I can’t wear underwear with this, I thought, grimacing, looking at myself in the mirror.
Roberto Cavalli had foreseen this, though, and in strategic places, the dress lost its translucence. It didn’t change the fact that I simply would have felt better with at least a G-string on.
I grabbed my bag, sprayed on some perfume, slid my feet into a pair of elegant sandals, and went to the door. I stopped by the mirror for one last time. I looked mind-blowing. The incredible, smoky, black-and-gold makeup complemented the tan of my skin perfectly, and the chignon on the top of my head made me look slimmer and classier. The heap of faux hair was worth it, I thought, running my hand along the intricate structure on my head.
I went out and took a look around. There was a bottle of champagne and a glass—already filled—on the table. I was getting used to that. So the Man in Black must be somewhere close. I walked over to the table and poured another glass. For a while I wandered around the boat, peeking into darker spots, but didn’t find anyone. At some point I noticed that the Titan had reached land. There was a magnificent vista of lights flickering in the distance for me to enjoy.
“This is Lido, which they call the beach of Venice,” I heard the familiar voice say.
I turned my head toward the speaker. It was Domenico, sipping on his champagne.
“I knew that dress would be perfect. You look absolutely stunning, Laura.” He stepped closer to me and planted a kiss on both my cheeks.
“I missed you, Domenico,” I replied, hugging him.
“Now, now, dear, or else Poli and his girlfriend, Luigi, will have to start all over,” he said with a laugh, and led me to a pair of leather armchairs, offering me a seat.
“Where is don Massimo?” I asked, taking a sip. Domenico sent me an apologetic look. I hadn’t noticed before that he was wearing a tuxedo. That could only mean one thing—the Man in Black bailed on me again.
“He had to—”
I raised a hand, silencing Domenico. “Let’s just have some fun tonight,” I said, tilting my glass and downing it in one gulp.
The motorboat that we took was slowly angling toward one of the canals of Venice, while I allowed myself to fall deep into thought. Did I want this year to last, all of a sudden? Or maybe even more? Or was that too much? Maybe if Massimo got what he wanted, he’d let me go now… But did I want to go back to my old life? Why did I keep yearning for him so? Domenico woke me up from this reverie.
“We’re nearly there. Are you ready?” he asked, offering me a hand.
I stood up, but the sight of all those people, lights, the pomp and splendor suddenly terrified me.
“No, I’m not. I’ll never be. I don’t want to be ready. Why are we doing this, Domenico?” I asked, eyes wide with fear when the boat drew up to the shore.
“For me, of course.” I head the familiar accent and felt a warm wave flood over me. “Sorry for the confusion. I didn’t think I’d get here on time, but we arrived at an agreement fairly quickly, so here I am.”
I raised my eyes, seeing my resplendent captor waiting on the quay. He was wearing a double-breasted black tuxedo and looked straight out of a fairy tale. I was overawed. His white shirt brought out the color of his skin and the elegant bow tie was so classy. He looked so dignified.
“Come.” Massimo offered me a hand, and a moment later I was standing next to him on solid ground.
I smoothed down my dress and lifted my eyes, meeting his gaze. He held me tightly by the hand, looking as dazed as I was.
“Laura…” he said, then trailed off, frowning. “You look so ravishing tonight, I don’t know if I want anyone else but me to see you like this.”
I smiled at those words in mock modesty.
“Don Massimo!” It was Domenico. “We have to go. They’ve seen us already. Please, your masks.”
Who saw us? Why did we have to go all of a sudden? I took the beautiful lace mask offered to me.
Massimo turned to me, tied it over my face, and purred, brushing his nose against its rim. “What is it about you and lace… I love it,” he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on my lips.
Before he managed to pull away, the flashing lights of the paparazzi illuminated the night. I started to panic. Massimo slowly took a step back and turned toward the photographers with his arm around my waist. He did not smile, instead just waiting until they were done. The crowd of paparazzi reverberated with calls in Italian, while I just tried to look as dignified as I could, though my legs were shaking.
The Man in Black waved a hand as if signaling that this was enough, and we headed toward the entrance along the red carpet. Having crossed the hall, we reached the ballroom lined with monumental pillars. There were candles and white flowers on round tables. Most guests wore masks, which suited me—my own mask gave me the illusion of anonymity.
We sat down at one of the tables. We were the last people to join that particular table. Waiters arrived a moment later, serving appetizers followed by other dishes.
CHAPTER 10
The banquet was as boring as they got: I’d organized hundreds of similar affairs, so my only diversion was to silently point out all the errors the staff was making. Massimo was conversing with the men sitting at our table, discreetly stroking my thigh once in a while.
“I need to go to the other room,” he said. “Unfortunately, you may not participate in that conversation. I’ll leave you under Domenico’s care.” He kissed me on the forehead and left for the door, trailed by the other men.
My assistant materialized immediately, taking Massimo’s chair.
“That woman in the red dress looks like a giant furball,” he said, and we both erupted in laughter, watching an elderly lady in a dress reminiscent of a Christmas tree decoration. “If not for those fashion curios, I’d be dying of boredom,” he added.
I knew how he felt, and I was so glad he joined me. For nearly another hour, we talked and drank champagne. When we were suitably tipsy, we decided to take a shot at dancing.
The dance floor was crowded, but this was a formal party. Can’t go too crazy here, I thought, glancing at the string quartet. After a couple of ballroom dances I had enough. As opposed to Domenico, I was an exquisite dancer—my dearest mother had always made me go to dance lessons until I finished high school.
As we were moving toward our table again, I head someone speaking in Polish.
“Laura? Guess we were meant to spend that night together after all, eh?”
I turned around and saw Marek, dressed up elaborately, wearing a glossy gray suit.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.
“My company works for most hotels around here. Besides, it’s a charity ball and I’m one of the sponsors,” he said with a shrug.
Domenico cleared his throat loudly.
“Oh, right,” I said, switching to English. “This is Domenico—my assistant and friend.”
The men greeted each other in Italian, and we were about to walk off when the string quartet was joined by other musicians and the entire room was filled with the sounds of Argentinean tango. I squealed with glee. Both men sent me puzzled looks.
“I love tango,” I said, sending Domenico a meaningful look.
“For the last fifteen minutes I’ve been stepping on your toes and you’re telling me you haven’t had enough yet?”
I grimaced. He was right.
“I’ve been taking ballroom dancing classes for eight years, so… if you’re not afraid, I’d be honored,” Marek cut in, offering me a hand.
“Just one song,” I said to Domenico, and we went to the dance floor.
Marek took me in his arms and a moment later the other dancers made space for us to show off our skills. He led expertly, with confident motions, a feeling of the music and perfect knowledge of all the steps. Everyone must have thought we had been dancing partners for years. A couple of minutes into the song, the dance floor emptied, and we whirled together, putting all our training to good use. When the music sto
pped, the entire room burst into applause. We bowed to the audience and turned in the direction where we had left Domenico. Instead of my young assistant, we saw Massimo standing in his place, surrounded by several men. As we approached him, they nodded with appreciation—all but Massimo. His face contorted in an ugly grimace of rage, and his eyes flared with fire. If looks could kill, I would have turned into a heap of ash. Not to mention my companion.
I stepped close to him and kissed him on the cheek. Marek took my hand off his shoulder, passing me over to the Man in Black.
“Don Massimo…” he said, bobbing his head.
They froze, looking each other in the eyes, and the air between them suddenly grew so cold it was hard to breathe. Not releasing my hand, Massimo turned to his companions and said something in Italian, causing general laughter.
“You know who he is?” I asked Marek in Polish, certain that Massimo wouldn’t understand a word.
“Sure. I’ve been living in Italy for a dozen years now.” The Pole winked at me.
“And you danced with me despite that?”
“What’s he going to do? Kill me? I don’t think so. Not here, anyway.” He chuckled. “Besides, he can’t really do that for a whole lot of reasons. So, I hope this wasn’t our last dance.”
He kissed my hand and disappeared among the tables. Massimo followed him with his eyes before turning back to me.
“You’re a great dancer. That explains the range of movement of those hips in… different situations.”
“I was bored, and Domenico isn’t much of a dancer,” I said, shrugging by way of apology. A rhythmic paso doble reverberated through the hall.
“I’ll show you how to dance,” Massimo said, throwing off his tux jacket and passing it to Domenico.
He grabbed me by the hand and led me back to the dance floor. The remaining couples hadn’t had time to crowd the floor yet, and seeing me appear with another partner, they left us some space. Massimo nodded at the orchestra to start over.
I was so tipsy and sure of my own abilities that I took a step back, lifting the hem of my dress, revealing my leg. God, what had I been thinking to go out without any underwear? The musicians played the first few chords. The position adopted by Massimo told me it wasn’t his first time with this dance. Our dance was wild and full of passion—perfectly reflecting Massimo’s authoritative character. This time it wasn’t just a dance, though. It was my punishment and my reward—the portent of what was to happen when we left the banquet and the promise of a surprise waiting for me later. I was spellbound. I wanted the music never to stop, and our dance to last forever.
The finale had to be spectacular and extraordinary, of course. I prayed that he didn’t lift my leg too high, thus revealing what I wanted hidden. The music stopped, and I stayed in Massimo’s arms, breathing heavily. After a long while the whole crowd roared with applause. Massimo gracefully lifted me from the back bend and allowed me to pivot a couple of times before we bowed. In a calm and assured gait, holding me by the hand, he led me off the dance floor and put on the jacket that Domenico passed him.
We took a French leave then, nearly running out. Massimo dragged me along hotel corridors without a word, his fingers clamped around my wrist like a vise.
“Marvelous show,” I heard someone say. A woman. Massimo stopped, as if rooted to the spot.
Slowly he turned around, keeping me at his side.
In the center of the hall there was a beautiful woman with blond hair, wearing a short golden dress. Her long legs ended around the level of my first rib. She had gorgeous fake breasts and an angelic face. She approached us, kissing the Man in Black.
“So, you found her,” she said, her eyes trained on me.
Her accent told me she was British, and her looks suggested she had just left the catwalk at a Victoria’s Secret show.
“Laura,” I introduced myself, offering her a hand.
She shook it with an ironic smile, staying silent for a while.
“I’m Anna, Massimo’s first and true love,” she replied finally, not releasing my hand.
Massimo’s hand, still clamped around my wrist, grew sweaty.
“We’re in a hurry. Forgive us,” he hissed through clenched teeth, pulling me with him down the corridor.
Taking a look back, I saw the blonde still standing in her place, spewing words in Italian. Massimo gritted his teeth. He released my hand and stomped back in her direction. Keeping his face carefully impassive, he replied something in Italian—a couple of sentences, maybe—and returned to me. He grabbed my hand again and we walked away, getting into an elevator and ascending to the top floor. Quickly, Massimo pulled out his key card, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind us. Without switching the lights on, he threw himself at me. His kisses were quick and hungry as his tongue slid into my mouth. After what happened downstairs, I was in no mood for that. I didn’t react. After a while, Massimo realized something was wrong. He stopped, controlling himself, and flicked the lights on.
I straightened up, crossing my arms. Massimo sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Jesus Christ, Laura,” he said, collapsing to a great armchair behind him. “She’s… the past.”
I kept silent for a moment, and he observed my reaction closely.
“I’m aware you had women before me. That’s perfectly all right,” I began, my voice calm. “I’m also not going to ask you about your past or judge you. But I am interested in what she said that made you decide to go back. And also: why was she so angry?”
The Man in Black didn’t respond, instead glaring at me.
“It’s all very new to Anna,” he said finally.
“How new?” I refused to back down.
“I left her the day you landed on Sicily.”
Well, that would explain a lot, I thought.
“I never lied to her. Paintings of you hung in the house for years, and nobody but me had ever believed that I’d find you. Her least of all. But the day I saw you, I told her to leave.” He watched me, awaiting a reaction. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
I said nothing, staring at him and thinking about my feelings. Jealousy is weakness, and throughout the years I had learned to eliminate weaknesses of character. Besides, I didn’t feel threatened, because I didn’t care about Massimo. Or, at least, that’s what I was telling myself.
“Say something, Laura,” he hissed.
“I’m tired,” I replied, sitting in the other armchair. “Besides, it’s none of my business. I’m here because I have to be, and each day brings me closer to my birthday and my freedom.”
I knew that what I said wasn’t the whole truth, but I was in no mood to talk about it. The Man in Black kept his eyes on me for a long while, his jaw working rhythmically. I knew that my words had hurt and angered him. I just didn’t care.
He got up and headed to the door, grabbing the handle. He turned his head, sent me a cold look, and said impassively, “She told me she’ll kill you, to take away the thing that I cherish the most. Just as I have taken it away from her.”
“Excuse me!?” I called out, shocked. “And you’re just going to leave after telling me that?” I stormed in his direction. “You damned egomaniac…” I trailed off when I saw he was actually hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. I stopped, my hands hanging limply at my sides, staring at him.
“That dance today,” he said, approaching, “was the most electrifying foreplay I have ever experienced. That does not change the fact that I really wanted to kill that annoying little Polack when I saw him touching you. He knows who I am.”
“I heard you can’t actually kill him,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Unfortunately, you’re right. A pity,” he replied, taking the last step toward me.
He wrapped his muscular arms around me and hugged me. He had never done that before. Dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I put my face on his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart. He sighed, sliding down to h
is knees.
In that position, with his forehead nestled between my breasts, he grew immobile. I ran a hand through his hair, stroking his head. He was defenseless, exhausted, and totally reliant on me.
“I love you,” he breathed. “I can’t fight it. I’ve loved you long before you showed up here. I’ve dreamed about you. I knew what kind of person you were. I felt it. And it all turned out to be true,” he said, his hands wrapped around my hips.
Alcohol buzzed in my head, where fear was warring with a strange calmness.
I took Massimo’s head in my hands and lifted his chin to look him in the eyes. He raised them, sending me a look completely filled with love, trust, and humbleness.
“Massimo, honey,” I whispered, caressing his cheek. “Why did you have to fuck it all up so badly?”
I sighed and collapsed to the rug next to him, feeling my eyes watering. I thought about how wonderful it would be to meet him in different circumstances, where I wouldn’t be his prisoner, where all those threats and blackmail wouldn’t have happened, and—most important—where he wouldn’t be who he was.
“Make love to me,” he said gently, laying me down on the soft carpet.
My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t expect this and froze, watching him through half-closed eyelids.
“This might be a problem,” I said, making myself comfortable in his arms.
He hung above me, propped on his elbows, with his body pressing against mine, covering it all, and his eyes searching for answers in mine.
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