed.

I found a seat in the corner of the lobby. I counted the security cameras and they were all pointed at me. Security teams were already there but once I demanded no guards on Ignazio and Lorenzo, more security came into the lobby. All eyes were on me and hands were on their service weapons. What was I going to do as I sat there waiting for all of eternity for both Ignazio and Lorenzo? I was just going to wait there. Since I have no patience whatsoever, I got up to tell the receptionist that “no guards meant no guards” , Ignazio and Lorenzo entered the lobby. Once Ignazio had eyes on me, I saw a vein in his neck pulsate.

“Clear the lobby of the guards and security,” he bellowed. “Clear it! NOW!!!”

The receptionist looked at him baffled.

“Clear the lobby of the guards and security,” he repeated. His and Lorenzo’s guards and security left the lobby. He then turned to the receptionist. “No guards means no guards. You are relieved of your job effectively immediately. Get your personal belongings, hand in your badges, keys and secure phone. All other items will be tossed in the dumpster at the end of the business day. The second you walk out of this building, your credentials will be deleted and if there is any sign of you trying to access anything relating to this building, you will be arrested on charges of espionage! You are permanently banned from entering the building and the property. If you walk, jog or drive nearby, you are to cross the road immediately. If not, you will be arrested on the spot. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she stammered before shutting down her computer. She ran to the back.

“Marie, thank you for asking for us,” Lorenzo said quietly as he came to shake my hand. “I do apologize for her assumption that you are a danger to us. It was risky for you to use your true identity when you walked in but it alerted both Ignazio and I that it’s important.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I appreciate that, sir, however, it’s imperative that I speak with the both of you. Is there a place where the three of us can speak privately? No guards, no listening devices, no cameras, no nothing – just the three of us.”

“Is this ok with you, Iggy?” Lorenzo asked. “I’m fine with it.”

“It’s fine with me,” Ignazio stated. “I trust Marie more than I trust my wife and I hide nothing from my wife…..unless it deals with matters dealt here at the Parliament.”

“Lead the way, gentlemen,” I said.

They lead me down the hallway that they came from. People that had previously down that hallway went into their offices or into the offices of others once Ignazio cleared the lobby. He was a wonderful gentleman but understandably strict. At the end of the hallway, we headed into a secured office that both Ignazio and Lorenzo used to recruit me nearly thirty years ago when I was a teen. We entered the room the room and I locked it behind us. The lock deactivates the recording devices. Once we all sat down and was situated, I began my piece.

“Iggy, Lorenzo, I need out of the business,” I began. “I’m in my forties and I can’t work on my business while working for different governments and their agencies. I’m sure that you’ve heard that I left working for the Russian Federation’s government and it was rough getting out. It became extremely difficult once they verified my DNA results of me being a distant relative of the Romanov family. I have been banned from the country for the next fifteen years though I have permanent diplomatic immunity, a permanent diplomatic passport and barely any governmental recognition of my heritage.”

“What would you like to happen, Mare-Mare?” Lorenzo asked using a nickname that he gave me while in university.

“I would like to put in a formal request to step down from working for the Italian government here and worldwide. I am happy to give up my Italian diplomatic passport and status as well as hand in any Italian passport that you want me to hand in.”

“That’s it?” Ignazio asked.

“That’s it. Well, I’ll hand over all documents that I have in my possession to you guys, all electronics connected to me working for the government to you guys and get debriefed.”

“Do you have everything you will give up?” Lorenzo asked.

I stood up and dumped my crossbody bag on the table. I grabbed the classified documents, listening devices, hand held devices, Italian diplomatic passport and my diplomatic dentification.

“It’s all here,” I said.

“We trust you,” Lorenzo said.

I pulled out my new phone that Roberto had left me at the hospital last night. I created an email sent to the both of them stating what was discussed, what I handed in and what I was giving up. Before continuing, I had an important question.

“Do I get to keep my citizenship and my two passports; Deppgrl Smith and Larissa Barlowe?” I asked. Both men nodded their heads in agreement.

I went back to the email to include that I was keeping my citizenship as well as my two passports. I proofread my email twice and then submitted it.

“As of last night, we knew that you were on your way and called a friend of yours,” Lorenzo said. “His name is Mike. He’s in Iggy’s office waiting for you. We read him in a little bit of your visit and the reason why he was called in. We were explicit in telling him that he isn’t allowed to discuss any of this with you or anyone else he knows.”

“Thank you for calling him in to pick me up,” I sighed. “I appreciate the heavy handedness in telling him that he isn’t allowed to discuss this with anyone – including me.”

Ignazio and Lorenzo nodded their heads. I stepped out of that secure room. Ignazio’s administrative assistant was just outside the door to escort me to Ignazio’s office to meet with Mike before we both left. It was a silent but brief walk to his office and I was grateful for the silence. I hadn’t seen Mike in about six months at this point. I wondered if he moved or still lives immediately next to me. Whatever the case may be, I had to leave Italy right away. The car and my hotel room had to be bugged at this point. I knew that the time that my foot stepped onto the pavement just outside of the Parliament building, the entire government would know that I was in the country and stepped down from doing work for it.

“Grand Duchess,” Mike kinda bowed his head in respect towards my title. “ow can I be of service to you?”

“You can call me Deppgrl since that’s how you’ve known me,” I chuckled. “Just because I’m distant royalty with no claim to a throne nor monarchy, I’m still just me.”

“I can easily call you Deppgrl,” he smiled awkwardly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you at one point, Mike, but unfortunately, I stopped,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said. “I hurt you badly when I moved in next to you. And yes, I moved a few streets away when you went to New Zealand. Thought it would be best.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know if you have a vehicle here or not but I do. We need to head back as soon as possible because the second I step out of the building, the entire Italian government will know that I quit working for them and gave my diplomatic status here. They’ll honor my Russian Federation diplomatic shit though.”

“I don’t have a car here. I was awoken at the ass crack of dawn, packed a back, took two flights to get here, slept at a hotel last night and was told to be here early.”

“I appreciate your coming here to travel back with me,” I said as I grabbed my crossbody bag off of Ignazio’s desk. “I have a car out front. Or should if it hadn’t been towed. Do you have your bag and passport?”

“Any time. And yes, I have my stuff with me including my passport,” he said. “Funnily enough, it was handed to me by the gate agent before I boarded the plane to get here.”

I smiled and knew that it could be only Lorenzo doing that.

“Alrighty. Let’s go,” I said as we headed out of the office.

I led the way through the winding hallways to the front. Thankfully, the car that was waiting for me at the hospital was still out front of the Parliament. I unlocked the car, got in and started the car while I impatiently waiting for Mike to get in.

“You might want to buckle up,” I suggested. “This car has about a bazillion horsepower.”

As soon I heard his seatbelt click, I put the car into gear and headed to the same airport I arrived at. It had to be a semi quiet exit and I knew that I had to leave using my Russian Federation diplomatic passport as that’s the one I used to enter Italy. I just hoped and prayed that no eyebrows would be raised when my true identity was shown.

Thanks to my heavy foot and the horsepower of the car, we arrived at the airport in fifteen minutes rather than the typical forty minutes. Mike was holding onto the door so hard that his knuckles were white. I parked in the corner and as we grabbed our things from the back seat, I heard someone call my name.

“Marie, give me the keys!” Marlon hollered.

“Here!” I said without looking.

I heard the keys hit his hand. Once Mike and I had our stuff, I hugged Marlon and nodded. He nodded back.

“Let’s go, Mike. We need to get out of the parking lot fast.”

“What’s going on?” he asked. "Those nods are making me thing that something not legal will happen."

“You don’t wanna know,” I said. “Marlon, thank you, friend. Text my brother when you’re done. I’ll be able to tell when we’re in the air.”

“Got it, boss,” he said.

I started jogging to the private sector of the airport with Mike not too far behind me. He was out of breath from the short jog. We arrived at a private jet that I knew that was waiting for us…thanks to Ignazio’s secretary. She slipped a piece of paper in my hand with the exact location of the plane when I opened Ignazio's office.

“Hi,” I said. “We were told that this plane would be taking people to Canada from here. Where do we check in at?”

“Go through the entrance by the orange signs, go to Customs to present your documentation and then head back here with your tickets,” the airport employee said. “Lift off is in twenty minutes. Better hurry up because the pilots of this plane wait for no one!”

I nodded my head and we headed inside to customs. As I pulled out my Russian Federation passport under my true identity, I prayed to as many deities that I could name in four minutes that no eyebrows or questions would be raised. Thankfully, nothing was of concern though there was a slight eyebrow raise. I had purple hair in my passport picture and now I have fire engine red hair. I looked at my phone as we were heading to the plane and I told Mike to step on it as we had two minutes to get back to the plane. We made it with seconds to spare.

“Hurry up!” said a flight attendant. “We’re on a tight schedule to Ontario!”

Mike and I ran up the stairs and found our seats.

“You look beautiful in the sun dress, by the way, Deppgrl,”  Mike said.

“Thanks,” I said. “And no, you’re not getting lucky.”

“Harsh!” he said.

“The truth,” I corrected.

“How’s everything been with you?” he asked.

“The plane isn’t the time nor the place for the conversation,” I said. “When we get back to Ontario and in my house, we’ll have that conversation.”

“Understood,” he said.

Italian Convalescence

I spent the next few days of the recovery of the surgery sleeping, eating, and taking the pain meds as needed. My entire existence shrunk to the four corners of my room, punctuated only by the soft tick of the wall clock and the quiet rustle of the curtains from the aircon.

Every time I woke up, Roberto was there with foods and pain medications. As a tsarist, he was overly protective of me.

"You need to eat something substantial today," he said on the second morning, carrying in a tray with a plate of scrambled eggs, thick-cut bacon, and a slice of buttered toast with two glasses of juice.

"I'm not really hungry," I muttered. "And my entire body still throbs if I move even an inch."

"The doctor said the medication works best when you have food in your stomach," Roberto replied gently, but with an underlying firmness that left no room for argument. "Eat first and then take the medication; it’s better for absorption. And yes, I know, you already know this."

As I slowly ate my breakfast, Roberto stood by the window, his eyes scanning the street below before he drew the sheers slightly closer. He was incredibly protective of me, watching over my recovery like a silent guardian.

"You don't have to stay here the whole time, Roberto," I said. "I know you have other things and patients to attend to. I'm super grateful for everything you're doing, but I don't want to be a burden."

He turned to look at me, his expression softening just a fraction. "You are not a burden. My family has survived generations of turmoil because we understand one fundamental truth: we don’t support democratic elections."

"Your family has always been like this?" I asked, wanting to understand the quiet gravity he carried.

"We are lifelong tsarists," Roberto said. "To my family, loyalty is not a preference; it is a sacred duty. We do not abandon our posts, and we do not leave those we care for to fend for themselves."

A warm sense of safety settled over me, stronger than any comfort the medication could offer. Knowing that his fierce devotion was entirely focused on keeping me safe made the long, quiet hours of recovery bearable.

By the fourth day after surgery, I woke up feeling a noticeable shift. The sharp, agonizing stabs of pain had subsided to a dull, manageable ache, and I was in far less pain than I had been since the operation. For the first time, I didn't feel the immediate urge to reach for the pill bottle.

I carefully swung my legs out of bed and stood up. The room didn't spin, and my entire body felt remarkably lighter.

"What are you doing?" Roberto’s voice sounded from the doorway. He was by my side in an instant, his arms around my waist just in case my balance gave out.

"I think I'm actually okay," I said, looking up at him with a genuine smile. "I wanted to see the damage."

I walked slowly over to the full mirror in the corner of the room to inspect my reflection. The angry, dark purple bruises that had dominated my eyes, breasts and stomach were rapidly disappearing, fading into faint, yellow-green shadows. Even the tight, uncomfortable swelling was also dissipating.

Roberto stood behind me, studying my face in the glass with a critical eye until his shoulders finally relaxed. "The color is returning to your face," he admitted, a note of relief creeping into his voice. "The swelling is almost completely gone."

"I think the worst of healing is behind me," I said.

“I agree, Marie,” Roberto said as he smiled. “Are you up for a shower? I know that those shower wipes can only do so much.”

“I’m so ready, friend,” I said with an even bigger smile. “Can I get my sheets switched out?”

“While you shower – there’s a seat in there, by the way – I’ll grab these sheets as well as your hospital gown and have someone come in with fresh sheets and a few clean hospital gowns,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll personally put these used sheets and gown in the incinerator.”

“Thanks, Roberto,” I said as I took the hospital gown off and threw it on the bed. “How can I repay you for taking care of me?”

“Any time,” he said. “There’s no need to repay me for taking care of you. It’s part of my job and I appreciate having patients like you.”

I switched my slippers to my flip flops and headed to the bathroom. I closed and locked the door behind me, grateful that late the one night Sera screwed with the security cameras so she could come to my room alone. I gave her all of my identifications and passports to hold onto for safe keeping until the night before I signed out. When she left my room that night and got back to her office, she fixed the security cameras. We were done with the hand off in less than two minutes so no staff member would be alerted to her coming to my room alone nor the fact the cameras were offline for a short window of time.

I turned the water on and put it as hot as I could handle it. Thomas, as wonderful as he is to me, dropped off my favorite shampoo, conditioner and soap at reception two days before unsure when I felt up to showering. He knew not to bring face wash for me as I think it’s overrated and use the same bar of soap that I use for my body for my face. I refused to see him due to how I looked – heavily bruised, swollen and unbearable because of the pain but he understood how I was feeling. Once in the water, I washed my hair three times and conditioned my hair twice. I lathered up my entire body with soap about a million times before I used the body wash that he bought me. I showered quickly but stayed in the water for over an hour.

When I was ready to get out, I was a little sad that the shower ended but knew that it’d help with my healing process. I grabbed a towel for my hair and one for my body. I was quick with the towel for my hair as I wrapped my hair up and super careful with the towel for my body as I didn’t want to bust any stitches open. I dried off, put on some deodorant, hung up my towels, brushed my hair and headed into the main area of my room. The bed was made and there were several hospital gowns on the fresh bedding. I threw on a gown and stored the rest on the dresser. I switched the wet flip flops to my slippers then brought the slippers to the bathroom to dry upside down in there.

I grabbed the book authored by Allison Weir, got situated the best I could on the bed and started reading. As always, Ms. Weir's books are excellent—her books are a mix of fiction and non-fiction, historical, and causes the reader to be engrossed by what is written.

I was completely absorbed, with just a few pages left of the book, when the door to my room slowly clicked open.

Thomas stepped inside, freezing the instant his eyes met mine. He knew that I'd be pissed that he was seeing me like this, and the way he carried himself proved it.

"I know, I know," Thomas said quickly, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture before I could say a word. "I shouldn't be here. You told me not to come, but I was going crazy not seeing you."

"Thomas," I sighed, letting the book drop slightly against my lap. "What did we agree on?"

"We agree that I would wait until you arrived back to your apartment," he said, taking a tentative step closer to the bed, his eyes scanning my face with a mixture of concern and relief. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Thomas, you know what this means,” I said. “Due to your failure to respect my boundaries, not only do I have to kick you out of my hospital room, I have to kick you out of my life for the time being.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “You know who and how I was from the get go when we were children. Since you failed to respect my boundaries, this is how it needs to be. Please leave.”

Thomas stared at me, his jaw tightening as the absolute finality of my words sank in. For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue, to plead our years of history, but the cold look on my face stopped him. He reached down to the bed, snatched his keys with a sharp, metallic rattle, and turned on his heel. He walked out, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him.

The sound of his exit echoed off the walls, leaving the room ringing in a sudden, heavy silence. I let out a slow, shaky breath and reached for the bedside telephone receiver.

I dialed zero for the front desk.

"Reception, how can I help you?" a polite, professional voice answered on the second ring.

"This is DeppGrl Smith in room 412," I said, my voice steady. "I’m not accepting any outside visitors, effective immediately. None at all."

"No visitors at all, Ms. Smith?" the receptionist confirmed, the faint clicking of computer keys starting up in the background. "Does that include family and friends?"

"I said no outside visitors…..that includes family and friends," I replied flatly. "No exceptions. If anyone asks for me or tries to come up to my room, they are to be turned away immediately."

"I've updated your chart and flagged it for security," she said. "No one else will be let up."

"Thank you," I said, and hung up the phone.

A few minutes later, the door opened quietly again. Roberto came back up to my room to see how I was after kicking Thomas out.

"I saw Thomas heading for the elevators and he looked livid," Roberto said, studying my expression. "Are you doing alright?"

"I'm fine," I told him, leaning back against my pillows. "It sucks when people don't respect boundaries. I kicked Thomas out of my room and from my life for the time being. If anyone calls or comes in to ask if they can visit me, first deny that I’m here and then say that they can’t visit anyone who’s a patient here. And yes, security has been notified that I’m not seeing anyone.”

Roberto nodded as he was clicking away on his computer. I knew he was writing a scathing email to the receptionist who let Thomas in and that I didn’t list anyone as approved visitors. While he was finishing up the email, I finished the book. A few minutes later, Roberto and I looked at each other and asked each other: “All finished?”

“Are you ready to join the other patients in the dining hall?” he asked.

“Sure,” I sighed. “I’m going to wear a robe or a sweatshirt over this gown…I don’t want everyone to see my sexy fat ass.”

“Wear whatever you want to wear as long as you’re comfortable,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with your ass.”

I grabbed a sweatshirt and Roberto helped me as putting any kind of clothing hurt especially my now lifted breasts. I groaned.

“When are these stitches going to be removed?” I asked.

“I’ll send a message to the doctors once you’re in the dining hall and ask them,” he said. “Hopefully I receive an answer soon and maybe we’ll get the stitches removed tonight.”

I nodded, grabbed the book and we headed to the dining hall. Both Roberto and I knew that I could handle the walk but as a safety precaution, he walked with me. Once in the dining hall, I deposited the book on the bookshelf and grabbed another book before sitting down in the corner.

The same dining hall employee that took care of me the first night that I was here, took care of me again.

They walked over to my table with a friendly smile.

"Good to see you! How is your recovery? What can I get you to eat and drink?"

"I want tons of water to drink, some kind of pasta of your choice, a salad, and some chicken," I said.

The employee smiled warmly and nodded. "You got it. I'll head back and figure something out in the kitchen for you."

As I was waiting, I decided to check the bookshelves again to find another book. It took me some time as I had many of these books at my different apartments and the ones that I didn't have, I've already read thanks to library loans. I stood up and walked over to the wooden shelves, trailing my fingers along the spines of the well-worn novels. My eyes scanned the titles, looking for anything that could hold my interest, but finding a new story was always a challenge when I kept such a massive rotation of reading material scattered across my places. I let out a soft sigh, pulling out a couple of paperbacks to inspect their back covers, determined to find a book that could distract me while my food was being prepared.

Since none of the books caught my attention, I decided to sit down at the table that I sat at the other night. Moments later, the dining hall employee headed in my direction with a tray of food.

“Sorry for the delay, Ms. Smith,” they said. “The chefs and cooks were trying to get a bit creative for you. They made a chicken pasta primavera and a house salad with grilled chicken. I’ll bring water over to you momentarily.”

“Thanks so much, friend,” I said. “Wow. These are humongous portions! Don’t worry – I’ll eat it all. I’m so hungry. No rush on the water.”

The employee smiled, nodded and left with the tray. I dug into my food and boy, was it incredible. I could swear that my brother, Bob, had a hand in making the chicken pasta primavera. When the employee came out with an empty water glass and a pitcher of water, I had to ask them if my brother was in the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry to ask this and trust me, I get respecting the privacy of staff but I’m curious about something,” I began. “Is there a super attractive chef named Bob back there? He’s about six feet tall, blond, blue eyes and extremely loud and obnoxious?”

“I take it you used to work in restaurants before,” they said. “How did you know Bob was here? Do you personally know Bob?”

“I did, many years ago,” I said. “Bob is my friend. Please feel free to let him know that his favorite sister is ready to yell at him.”

“I certainly will,” the employee said as they laughed then headed back into the kitchen.

I enjoyed the rest of my meal and texted Sera.

Why is Bob working in the kitchen at this hospital? Did you tell him that I was safe? I sent to my former lover turned protector.

My phone buzzed with her reply just a few seconds later.

He doesn't know you're in my hospital and yes, I told him you were safe. I had to let him know something so he wouldn't drive himself crazy worrying. You know your brother – over protective of you. Sera sent.

Before I could even respond, Bob came running out of the kitchen to hug me. He grabbed me in his arms and lifted me out of my seat. The second I groaned in pain, my brother loosened his grip on me and let me go, gently putting me back on my chair.

“Another slight upgrade, Duchess?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, I had to,” I said. “I came in hot looking for Rob. The wrong people heard and some friends suggested I go into hiding right in the public.”

“I understand,” Bob said. “Who’s keeping an eye on Rob?”

“Vic.”

“And who’s keeping an eye on Vic?”

“Thomas.”

“Oh for fucks sake! That horny bastard??”

“Yes, that horny bastard,” I said with a giggle. “You should be more worried about Vic and I being in the same country as he’s hornier than Thomas.”

“You’ve fucked them both?”

“Both separately and at the same time.”

“Who haven’t you fucked here in Italy?”

“The pope. He took a vow of chastity. I’m not sure if he’s keeping the vow or not, but he’s the pope,” I said. “Not that he’d look in my direction or not as I’m far from looking like Heidi Klum!”

“Dude, really?” Bob said. “You’re my kid sister and always will be. I don’t want to hear about your sexcapades, ok?”

“I hear you,” I said.

“Look, I have to go back to the kitchen or my cover will be blown,” he sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “No one but you and Sera know that I’m here. I also don’t want anyone to know that we’re related.”

I nodded my head and let him go. I finished eating my meal and headed back to the room. Sofia, the hairdresser, was just outside of my room.

“Larissa, it’s so good to see you on your feet,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Thanks, Sofia. I’m feeling more human today,” I said. “I ate and I showered today.”

“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I was wondering if you have the energy to swing by the salon with me so we can get a better look at your hair under the lights in there. We’ll go by the windows as well, if you’d like.”

“I definitely have the energy for us to check out my hair,” I said. “Andiamo!”

It didn’t take us long to get to the salon from my room. I sat in a chair near the windows as it could help Sofia check out my hair.

“Hmmmmm. Between the lights in here and some natural light, it kind of looks like you’re a bit orange rather than red,”  she said. “I kind of expected this as we went from a faded black to blonde to attempt red. Mind if we step outside so I can get a better look?”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I am getting a little weak on my feet though.”

“We’ll be quick and there’s hand railings out there,” she said. “Plus, I was a nurse in my former life.”

I nodded and we headed outside. The sun and the warm air felt great on my skin. Sofia let me soak up some much needed rays before she checked my hair again.

“We’re still orange but a little bit leaning towards red,” she said. “Are you up for going red right now or do you want to rest before we try again?”

“I’m good to go,” I said. “I plan on checking out midmorning tomorrow. So, if we can’t get this now, we have until tomorrow morning.”

Sofia worked her magic with the dye in the back before coming back out to work on my hair. As she set her supplies down, she heaved a massive sigh.

“What’s up, friend?” I asked.

“I got a little carried away,” she sighed again. “I didn’t do the math right so if the dye is applied, you’ll get the attention that you don’t want to have.”

“Let me guess, I’ll basically have bright red hair and it’ll only look partially real?”

“You got it.”

“I’m ok with it,” I said. “I asked for a completely different look with my hair and you’re doing it.”

“You got it, Larissa!” she said with a smile.

I sat in her seat and let her do her thing. It didn’t take her long to apply the dye to my hair and put my hair in foils. After setting for a long time, Sofia removed the foils and took me to the sink to wash my hair. She used a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner to add a little moisture to my hair.

“Alright, my dear,” Sofia said as she turned the chair to face the mirror. “What do you think?”

“I love it!” I said genuinely. “I always wanted fire engine red hair and now I have it. Thanks, Sofia!”

I got out of her chair and gave her a big hug. I knew that I needed to text Sera when I got back to my room to ask meets beg her to give Sofia a raise.

“I’m so glad that you love it, Larissa!” she beamed. “For upkeep of your hair, use sulfate free shampoo and conditioners, no hot water for washing and conditioning your hair and find a conditioner that deposits some red coloring into your hair. It’ll help maintain your hair until your next salon appointment…whether it’s here or elsewhere.”

“I appreciate you and your work, Sofia,” I said. “Thank you again for an amazing job.”

“You’re very welcome!” she said as I headed to my room. Moments later, I sent Sera a text.

Your main stylist, Sofia, is amazing and gave me a fresh look. She did more than I could ever ask anyone to do to change my hair. Honestly, she deserves a raise for doing miracles with my hair. On a different note, I am leaving tomorrow morning and need all of my passports and documentation. You can trust Roberto with them as he and his family are tsarists – he knows that I’m Marie Alexandrovna Romanove, rather than Larissa Barlowe. Rather than risking us blowing our covers, Roberto can do the hand off. I sent Sera

I have often been complimented on Sofia’s professionalism and talent. I guarantee that she’ll receive a raise. Yes, I know Roberto and his family well. I’ll provide him your documentation before rounds tonight so that it’s one less thing for you to worry about when it’s time for you to leave. She sent.

I mean it, Sera. I want everything….none of my possessions remain in your hands. As soon as I’m ready, I need to go to the Italian government and tell them that my professional services for them and with them are terminated on my terms. I sent.

Heard loud and clear. He’ll be there shortly with everything.  She sent.

I put my phone down and started packing my clothes. Once I showered and dressed in the morning, I’d be out the door so fast. Moments later, Roberto knocked on my door before entering.

“Miss Larissa, I have some paperwork that the owner felt that you needed,” Roberto said loudly. I knew someone was nearby. “She said that she’d make sure your paperwork would be ready for you first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you, Roberto. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me the last few days,” I said. “You’ve been amazing and my healing wouldn’t have progressed as well as it has had you not been involved with it.”

Roberto nodded and handed me my passports, documentations and other forms of identification. I gave him a quick smile before he left. I secured everything that he had handed me in my bag.

Time for recovery

Hours later, I woke up groggy and in pain. My body felt like a lead weight anchored to the mattress, and every ragged breath I drew sent a sharp, protest-filled spike of agony through my ribs. The room was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic, taunting beep of the vitals monitor.

When I was able to fully open my eyes, the nurse, Roberto, who knew me as my real identity, was walking into my room. He was the one person here who saw past the meticulously curated alias on my medical chart. He moved with a heavy, deliberate pace.

He caught me staring and stopped at the foot of the bed, his expression was unreadable. He didn't offer a rehearsed, clinical smile. Instead, he simply tapped his pen against the clipboard, his eyes searching mine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice dropping into a low, grounded tone. "How are you holding up?"

I shifted, the sheets scratching against my skin like sandpaper, and I hissed as the movement ignited a fresh flare of white-hot intensity in my chest. I let out a jagged breath, the air burning my throat.

"I'm exhausted, Roberto," I rasped, the words feeling heavy and thick on my tongue. "And the pain is overwhelming right now. It feels like it’s trying to dismantle me from the inside out."

Roberto stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He didn't rush to adjust the drip or check my vitals. He just stood there, holding space for me to find my rhythm.

"That's to be expected, considering what your body just endured," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely rose above the hum of the monitors. "You healing from the physical trauma of multiple surgeries all at once. It’s a big ting"

I looked up at him, searching for a trace of reassurance in his eyes—some confirmation that I wasn't just a broken machine in a sterile room. "Does it ever stop? This pain?"

"It gets better after a few days," Roberto countered, his gaze firm. "You've been through hell, and your body is still reacting to it. Focus on the breathing, not the exhaustion. You’re in a safe place and we’re going to do our best to bring the pain down significantly. We’re also going to make sure you’re as pain free as possible when you leave us in a week.”

"The less pain I'm in, the better," I told him.

Roberto nodded and immediately paged the doctor to come to my room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Aris and Dr. Welsh—the main surgeons—entered the room alongside Sera. Both Roberto and Sera knew that the other knew I was Marie Alexandrovna Romanov, but no one else on the hospital staff knew my real identity. It was a silent, heavily guarded secret between the three of us in the room.

The doctors and I discussed my current pain levels.

"We're sending an order to the pharmacy for Toradol," Dr. Aris explained. "It's a prescription-strength NSAID... like Advil, but stronger."

"We're also sending in Tylenol #3 with Codeine," Dr. Welsh added. "You'll start out alternating between the two. But if the pain isn't managed with that plan, you'll take both at the same time."

"I agree," I said, immediately accepting their plan. "Let's do that."

Once the medical plan was set, Sera stepped forward. "I apologize for interrupting your conversation," she said to me, her voice sincere. "But I wanted to thank you for bringing it to my attention yesterday that my head receptionist slash manager didn't do their job to their full capacity. I understand that you're bringing in a lawsuit."

I looked directly at her. "The lawsuit is against the receptionist, not your hospital."

Sera nodded and then left.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Dr. Aris asked.

"No," I replied.

"Alright, we'll let you get some rest," Dr. Welsh said, and both doctors excused themselves from the room.

Roberto turned back to me. "I'll go get something for you to eat so you can take the Toradol," he said. "Then I'll head to the pharmacy to pick up both medications and come by the room."

"Thank you," I said.

I rolled onto my side and fell asleep.

Surgery day

The operating room was a cavern of blinding, stark white LED lights and polished steel. Every surface gleamed with an unforgiving, sterile brightness that made my eyes ache. I met the medical team taking care of me as they circled the table like a well-oiled machine.

“Dr. Aris, do we have everything prepared?” the lead surgeon asked.

“Ready to go, Doc,” a voice replied from the periphery.

I was impressed with the amount of staff there—a dedicated team of surgeons with their specific specialties in plastic surgery as well as their teams of nurses. Their movements were calibrated to the precision needed for the delicate reconstruction ahead. Each person moved with a synchronized, practiced efficiency that felt both reassuring and intimidating. It was a lot of eyes on one person.

“Check the monitors one last time,” a voice said.

“Everything’s ready,” another replied, his voice muffled from the surgical mask.

“Alright, let’s get Larissa on the OR bed,” the surgeon said, glancing at my chart.

I was assisted with getting on the operating table safely by one of the nurses. His hands were steady and firm against my shoulder as he helped me navigate the narrow, cold bed. He didn't speak initially, just focused on ensuring my alignment was comfortable.

As he leaned in close, his movements slowed. He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto mine, his voice dropping below the steady, rhythmic drone of the ventilator.

He whispered: “I know who you are, Marie. I'll make sure that the staff are extremely careful - more so than usual.”

The words hit me like a physical tether in the room. I felt relieved that there was someone here that knew who exactly I was. A heavy weight seemed to lift from my chest, replaced by a fragile, grounding sense of security.

I nodded my head ever so slightly to acknowledge what the nurse said, keeping my gaze locked on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary before looking back at the ceiling. Someone put a mask over my face in order to provide the anesthesia to me. I breathed in deeply a few times and everything around me faded out.

As I slipped into unconsciousness, the cold darkness didn't claim me. Instead, I drifted into a dream—a sudden, vivid contrast to the usual empty void of anesthesia.

The sterile, white glare of the operating room dissolved, replaced by a soft, warm amber glow. Out of the quiet haze, C appeared. He looked exactly as I remembered, standing just close enough for me to feel a phantom warmth radiating from him.

"I missed you," he said, his voice soft but incredibly clear, cutting through the lingering hum of the ventilator in my mind. He reached out a hand, his fingers stopping just short of my cheek. "I've been waiting to hear from  you."

"C..." I whispered.

He offered a small, reassuring smile. "Just rest now, Deppgrl. I'm right here. I always will be."

“I’ve missed you too,” I said. “Go back to your girlfriend. No need for her to find out you were here with me wherever we are.”

“Reach out when it’s safe,” he said. “She’ll never know I was here with you in your dream. I’ll always protect you.”

I woke up what felt like a few minutes later and felt a bit confused of where I was. I realized in the anesthesia fog that I was at the plastic surgery hospital that Sera owns and that I had a brow and eye lift, tummy tuck and a breast lift. Once I was off the ventilator – thanks, asthma! – I was carefully transferred to a wheelchair. The nurse who knows my true identity wheeled me to my room and helped me to my bed.

“You need to rest but I need to give you a few instructions, ok?” he said. “There’s no stomach sleeping for at least a month. It’ll cause pain and possible damage to the eye and brow lift as well as the tummy tuck and breast lift. You’ll need to sleep on your back for a few weeks with extra pillows under you to help with the swelling, bruising and any drainage if you have any.”

“Ok,” I mumbled. “Can I sleep now?”

“Of course,” he said. “We will check in on you and your pain levels for the next three to four days. Each patient responds to the surgeries you had differently.”

“M’kay,” I mumbled and fell asleep.

The Italian redo - a few tweaks to my appearance

The host led me through the bustling dining hall, weaving past the crowded center where groups chatted and laughed. Instead of stopping there, I was brought to a quiet table tucked away in the far corner, comfortably isolated from all of the other tables in the hall. It felt like a small, private sanctuary, which was exactly what I needed. I sank into the chair, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as the ambient noise of the room faded into the background.

Minutes later, a server approached, carrying a tray. With a warm smile, they placed a tall glass of ice water and a glass of vibrant juice on the table.

"Here is some water and juice to start you off," the friendly dining hall employee said, pulling a small notepad from their apron. "What can I get started for you tonight? What do you feel like having to eat?"

I didn't even have to look at a menu. My body already knew exactly what it was craving.

"Honestly," I said, looking up at them, "I want carbs and nothing but carbs tonight."

The employee chuckled softly, pen poised. "Any particular kind of carbs?"

"Whatever you have in the kitchen," I explained. "It could be a pizza with mushrooms, or a pasta dish with a rich, mushroomy sauce, or really just whatever it is that has carbs and mushrooms. As long as it fits that description, I will be incredibly happy."

The employee scribbled down the request with a nod of understanding. "Carbs and mushrooms. We can definitely make that happen for you. I'll get this right to the kitchen."

"Thank you so much," I said, genuinely thanking the employee as they headed back toward the kitchen doors.

With a bit of time to kill before the food arrived, I stood up and walked over to the mini library standing just a few feet from my table to take a look at the books on the shelves. It was a charming little wooden bookcase, stocked with an eclectic mix of paperbacks and hardcovers. I slowly scanned the spines, letting my fingers trail over the covers.

I scanned the top row, then the second, but I didn't find anything that I'd like. I kept searching, feeling a bit discouraged as I skipped over old textbooks and worn-out thrillers, until my hands finally reached the very last shelf at the bottom.

My eyes lit up. Nestled near the end of the shelf was a book by my absolute favorite author—Allison Weir.

"No way," I muttered to myself.

Excited, I pulled the book out and thumbed through the books next to it, realizing there were a couple of her historical novels here. But this specific book in my hand caught my attention immediately. I flipped it over, reading the jacket, and realized with a surge of delight that it was the one book of hers that I hadn't read before. Clutching my literary treasure tightly, I walked back to my corner sanctuary.

By the time I sat back down, my dinner was already there waiting for me. The kitchen had clearly understood the assignment. In the center of the table sat a very large plate of linguini drenched in a rich, creamy mushroom sauce, cooked with a touch of white wine, and accompanied by a thick slice of hearty Italian bread. The steam rose in fragrant curls, carrying the earthy scent of wild mushrooms and savory cream. The food not only smelled and looked delicious, but as I took my first bite, I realized it was far better than what I had ever expected. The pasta was perfectly al dente, and the sauce was incredibly velvety.

I settled into a comfortable rhythm, opening the book and reading as I ate, completely losing myself in the historical world of Allison Weir while enjoying my perfect comfort food.

When I finished the pasta, the empty bowl was promptly removed from the table by the attentive server. Almost immediately after, the second part of my feast arrived: a small, perfectly baked thin-crust pizza. I stared down at it in awe. It was beautiful, boasting a rich layer of red sauce, topped generously with a mix of both savory grilled mushrooms and tender sauteed mushrooms, and finished with a delicate, fragrant dusting of Pecorino Romano cheese.

Without waiting another second, I eagerly pulled a slice away and greedily and hungrily ate the pizza. It was absolutely amazing. As I savored each bite of the perfectly crisp crust and the rich, earthy flavors, I couldn't figure out which dish was actually better—the creamy pasta or this wonderful pizza. I went back and forth, weighing the comforting warmth of the linguini against the savory perfection of the thin crust, before finally deciding that they were simply equally delicious, but in completely different ways.

As I finished the last bite and set down my napkin, the friendly dining hall employee returned to clear my table of the empty dishes. I held the new Allison Weir book close, not quite ready to stop reading.

"Excuse me," I asked him as he stacked the plates, "am I able to bring this book back to the room with me?"

He smiled warmly and gave a quick, supportive nod. "Oh, yes, you can definitely bring that book back with you. Enjoy the rest of it!"

"Thank you," I smiled, feeling a deep wave of contentment as I prepared to head back with my new treasure.

With the book tucked securely under my arm, I headed back to my room, feeling completely full and with a thoroughly satiated appetite. As I walked, I couldn't help but feel glad that I had eaten as much as I did. I knew the strict rules ahead: once midnight struck, I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything else, nor could I drink anything more than a single, tiny sip of water if absolutely needed—pretty much only if I had to take any of my prescribed medications.

When I finally reached my room and opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised to see Thomas sitting on the couch, very much involved in a book of his own. I stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind me so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

Without even looking up from his page, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Thomas's lips. "You know, no matter how quiet you try to be, I always know the exact moment you enter a room."

I paused by the door, amused. "And how is that?"

He closed his book, keeping his finger slipped between the pages to mark his place, and looked up at me. "Your signature perfume. It's a dead giveaway every single time."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of comfort at how well he knew me and taking pride in the reminder that I had this perfume custom-created just for me. I walked further into the room and gestured toward him. "What are you doing in here?"

Thomas's smile softened, shifting into an expression that was far more earnest and quiet. He sighed gently, looking down at his book for a brief second before locking his eyes with mine.

"I was just sitting here thinking," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincere regret. "I really regret not being there for you in the past with your previous make overs."

I looked at him, wanting to ease his mind, but shook my head gently. "Thomas, there isn't anything for you to regret. I didn't expect you to be here physically for me while I get plastic surgery. You're my friend, and you're my attorney here in Italy."

Thomas didn't say anything at first. He slowly closed his book, set it down on the couch, and stood up. He walked over to me, closing the distance between us. Before he could lean down to kiss me, I held up a hand, gently placing it against his chest to hold him back.

"We shouldn't," I told him, looking away slightly. "And we shouldn't have had sex earlier... Thomas, you have a wife."

He stopped, looking down at me, and corrected me softly. "I had a wife. She divorced me a year ago due to my cheating."

I stared at him, completely shocked by the revelation. But as he stepped closer and leaned down again, the sudden surprise melted into the background, and I let him kiss me. The kiss was deep and familiar, but after a long moment, the weight of everything caught up to me again. I gently pulled away from him, needing to put some space between us. I looked at him, trying to find the words.

"Thomas, I can't do this... I can't let you fall in love with me."

His brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine. "Why? Why can't you let me fall in love with you?"

I let out a quiet, heavy breath, speaking from a place of deep, raw honesty. "Because I'm far too damaged for a serious relationship. I can't give you what you want, Thomas. I can't give you a marriage. And..." I paused, looking down before meeting his gaze again, "...there is my refusal to convert to Catholicism. It just wouldn't work."

Thomas looked at me, his gaze softening, and a quiet, reassuring smile touched his lips. He slowly shook his head.

"I don't want another marriage, and I don't want kids," Thomas said softly, taking a step closer to close the distance between us. "Plus, I've been kicked out of the Catholic Church due to my divorce. I've converted to Pentecostalism." He locked his eyes with mine.

It’s the same Christian faith that I’m currently practicing.

Thomas didn't tell me that I was damaged. Instead, he looked at me gently, shaking his head.

"Don't call yourself damaged," he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth. "Please don't ever think of yourself that way. You've just had terrible luck with men—both good and bad."

I looked down, feeling a familiar, heavy ache in my chest. "It feels like more than just bad luck, Thomas. Sometimes it feels like I carry too much history to start over."

"We all carry history," he countered gently. He reached up, his hand gently finding my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with immense tenderness. "But carrying a heavy load doesn't mean you're broken. It just means you've been strong for too long."

He stepped closer and kissed me again, his lips warm, sweet, and comforting. As he slowly pulled back, his eyes searched mine earnestly. "Can I just love you, and not want anything more than that and our friendship?"

I nodded my head, letting the comfort of his words settle over me, and felt the lingering tension finally leave my shoulders.

"In that case," I said softly, making a quiet decision as I thought of the long day ahead tomorrow, "would you spend tonight with me at the hospital? I'd really love it if you were there."

Thomas didn't hesitate for a second, his expression softening instantly. "Of course I will."

"But once I'm under anesthesia, I want you to leave," I explained gently, looking directly into his eyes so he would understand how important this was to me. "I really appreciate you, Thomas. I appreciate your presence and your honesty more than you know. But I don't want you to see me after I come out of surgery—swollen and bruised. I need that privacy."

Thomas smiled tenderly, a look of profound respect and understanding in his eyes as he gave a quiet, supportive nod.

"If that's what makes you most comfortable, then absolutely," he said softly, squeezing my hands in reassurance. "But you know that wouldn't change anything for me, right? I only care about you being safe and healing."

"I know," I replied, feeling a quiet sense of relief wash over me. "But it's important to me. I just need that privacy while I recover."

"I can do that," Thomas promised, his voice hushed and comforting. "I'll stay with you right up until they put you to sleep, and then I'll leave so you can rest. I'll respect your wishes completely."

I smiled and let my friend who was in love with me kiss me once more. The kiss was warm and lingering, a sweet anchor before the storm of tomorrow. A few minutes later, he gently pulled away, looking at me with a soft, protective gaze.

"Ready for bed?" he asked, his voice low. "I know that you’ll be unconscious during surgery, but I want you well rested."

"Not really, but I do need the sleep," I admitted with a quiet sigh, looking toward the large, inviting bed. I paused for a moment before offering, "Mind sharing the bed with me? I can’t let you sleep on the floor, nor can I have you sleep on the uncomfortable furniture."

A playful spark returned to Thomas's eyes, breaking the heavy emotional air. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you at all. Though, I bet you still sleep naked."

I laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. "I still sleep naked. It definitely helps when the other person in the bed runs at a million degrees!"

Thomas laughed along with me as we both began to strip. The familiar, easy rhythm of our bond took over, pushing away the awkwardness. I threw my clothes into a pile out of the way, while Thomas neatly set his clothes next to his bag.

Together, we hopped into the super comfortable bed, sinking deep into the high-thread-count bedding. The sheets felt cool and luxurious against my bare skin. As I curled up on my side of the bed, facing away from him, Thomas slid in close behind me. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me back against his chest to be the big spoon.

As he pulled the flat sheet and light blanket up to cover us both, I immediately felt his dick harden against my backside.

Thomas let out a soft, embarrassed sigh, his breath warm against my neck. "I'm sorry, Marie," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently against the back of my shoulder. "My dick has a mind of its own."

I turned slightly in his embrace, looking over my shoulder to meet his eyes in the shadows of the bedroom. A soft, knowing smile touched my lips, and all the lingering hesitations from earlier completely vanished.

"I really don't mind, Thomas," I murmured softly.

Any remaining apologies died instantly. The air in the room grew heavy and electric. He pulled me closer, his strong arms wrapping to hold me as he lifted my leg, easily guiding us into a deep, intense embrace. When he pushed himself inside of me, a breathless moan of pure pleasure escaped my lips.

"Harder," I whispered against the quiet of the room.

With his incredible strength, Thomas rolled us over without breaking our connection, settling me onto my stomach. The sensation was overwhelming.

"Marie," Thomas groaned, his voice rough and low against my ear as he set a powerful, driving rhythm. "You are absolutely incredible."

"Thomas... don't stop," I gasped out, completely lost in the sheer scale and warmth of his presence.

I clung to the pillows, looking back over my shoulder at him. "Your thirteen inch dick feels so great inside of me."

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath brushing my skin as his movements grew more urgent. "You feel amazing, Marie.”

"Don't stop, please," I gasped out, the pleasure so deep and consuming that it swept everything else away. "Oh god, Thomas..."

"I'm right here," he whispered breathlessly, tightening his hold on me.

I found myself cumming again and again, clinging to the sheets as the overwhelming waves of sensation washed over me.

He met my surrender with a sudden surge of intensity, his thrusts growing harder and more urgent. Within moments, a low, deep groan escaped his throat as he finally gave in and released a large load of his thick hot cum deep inside of me.

"I've got you," he whispered breathlessly, holding me tightly against the mattress as it took several minutes of quiet, shuddering breaths for him to completely unwind. Even as he slowly pulled away, the intensity of the moment lingered between us, leaving us completely spent, thoroughly satisfied, and deeply connected.

He curled up behind me again, wrapped me up tightly in his arms, and we both fell asleep.

Hours later, we were woken up by a sharp, rhythmic knock on the door. Ever protective of me, Thomas went to the door—naked of all things!—to see who it was. I sat up in bed, quickly pulling the sheets up to cover my chest, stifling a laugh as I watched him boldly swing the door open just an inch or two.

"Good morning," a professional voice called out from the hallway. It was Lucia, the surgery coordinator. "Just a quick wake-up call for Marie. We'll need her down in the lobby in about forty-five minutes to prep for the surgery."

"Thank you, Lucia," Thomas replied smoothly, as if standing completely naked at a hotel door was the most natural thing in the world. "We'll be ready."

He closed the door, locking it before turning back to me with a wry grin.

"You really just answered the door naked?" I teased, shaking my head in amusement.

Thomas shrugged, walking back to the bed with a completely unbothered expression. "I had to protect your sleep. Besides, I doubt she saw anything she hasn't seen before."

“Yes, I did,” he chuckled. “I’m sure she’s seen far worse than a dick standing at attention.”

“Probably,” I said as I was getting out of bed. I immediately slipped into my flip flops then headed to take a shower. “Wanna join me in the shower?”

“Sure,” he said.

We headed to the bathroom and he started the shower. Once the water was at the right temperature, we both got in and showered in silence. Since we still had some time, Thomas pushed me against the shower wall and pushed his dick into my pussy.

“You’re so tight,” he moaned as he fucked me.

In no time we both came hard. He pulled out then turned the water off. I grabbed towels for us to dry off. We both dried off and we headed to Lucia’s office so I could be escorted to pre-op.

“I’ll check in with Lucia right after your surgery to see how you’re doing and soon after, I’ll check in with you,” Thomas said as he bent down to kiss me. “If you need anything, text me and I’ll drop it off at the front. I promise to not look at you until you get to your apartment.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” I said as I hugged him. “Thanks for putting up with my vanity.”

Thomas smiled, nodded his head, kissed my cheek and then he headed off. Lucia and I talked about what was going to happen today. We agreed that I stated that I wanted a small brow lift, small eye lift, a tummy tuck and a breast lift.

“Are you sure about this, Marie?” she asked me. “To be honest, it’s a lot of work to be done in one day.”

“I am, Lucy,” I said as I called an old friend by her nickname.

“The brow lift and eye lift don’t take long especially if its as minimal as I chose. Plus, they both can be done at the same time if we have two plastic surgeons whose specialty are both.”

“We have – on average- fifteen plastic surgeons per specialty. We’re taking quite a few for you today,” she explained. “We’re getting four anesthesiologists for you due to your history of asthma, three plastic surgeons for your brow and eye lifts, four for your tummy tuck and three for your breast lift.”

“That’s a few,” I said.

“It is but I told the owner that we need that many people for you because I told her that you’re high risk,” Lucy said. “I’d rather have more doctors than we need just in case one gets in over their head or just to bounce ideas off of each other.”

“Thank you, friend,” I said as we stood.

Lucia escorted me to a locker room so I could change from my street clothes to the hospital gown. I put my hair in a hospital hairnet and put little hospital booties on my bare feet. Once my stuff was locked up, Lucia told me to put the elastic key wring around my ankle. I did as she suggested and then she escorted me to the OR.

Hiding in plain sight

The walk was short and quiet, taking us only a few minutes to navigate the winding streets until we reached the familiar, weathered brick of Rob’s apartment building. Neither of us said much along the way, the silence between us thick with everything we weren't saying.

Once we reached his door, I reached into my jacket, pulled out my keyring, and used my key to let us in. The deadbolt slid back with a heavy, familiar click, and I pushed the door open, gesturing for him to go ahead of me.

Rob walked in, looking exhausted, his shoulders slumped as he glanced around the quiet living room. He ran a hand over his face and turned to me, his voice rough.

"I'm going to take a shower," he muttered, gesturing toward the back hallway.

"Take your time. I'll be right here," I said, nodding toward the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut and the low, steady hiss of the shower began to echo through the apartment, I pulled out my phone. I needed someone reliable, and I needed them fast. I pulled up my contact list and found Vic’s contact.

Me: I have a job for you.

My phone buzzed almost immediately. Vic was never one to keep me waiting when I texted.

Vic: What kind of job?

Me: Babysitting, in a way. I need you to watch Rob and keep an eye on him until I can get some things done. I have some business to take care of, and I can't leave him unsupervised.

There was a brief pause, the little typing bubbles appearing and disappearing on my screen before his reply finally came through.

Vic: I can do that. What’s the address?

Me: The old brick apartment building near the National Museum of Capodimonte; top floor. Get here as fast as you can.

Vic: On my way.

I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket, listening to the drum of the shower down the hall. A few minutes later the shower stopped, and a few minutes after that, Rob popped out of his bedroom dressed in sweats.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked.

“Vic is going to stay with you for a bit,” I explained. “I went into Rome as Marie Alexandrovna Romanov and my Italian passport under Bianca Rossi was flagged when I bailed you out. I need to go into hiding for a bit.”

“Who is Vic?” he asked.

“Someone that I trust completely,” I said as I sighed. “Not only do I need to do something with my hair, but I need to do something about my face. A few tweaks.”

“A few tweaks?” he asked.

“Yes, a few tweaks,” I said. “Not enough to change my appearance but enough for when people I’ve come across recently don’t fully recognize me.”

“How many times have you had to do this?”

“More than I’d like to admit,” I said. “You’ve never noticed these tweaks because you’re so familiar with my face that you just don’t see it.”

“Such as?”

“My nose, lips and hairline,” I said. "And my tits."

Rob stared at me, studying my features for a quiet moment, before shaking his head.

"Honestly, I haven't noticed," he said.

"That's because it's been several years since we last saw each other," I mentioned. "Plus, for knowing someone as long as we've known each other, you wouldn't notice anyway. You just look at me and see me, not the details."

Before he could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

I went to the door, unlocked it, and let Vic into the apartment.

"Hey," Vic said softly, a slight smile on his face.

Vic immediately leaned in to kiss me, but I stepped back, avoiding the gesture.

"Don't," I murmured, cutting my eyes toward the living room. "Not right now."

Vic cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket as he took in the room. "Right. Understood."

I closed the door behind Vic, then introduced my former lover to my dearest childhood friend.

"Vic, Rob," I said, gesturing between them. "Rob, Vic."

"Nice to meet you," Vic said, holding out a hand.

"Yeah," Rob replied flatly, reaching out to meet his grip. "Likewise."

They shook hands as they eyed each other warily.

I left them in the living room and went into the kitchen—which Thomas had stocked after I left his office—to grab us all a beer.

As I grabbed the bottles and started back, their voices carried clearly from the living room. I paused just outside the doorway.

"Honestly, she's the best I've ever had," Vic was saying, his voice low. "Just absolutely amazing."

"Tell me about it," Rob replied. "And so fucking tight."

"Like a fucking glove, man," Vic agreed.

I interrupted their conversation as I realized what they were talking about by stepping back into the room, holding the beers. I greeted them as if I didn’t hear them talk about me like that. I wanted to be embarrassed about the amount of men I’ve fucked as well as making a bad habit of introducing them but I wasn’t.

“Who am I babysitting? You?” Vic asked. “What information can you share with me?”

“You’re babysitting Rob. Vic, what you need to know, is going to be super limited as it’s a need to know,” I began. “Rob and I are both the head of the Mazarella Clan. He is the boss on paper due to the money that he and his biological family has. I am the brains of the clan. Rob had helped me get into working for different governments and different entities – which is how I’ve accumulated my wealth.”

“Oh, wow,” Vic said.

“Due to people knowing that I’m here, I have to go undercover a bit,” I said. “I came here as one person but that wasn’t a smart idea but my other identity here has been flagged when I bailed him out. I need to take care of a few things and get a new identity.”

“What will that entail, amore?” he asked.

“It’s one of those the less you know the better just in case the police connect you to Rob and I,” I said. “But you need to be here for a week or so. Thomas, Rob’s brother, will swing by where you’re staying to grab some clothes for you.”

“Ok,” Vic said. “How will I reach out to you?”

“You won’t,” I said. “For anything and everything you need, just reach out to Thomas and he’ll take care of it. And to answer your next question, after this, you won’t see me for a long time.”

“Why the fuck not?” Vic asked.

“It’s more for your safety and to give us space as a precautionary measure,” I explained. “Now that Rob is out of jail, he’s under extreme scrutiny. You are to follow him like you knew that I’d be here in Naples. He can’t have any contact with any person in the alleged crime family. If anyone wants to contact him, they will have to go through Thomas the first time. From then on, you will relay the messages. As for my return and your departure, only Thomas will know when I’ll be on my way back here. You will be given about twenty five minutes heads up to gather your things and leave before I arrive.”

“That’s a little harsh, Deppgrl,” he sighed.

“I know it is and that was my intention,” I said.

“What about everything that’s happened between us?”

“That’s now history, Papi,” I said. “You and I won’t see each other for a long time.”

He nodded. I headed to the guest room where I had my stuff put. When I rejoined my former lover and my dear friend, I looked at them both for a long moment.

“I’ll see you in about a week, amico,” I said to Rob then I turned to Vic. “I’ll see you in a few years, Papa.”

I then let myself out of the apartment and headed to the hospital of plastic surgery by foot. On my way there, I pulled out my phone and texted Thomas.

Me: It's time to get rid of my car.

A moment later, my phone buzzed with his reply.

Thomas: Consider it done. I'll take care of it right away.

When I received confirmation from him that he’d take care of my car, I knew that it was the right thing to do. Before even choosing this hospital, I had a background check on everyone. The staff may or may not know my true identity but they all had to sign an NDA before seeing each client; especially with me. It wouldn’t just prevent a leak but it was a big deterrent as Italy….not only would lawsuits happen but each person would lose their licensure in their specialty, have high fines and prison time for a minimum of three and a half years.

Thankfully, it was only a ten minute walk to the hospital of plastic surgery. I walked through the glass doors and approached the front desk.

"Good afternoon, signora," the receptionist greeted me with a polite, professional smile. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, under Larissa Barlowe," I replied, keeping my voice soft and adopting a slight French-Canadian accent. "I have a private room booked as well."

"Ah, yes. Madame Barlowe," the receptionist said, checking her screen. "Welcome. Before we take you up to your suite, we just need you to approve the NDA that you sent over for us to sign."

“Why wasn’t this signed when I sent it over? How do I know that you nor your staff haven’t gone around saying that I’d be here?” I was livid. “There was a reason why I sent it over prior to my arrival – my attorney and I went over this several times. Of course I approved it before it was sent over.”

“My apologies,” the woman said. “I’ll call everyone on staff to sign their copies now.”

“Even the ones who have a day off today?” I asked without hesitation.

“Yes,” she said nervously.

“I sent this a week ago and this should’ve been taken care of prior to now. Because of your lack of concern of my safety, my confidence in you and the staff has significantly decreased. I don’t trust anyone now.”

“I’ll gladly call other plastic surgery hospitals for you,” she said.

“No. Call your staff and tell them it’s an emergency that they get here to sign this NDA. This is now going to take longer than it should be. Since you failed at your job as the manager, I will now have to call your employer.”

She paled then started calling the staff who had days off and paging the staff working to come immediately to reception. I called Sera as she is the owner of this particular plastic surgery hospital. Let me tell you….Sera was NOT thrilled to hear this. I pulled out my phone to make the call.

“Hi, this is Larissa Barlowe. Is this Seraphina?” I said when I called my former lover.

“Yes, it is,” Sera said confused as all hell. “How can I help you?”

“I’m calling from your plastic surgery hospital in Naples. I’d scheduled to be here for a week as of today and sent over an NDA for the staff to sign about a week ago however, not only is it not signed, your receptionist slash manager will now delay my schedule by who knows how long because she’s now getting everyone to sign the NDA due to her assumption that I didn’t pre-approve the NDA with my attorney prior to sending it over. I wouldn’t have sent it over if I hadn’t approved it.”

“Marie, I am so sorry,” Sera said. “I’ll call her now and give her shit. You know what? I’ll call her and tell her that this is her last day.”

“Thank you, Sera,” I said.

We hung up and seconds later, the receptionist’s phone rang and when she saw who was calling, she blanched. She answered her phone and stepped away from the counter to take the call. A few minutes later, she came back and was crying. She profusely apologized to me and told me that she was fired due to this.

“Had you done your job, this wouldn’t have happened. You still need to sign your NDA as you’re still here until the end of business today,” I said coldly.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said.

She signed her NDA and thanks to the call I made to Sera, the entire staff – even the ones who had a day off – all rushed to sign it. Once completed, security came by to escort the receptionist off the premises after she gathered her things. As she was getting escorted off the premises, I told her that she needs to find a good attorney as I planned to sue her for everything she had.

Once the paperwork was settled, a nurse stepped forward to guide me.

"Right this way, please," the nurse said, opening the door to a hallway and led me to my room that I chose. "Whenever you are ready, the salon is just down the corridor."

"Thank you," I said.

I changed into the comfortable clothing and made my way down to their salon. My hair had grown so much since Russia and Paulina  – it was way past my shoulders again – and the black dye was fading. It would take several sessions to get my hair back to my normal hair color and thought it would be best to get started now and then as I was healing, continue coming here to get my hair to where I wanted it to be.

I sat in a salon chair, and the stylist smiled as she combed through a section of my hair.

"Welcome! I am Sofia," the stylist said. "What are we looking for today, Miss Barlowe?"

"I want to go to either red or a strawberry blonde," I explained, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "But I trust your judgment with color."

"Oh, red!" Sofia said, her eyes lighting up. "Trust me, I will turn you into the most fabulous redhead that you've ever meet."

I laughed and leaned back in the chair. "Go ahead. You can do whatever you want to my hair."

With a big grin on her face, she began sectioning my hair. "Excellent. Not only will you be a fabulous redhead, but I think we must do a sleek bob. Something about three inches above your shoulders."

"Have at it," I told her, nodding. "But I understand that it could take a few sessions to lift this dark dye."

"Grazie! Thank you for understanding," she replied warmly.

She wet my hair, grabbed a comb, and got to working on my knotty hair. Within a few minutes, the knots were gone.

"Now, for the magic," Sofia murmured as she lifted her shears and started snipping away.

Twenty minutes later, my haircut was perfect.

Sofia stepped back, looking at her work with approval. "Perfect. Now, I will go to the back to mix some things together in order to at least bleach your hair somewhat. I will be right back."

Once she left, I looked at my reflection in the mirror, speaking quietly to the empty room. I desperately wanted to be at my apartment in Naples... but this is best for my safety. I shook my head and sighed. Charlie was right. I came here too boldly and wasn't discreet because it was personal. If this had been business, I would've been in and out of Italy without any fuss.

While waiting for Sofia, I pulled out my phone and pulled up Thomas’s contact information and started typing a text to him.

Me: I made it to the plastic surgery hospital ok. The NDA was signed, though there was a small hiccup but Sera took care of it. I also need to sue the receptionist slash manager as she failed to have everyone sign the NDA - contact Sera for this person's name and start the lawsuit. 

I followed with another text immediately after.

Me: Make sure Vic is kept on a short leash. He is not allowed to find me at all. If he does, it risks everything it took to get Rob out.

My phone buzzed almost instantly as Thomas replied.

Thomas: I am happy to hear you are taking care of your appearances—both pun intended and unintended. Don't worry, I will make sure Lover Boy stays out of trouble. And yes, I'll contact Sera immediately. 

“I’m back, Miss Harlowe,” Sofia said as she came back with a bowl and a few brushes. “I’m sorry for the delay.”

“You can call me Larissa, Sofia,” I said. “Don’t worry about it as I had to reply to a few texts. Depending on how this goes, do you think that we can continue in two days?

“Thanks, Larissa. I appreciate that,” she said. “I don’t see why not. What’s on your schedule tomorrow?”

“Eye and breast lift, minor lip fillers, tummy tuck,” I said. “Depending on how everything works with my hair – which I’m sure it will – I doubt I’ll have my hairline touched up.”

“That’s a ton of work to be done in one day,” she replied. “What’s the rush?”

“It is but when I leave at the end of the week, I don’t want much bruising to show,” I said. “Plus, everything is just a tweak, not a full surgery.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” she said.

“The rush is that I’m a bit vain about my appearances and when I show my face to the rest of the city at the end of the week, I want minimal bruising as people would know.”

Sofia nodded and got to work with whatever concoction she made in her mixing bowl. Within thirty five minutes, she put whatever goop she made in my hair, made small sections and put foils in my hair. I then went under a dryer to activate the process. I fell asleep under the dryer as I was exhausted from fucking Charlie, Thomas and Rob. I’m not sure how much time had passed when Sofia woke me up.

“Alrighty, let’s get you to the bowl for a wash,” she said as she took the dryer hood thing away from my head.

I followed her and sat down. She and another stylist took the foils off of my hair then I slid down in the seat so my hair could be washed. It didn’t take her long to wash my hair twice and condition my hair three times with different conditioners. We went back to her station for her to dry and examine my hair. Not even five minutes later, my hair was dried, styled and Sofia was examining my hair.

“Your hair looks great and I think we should plan for two days from now,” Sofia said as she ran her fingers through my hair. “Before we start though, I’ll check your hair again to see if it’s still healthy feeling and looking. Does that sound ok?”

“Sounds great,” I said as I got out of her chair. “Thanks so much, Sofia. See ya in two days.”

I left and headed to the dining hall of the hospital to grab dinner.