Sabrina Ferilli woke just past seven, slipped into a deep-blue silk robe, and padded to the window. She pushed it open and leaned on the sill, gazing out.
This was a south-facing bedroom on the villa's second floor.
Looking around, she took in the neoclassical Italianate villa perched atop a rolling hill in Florence's southern suburbs. Three stories tall, its pale-gray facade complemented the rugged stone walls that enclosed it. Beyond, the open view scattered with estates large and small.
From the elevation, the north side surely overlooked the entire historic city of Florence.
Clearly this had once been some noble's residence. But after World War II, with the monarchy abolished, Italy's aristocracy had largely faded, replaced by new-money capitalists who rose with the country's economic recovery.
Unlike the vast farmlands around other cities, the grounds here remained wild with untouched shrubs undoubtedly all private land.
Sabrina was idly guessing the estate's value when a knock sounded at the door.
Opening it, she found Sophia Fache, impeccably dressed in a tailored white blouse and beige trousers that gave her the crisp air of a high-powered executive.
"Good morning, Sabrina. Breakfast is ready, would you like to join us?"
"Oh yes, I'll change," Sabina said, nodding. Remembering her robe, she clutched the collar self-consciously. "Good morning to you too, Ms. Fache."
Sophia smiled. "No rush. You can wash up or take a shower first." As Sabina moved to the bed to shed the robe, Sophia added, "I've already had your car towed to a garage. It'll be ready by noon—though it'll cost a bit."
Sabina, about to pull on last night's gown, gathered it and headed to the bathroom. At mention of the car she glanced guiltily at Sophia. "Thank you, Ms. Fache."
Sophia's smile didn't waver. She gave a small nod. "Dining room downstairs, then."
Half an hour later Sabina entered the dining room. Everyone was already seated.
Simon Westeros had finished eating and was leafing through a thick stack of Italian newspapers, pencil in hand, occasionally circling or marking passages.
The ponytail assistant, Jennifer, was still nibbling delicately. She offered only a cool greeting before returning to her plate. With her hair tied back, a stretch of porcelain-pale neck showed when she bent her head. Sabrina, classic dark-haired Latin beauty with wheat-toned skin and a voluptuous figure couldn't help a few envious glances.
After greetings, Sabrina accepted the plate Sophia passed her and ate in small bites, seizing chances to draw Simon into conversation.
Inwardly, though, she'd abandoned most hope.
Last night had seemed promising at least to her. Then she'd discovered another woman in his life, and a jealous one at that. Until Sophia escorted her to the guest room, the assistant had stayed glued to Simon's side, giving her no opening.
Sabrina had even fantasized he might slip into her room late at night. Nothing of the sort happened.
Besides, the more mature and elegant Sophia clearly had her own claim. Why else would she be living here?
He supposedly had an official girlfriend too.
Quite the playboy.
That thought revived a flicker of possibility if the other two women left.
But it seemed difficult.
Lost in such musings, she finished breakfast. Sophia cleared the dishes; Sabrina had offered to help but noticed Jennifer still seated and, feeling a spark of rivalry, stayed put.
A subtle standoff settled over the room.
Until Sophia returned and said with faint teasing in her tone, "Jenny, could you help me pack? I'm not sure I've got everything."
Jennifer's cheeks colored slightly; she rose and left.
With the two women gone, Sabina relaxed a fraction and turned to the man still absorbed in his papers. "Simon, are you leaving Italy?"
He glanced up. "Yes, this morning."
Sabrina blinked. "That's… a shame."
"Nothing to worry about I'll be back plenty of times."
"Oh." Her fingers traced idle patterns on the table. Then, bolder: "Will I see you again?"
"Maybe."
Simon marked another article, then studied the beauty across from him.
He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with her.
In memory, Sabina Frilli had played a dancer in an Italian film he loved—The Great Beauty, directed by Paolo Sorrentino in 2013, Oscar winner for Best Foreign Language Film.
Many characters and the carefully chosen soundtrack had stayed with him.
She was probably twenty-four or twenty-five now—peak years for a Latin woman's allure. Still, he preferred the seductive silhouette of "Ramona" in The Great Beauty, licking the back of her hand mid-dance.
When he fell silent again, Sabina quickly found another topic. "Simon, is this villa yours?"
Instead of answering, he asked, "Do you dance?"
"I,. yes, a little."
"Find time to practice," he said, marking another page. "Next time, if there is one, dance for me."
Her eyes brightened. "Next time, when?"
He shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe there won't be a next time."
Sabina felt confused but committed the instruction to memory.
She sat with him another hour while he finished the stack of more than a dozen papers. Sophia and Jennifer returned to say the luggage was ready.
Simon handed Sophia a page of notes from his reading. "Gather background on these people and companies. I've marked some articles, clip them when you have time. Same for any future coverage of names on this list."
Sophia agreed. They all left the dining room.
Bodyguards waited with the cars. Sabrina followed outside, unsure whether to say goodbye. The villa seemed empty otherwise; she couldn't exactly walk back to the city.
Noticing her awkwardness, Sophia paused before getting in. "Miss Firili, feel free to stay. I'll be back soon."
Once the two cars rolled out, Sabrina returned inside. The quiet stirred curiosity; she tiptoed through the rooms like a cat.
Three floors, each with at least seven or eight rooms. She even found the basement entrance, though most doors were locked.
The airport wasn't far; less than an hour later Sophia returned, not alone, but with five young women in their early twenties.
Sabrina eyed girls whose looks and bearing matched her own and felt a twinge of unease, even uncharitable suspicion. Sophia simply directed them to begin cleaning, then carried supplies to the dining room.
Following, Sabrina watched her settle at the table, carefully cutting out Simon's marked articles and pasting them into a large blank scrapbook.
After observing quietly, Sabina offered, "Ms. Fache, need help?"
Sophia glanced over and nodded. "Sure, cut out the marked articles for me."
Sabrina took the scissors and a paper.
It was Corriere della Sera, one of Italy's highest-circulation dailies. Despite the "evening" in its name, it was a morning paper.
Today's front page naturally led with Giuseppe Tornatore winning the Palme d'Or for Cinema Paradiso.
Sabrina assumed Simon would have marked that story; he hadn't. Searching, she finally found a marked piece, about Maserati facing difficulties and possibly seeking a buyer.
Why flag that?
Did Simon Westeros want to acquire Maserati?
He certainly had the means.
But…
Unable to puzzle it out, she clipped the article and passed it over.
Sophia glued it in, read it carefully, then cross-referenced Simon's memo, the long list of names.
Seeing it, a warm surge rose in her chest.
Fiat Group.
Armani.
Ferrero.
Prada.
Maserati.
The Agnelli family.
Silvio Berlusconi.
…
Some names were already legendary in Italy, others newly rich, a few still obscure.
Unlike Sabrina confusion, Sophia felt it instantly: raw, unmistakable aggression.
Simon Westeros's aggression.
She was certain, if opportunity arose, he would move on every name here, just as Westeros had quietly accumulated stakes in dozens of tech companies. The past two years' tech-sector outperformance had already vindicated his foresight.
Now she understood: the young man was no longer content with that.
Or perhaps he never had been. Rapid appreciation of investments was only a means; his true drive was endless, rapid expansion, conquest, even dominion.
For most people such ambition lived only in fantasy. But he was actually doing it.
Since bursting onto the scene in 1986, in under three years the Westeros empire already spanned media, technology, and fashion, growing faster than many old dynasties had managed in a century. At this pace, he would forge an unprecedented wealth phenomenon.
The thought brought a flicker of regret.
Last night she should have been bolder, taken him herself instead of waiting for him to act. He rarely initiated; he simply claimed what he wanted as his due.
"Ms. Fache?"
Sabrina's voice broke her reverie. Sophia returned to the present, saw several clipped articles waiting, and began pasting again.
Casually she asked, "Florence isn't really Italy's film hub, what brings you here?"
"I just wrapped a shoot in the eastern suburbs and planned to stay a few days. The invitation to last night's reception came through the production." Seeing one of the girls pass outside, Sabina added curiously, "Are they all maids here?"
"Sort of," Sophia said. "Part-time, actually, students from universities in Florence."
"Oh." Sabina nodded. "A few years ago I tried for the national film academy but didn't get in, so I went straight into the industry. It's tough in Italy, especially for actresses, so few real opportunities."
"So you want Hollywood?"
Sabina's gaze turned hopeful. "Ms. Fache, could you help me?"
"I can't, Sabrina. Look outside, any of those girls has qualifications as good as yours. But you're already ahead: you've met Simon. They may work here and know the owner is Simon Westeros, but they'll likely never meet him themselves."
Sabrina paused her cutting. "Then what should I do next?"
Sophia smiled and shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe just hope he doesn't forget you."