There aren't many who possess her personal number, and fewer still whom would call. Long-lashed viridian eyes stare at the screen, not recognizing the number; it belongs to none of those who sit at her Table. She leans back in her desk chair; what the hell, she's interested.
"Zeppeli."
There's silence, at least at first. No real telling noise in the background, even with Pink Floyd's enhanced hearing. Then, when she's about to hang up, a small feminine voice, as though the mystery person doesn't want to be overheard.
"Zietta Bibi."
Two words. Simple enough, yet they had those normally steady viridian eyes widening. There is only one person in the world who had ever called her that. A little girl with blush-pink hair and bright green eyes too large for her small round face.
"Trish," she breathed. How long had it been since Bianca had seen that little girl? Five years? Six? She isn't so little anymore, Bianca muses; Trish is at least fifteen, now, after her mother whisked her away. "Tesoro, where are you? Where is your mother?"
What followed, Bianca decided, is a summary of the last six years and the current events happening. Passione has been busy little bees as of late and now Bianca knows why. It's only once Trish pauses for breath that Bianca finally speaks.
"You're safe and secure for the time being? Yes? Good. Now, listen to me very carefully, tesoro. I need you to give the phone to Mister Bucciarati."
Given what Trish has already said, Bianca can only hope that the newly appointed capo is as good as Trish says he is.