CIA

Adelaide

—-

"Adelaide, wait." He called after me, but I ignored him, quickly opening the door and finding my way to my room.

I sat back down in my chair and let out a long sigh.

What the hell just happened?

—-

Ever since the scenario in the training room, I had been avoiding Romano like he was an STD. In meeting with the team, I wouldn't spare him a glance, only speaking with Jaekyung and, much to my distress, Jamie. According to Jaekyung, the first time Romano led me to our meeting room, he took multiples diversions, making the walking time much longer than it should've been. There was a lift just down the hall from my room that took you directly to the meeting spot.

In my spare time, I had gotten to know the various types of people that worked for Romano, including the woman that dropped off my clothes on my first morning in the house. I learned that she went by the name Lissa and had gotten the chance to work as a maid for Romano after she lost her job at a hotel she was employed in. That was all she was willing to tell me. When we finished our conversation, she seemed to be less intimidated by me though it did feel like some of the terror she had previously harboured was still present. Well, at least I tried. Not my problem anymore.

Something that struck me as a little suspicious was that there were hardly any people employed in the mansion. Lissa cleaned the house every day with another maid, of whom I had not met yet, and there was only one gardener that I had noticed. Other than the people I was working with, there was nobody else residing in the mansion. I guess Romano has trust issues.

Other than my brutal training sessions, my favourite activity was to walk around the gardens that surrounded the Acerbi mansion. The gardens closely resembled french gardens, neat and proper, nothing out of place and the fact that all of the gardens were very meticulous made me love them even more. My favourite place in the gardens was a small bench that was located directly under a tree.

When sitting there, I often closed my eyes and let the wind whisper in my ears, telling me their secrets. It was my little haven in the mansion I had grown accustomed to. That's where I noticed the gardener. He was tending to a rose bush before he spotted my stare and made his way over to me.

He looked to be in his early thirties with brown hair and tanned skin, likely to have taken many beatings from the rays of the sun. I quietly mused to myself why I had not seen any other gardeners except for this one man. He couldn't possibly be tending to the large expanse of greenery, could he?

"Are you enjoying the gardens, miss?" He asked me.

The first thing that struck me about his voice was the accent that resided there. His accent was odd. Forced. At first glance, it seemed to portray itself as Italian but something else lingered in the background. He looked like a stereotypical Italian but then again looks can be faked, alongside accents.

"Very much so. Do you tend to them alone?" I kept my answer short and sweet, not wanting to give him any information about me.

He smiled kindly at me, "Yes, unfortunately, I'm the only gardener who Mr Acerbi has employed here."

He sat down next to me and looked out at the garden beneath us. His accent, where was it from? I needed to keep him talking.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" I carefully inquired.

He let out a small chuckle, "Yes, yes I suppose it does. In more ways than you think, young lady. What about you? What brings you to Mr Acerbi's not so humble abode?"

I thought over what I could tell him. If he was employed here, Romano would most probably approve of him but then again, I don't know how much he knows of Romano's life inside of the mansion. Better safe than sorry.

"Do you have a family waiting for you at home?" I deflected his question, not taking my eyes off of the rose bush that he was previously preening.

He took a second before answering, "No, I don't. I live alone miss."

The silence stretched between us but I didn't flinch. I didn't shift. I didn't sweat. This man may be kind but I didn't like that he was discreetly prying.

"What did you say your name was again?" He questioned me.

I could feel his gaze on my face but I kept my eyes forward, not daring to look over to him.

"I didn't say."

I was being cold and bitchy, and I knew it. Something about this man didn't sit right with me, I needed to know what it was.

For the first time since he sat down next to me, I directed my eyes to him, "You're not from here, are you?"

His eyes widened slightly at my unrelenting gaze and his confident demeanour faltered. I had him in the palm of my hand.

"Excuse me?"

I studied his features. Strong cheekbones, thick eyebrows, close-cut brown hair, brown eyes. Nothing remarkable about him in the slightest. A feeling of unease settled in my stomach but refused to budge.

"What's your name?" I continued to badger him. I knew that if he wasn't Italian he wouldn't answer my question truthfully so moving on to a different question was the best way to go. No point in dwelling on something that doesn't have a guaranteed answer.

"My name is Dante, ma'am. I was named after my mother's grandfather. It's somewhat of a family name."

Dante.

If he was undercover, he was doing a terrible job of hiding it. It was painstakingly obvious that he was lying straight to my face, and I found myself a little offended that he thought he could lie to me so blatantly. I had been specially trained in interrogation techniques and a common way of finding out if someone was lying is if they added extra information. They thought it would make their lie more convincing when, in fact, it did the opposite. Just like Dante did.

"Dante doesn't suit you, what's your real name?"

I never took my eyes off his face. I could tell my harsh stare made him uncomfortable by the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and the fact that his right eye had twitched once or twice.

Instead of answering me, he decided it would be best to question me back. "Who are you?" His voice was void of the previous warmth that it possessed and his face held no emotion.

A lazy grin grew on my face, "Another time, Dante."

With that, I stood up and sauntered back into the house.

"Have you been enjoying the gardener's company, cavolo?"

I turned around and was met with Romano clad in a suit leaning on the door frame that went to the kitchen.

"Except he is not just a gardener, is he Romano?" I asked, closing the door that leads outside.

He let out a laugh, "Nothing gets past you does it, cavolo?"

"Who is he then, Romano? He is not Italian and his name is certainly not Dante."

I brushed past him into the kitchen, suddenly thirsty.

"He is a CIA agent, stella."

I froze. Why has Romano employed a CIA agent as a gardener in his private mansion? Does he not realize that he's probably trying to gain information on him?

"I don't like the CIA," I stated, composing myself and filling up the kettle to boil.

Romano's eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head slightly. "But carota, your organisation is the same is it not?"

I smiled. "There is a difference, Romano. Tea?"

He nodded his head, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes. "What is the difference, carota?"

"They are Americans, Romano. I am not. Do you take it with sugar? Milk?"

I busied myself with the cups of tea, half because I was embarrassed by our previous encounter and half because making tea is an art form.

"A little milk and lots of sugar."

I put in the appropriate amount and handed the mug over to him before starting to prepare my own. When I had finished I placed my mug on the island and leaned my upper body on the counter. Romano sat opposite me, blowing carefully on his tea with furrowed brows, not wanting to burn his tongue. He looked a little like a child.

"What's so bad about Americans, cavolo?" He asked when he realized that I had been staring at his adorable concentration on the temperature of the tea.

I sipped my tea while I pondered his question. "I don't mind the Americans, it's just that every American I have met has gotten on my nerves in one way or another. Including the gardener."

Romano looked at me over his mug, his face serious, "What's your opinion on hot, sexy, and slightly dangerous Italians?"

I almost spat my scalding hot tea all over his face. He let out a resonating laugh at my reaction and I could feel heat rising into my cheeks.

"Only slightly dangerous?" I slyly avoided his question and hoped he didn't notice.

He smirked. "Extremely dangerous Italians."

"I haven't decided yet."

He hummed as a response and looked back at his tea. A comfortable silence settled between us and my lips curled into a little smile. Maybe I shouldn't have avoided him these past days. Was it childish of me to do so?

"What's your opinion on attractive and breathtakingly beautiful British women?" I asked, smirking into my tea.

"I'm incredibly attracted to one."

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