Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3)

by Veronica Lancet

  I've got this!

  I jump off my bike to walk, leading it by its handles. Making my way to the historic center, I stop when I reach a church. I look for a comfortable spot and sit down. Taking out what's left of my food, I eat while watching people come and go around the square.

  It's so foreign... The more I sit there, the more people I see. I don't think I've ever seen so many people in my life. It's like I'm entranced as I watch them go about their day, probably going to work.

  When it's almost nine, I shake myself from my musings and ask around for a pawn shop. I'm directed to one not too far from me, and I'm successful in selling the gold rings for quite a bit of money.

  This should definitely be enough for one day.

  Everything settled, I look at my bucket list. What should I do first?

  I'm walking around the city center when a delicious smell drifts my way. I close my eyes and breathe in, my feet already taking me to the source. A food stall is frying some food, the oval shapes orange and crispy. I blink twice, my mouth already producing an abundance of saliva.

  I clear my throat and try to change my voice to sound like a boy.

  "What are these?" I ask, my eyes still rooted on the delicacies in front of me.

  The man preparing the food frowns.

  "You don't know?" He sounds outraged, his hands moving in the air, and I instinctively take a step back. "Boy, have you been living under a rock? It's arancini, Sicilian pride." He shakes his head, clearly put off by my very innocent inquiry. Well, whatever it is, I need some.

  "Give me..." I pause, trying to think how many I'd need, "ten!" Yes, that should do nicely. They are pretty small, after all.

  Muttering something under his breath, the man does as told, packing me ten arancini in a small bag. I pay and make to move, but a new smell assaults me. This time it's sweet. I lose all sense, and I quickly go at the next stall. Having learned my lesson, I don't ask what they are, instead I just say my request confidently.

  "Can I have five, please?" I decide on five since they are slightly bigger than the arancini.

  "Five cannoli coming." The lady exclaims, and I nod to myself, memorizing the name.

  By the time I'm at the end of the street, I have around ten bags with me, all filled with different street foods. I save a few for later, stuffing the bike's basket with the bags. Taking out the arancini and the cannoli, I find a spot to sit down and I dive in.

  First it's the arancini, and oh my what a tasty combination it is with the crispy outside and the meat filling. I almost moan when it touches my tongue. When was the last time I had something fried? Something with meat and sauce? I sigh in pleasure, stuffing my mouth with arancini after arancini. Soon, the bag is empty.

  But I don't stop.

  My stomach is full, yet it feels pitiless. More, I need more. Otherwise, I won't ever again get the chance. Spurred by this carpe diem moment, I dive into the cannoli. I bite into the wafer and the cream bursts into my mouth, assaulting my senses with a sweetness so foreign it's almost unbearable.

  "God..." I whisper in between mouthfuls, the chocolate overwhelming my senses and sending me into overload.

  How is this possible?

  The taste is so potent, and so perfect that I eat one after another until I'm left with only one. I scrunch my face a little as I look at it, my entire body rebelling at the thought of eating another one. But I don't listen.

  No... I must have it all.

  I shove it into my mouth, slowly chewing and trying to swallow. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, but it's a second later that everything comes back. I'm fast in the bushes, emptying my stomach to the last bit. I heave until there's nothing left, the force of it making me fall down, my sight a little hazy.

  "Damn..." I mutter, my stomach still rebelling.

  Maybe next time I should try moderation.

  I take a moment to compose myself and drink some water. When I feel slightly better, I continue with my exploration. I cross food from my list and move to the next item — library. I'm well aware I won't be able to take anything back with me, but at least I can browse some books.

  I go to the local library and do a quick inventory of their titles, marveling at the different covers and their textures. Most of the books at home are classics with very mundane covers. When I pick up a book with a naked chest on it, my mouth forms an o and I almost drop it.

  A naked man... on a cover? Feeling the forbiddenness of it, I look right and left before opening it. I quickly skim the summary and realize it's a love story.

  What if...?

  I don't have to take it home with me. I can just read it today and then give it to someone else, right?

  I nod to myself, pleased with my line of thought and intrigued by the illicit cover of the novel. I pay for it and quickly stuff it in my bag, making sure no one can see the picture.

  Exiting, I look at the clock and decide to head to the ruins, hoping to find more shops on the way. I hop on my bike and I pedal again.

  Going south, it takes me almost an hour to reach the ruins. But all the effort is worth it.

  Wow!

  It's bigger than anything I've ever seen. A small feeling of excitement blooms in my chest as I near the ruins. There are already crowds of people walking around, some taking pictures, others having a personal guide explain the historical context.

  I'm in awe as I put one foot in front of the other, my response automatic. I find a spot to secure my bike, and taking my bag with me I start along the nondescript walls, waving my hand along their surface and feeling their texture, age and history.

  Ancient people must have touched this too!

  My mind immediately screams at me and I become even giddier. God, I've lost count of how many times I imagined myself living in those times, falling asleep with a book that depicted the myths of the Greeks or the Romans. I'd read Homer, Herodotus and Thucydides, Cicero, Ovid and Marcus Aurelius, and my thirst for this wonderful and yet departed world had known no bounds. To be here... touch this... it's simply too much. I haven't even reached the main attractions, and I feel this overwhelmed with emotion.

  I make my way further, getting lost in a throng of people. A smile plays at my lips. This is so mundane, yet for me it's so special.

  I feel normal.

  Stopping with the crowd, I stifle a gasp, my eyes wide as they take in the wonder in front of me. A rusty yellow-orange, the Temple of Concordia stretches before me in all its splendor. One of the best preserved Ancient temples, it's built in a Doric style. The major difference with this temple is that it's built entirely from clay instead of the usual marble. I stare open-mouthed at it, taking in every detail, soaking in the grandeur of being here.

  I feel so small... so insignificant as I look upon it. How many people's plights has it witnessed over the centuries, millennia it's been here? All my problems and my impending doom fall away as I stay rooted to the spot.

  Somehow, I make myself walk, and I keep admiring all these wonderful constructions of humanity, until I reach the other temple — the Temple of Hera. The columns are the only ones still standing, but it's enough to give an idea of what the temple would have looked like in its heyday. Hera... my lips curl up at the irony of the situation. Hera, the goddess of marriage and birth. If only I could reach out and beseech her not to bless me with marriage. I shake my head at the notion, trying to put those thoughts out of my mind. I shouldn't waste time thinking about the inevitable, not when I have more important things to do.

  Before leaving, I spend an hour in the museum, trying to see every single artifact. Reluctantly, I make myself leave, knowing that time is of essence. It's almost four in the afternoon, and I have to account for the time it will take me to return home.

  I go back to my bike, and studying the map again, I follow the signs to go to the port.

  Funny how I've been living here my entire life, but I've never seen the sea. The moment I see the two shades of blue meeting at the horizon line, my eyes tear up
a little. Once again, I feel like I could do anything.

  This freedom... it's intoxicating and I fear I'm getting drunk on it. Marcus Aurelius would certainly frown upon it, but for once, his philosophy isn't working for me. I need this to be happy. And now that I've tasted this freedom, I fear I may never be the same.

  I leave my bike in a secure location, and I start walking, trying to memorize everything. There are shops, restaurants... everything. I can't even decide what I want to do first. I spend one minute mentally debating what my first destination should be. Eventually, I decide on going to the beach and dipping my toes in the water — literally. I don't know how to swim, so I'll settle for that.

  People are sunbathing, dressed in almost nothing. My first instinct is to look away, embarrassed, but since it's normal for them, I put on false confidence and go forward. There are even men naked... even more so than the guy on the cover. My cheeks must be burning red, and I try to look anywhere but. I doubt a boy would react like that.

  I focus on getting to the shore, and I take off my shoes. I tentatively step onto the sand, amazed at the feel of fine pebbles under my feet. The heat from the sun gives me a pleasant tingle. I take a few steps, and right at that moment a wave crashes into the shore, the foam slowly creeping in. It reaches my feet and I wiggle my toes at the foreign feeling. A giggle escapes me, and I suddenly dash forward, folding my pants to my knees. I go into the water until it reaches my shins, all the while grinning like a fool.

  This!

  This is life!

  Holding on to my shoes, one in each hand, I raise my face, eyes closed and I just let myself feel. The water's hitting my legs, tickling me with the little debris it brings forth. The sun is enveloping me in its warmth and the wind brushes against my skin in a sweet caress. My smile widens as I tune everything else out.

  It's just me... and the sea.

  I don't know how long I sit like that. I must seem crazy to everyone else. But they don't know that I'm dancing to my own mental tune, and for once the outside reflects the inside.

  It's only when some kids pass by me, laughing loudly, that I'm once again brought back to earth.

  I check my watch and sigh in disappointment at how fast the time is passing. Gathering my wits about me, I exit the water, going to one of the showers to wash the sand off before putting on my shoes.

  I wander again, trying to choose one restaurant for dinner. A sea food one catches my attention, and I can't help myself. I want to try something new, and that seems to be a good choice.

  A server seats me at a table and takes my order. It doesn't take me long to decide, and after doing some quick math on how much money I have left, I order one of each. I won't make the same mistake I did at lunch, but I will have a bite from everything.

  The dishes trickle in, and I'm enjoying myself immensely. The next is better than the last. I'm so deeply focused on my food paradise that I take a second to register what I'm seeing.

  A couple of men dressed in black are across the street. They look tense as they scan their surroundings. When one looks in my direction, I gasp.

  Mario!

  One of my guards. No...

  My heart beats loudly in my chest, and all ration leaves me. I take out a bunch of notes and leave them on the table, dashing out of the restaurant and running in the opposite direction.

  I hear shuffling, and I know they are following.

  How did they know it's me?

  I don't have time to wonder, as I skirt by the port and run toward the ships. But then I reach a dead end.

  No!

  I'm hyperventilating as I frantically look right and left. The only option is to hide somewhere. I quickly weigh my options. It's either the ships or... the water. The latter is moot since I can't swim, so a ship will do. I choose the most luxurious one, thinking they wouldn't dare look there.

  I try my best to climb on the ship, going for an open trapdoor and hiding inside. There's noise coming from outside and I know it's them. I try to regulate my breathing. The only option is to return home and vehemently deny it was me.

  I still can't believe they recognized me...

  Rationalizing everything, I decide to stay in longer to ensure they aren't nearby. To make the time pass faster, I crack open my backpack and I take out the novel. Might as well spend the time wisely.

  I don't know when I fall asleep, but a while later I'm jostled awake by a sudden movement. I blink twice, trying to shake off the sleep.

  Moving... the ship is moving.

  No!

  Chapter Two

  TAKING A DEEP DRAG from my cigarette, I inhale the smoke, raising an eyebrow at the man across from me.

  "I doubt it." I say, releasing a cloud of smoke. "The last transaction got me two million. It was half a frieze from the Elgin marbles that never made it to the public." The buyer was a Greek tycoon who wanted to own a piece of his homeland, for private use, of course. So he'd paid a pretty penny for it.

  "This one is even better, or so I hear." Manolo smirks at me, leaning back in his seat. He opens his mouth to say something more, his golden tooth glinting in the casino's light. "Six million." He tips his chin at me, probably waiting to see a reaction.

  Six million? Yeah, I doubt it. There are very few pieces of art out there that are worth this much, and somehow I doubt Manolo's managed to acquire one.

  "I'm intrigued." The corner of my mouth curls up in a challenge. I'm feeling restless tonight, and if Manolo is looking to lead me on, then he might be in for a surprise.

  "I'll check with my mates in the back and I'll signal you." The satisfaction is written all over his face as he stands up to leave.

  Once I'm alone at the table, my face automatically resets to my default expression — annoyance. My upper lip is twitching, for a fight or more whiskey, I don't know.

  I tip the glass up, emptying the contents and enjoying the burn. I take out another cigarette and light it, staring into empty space.

  "Alone, handsome?" A voice calls out to me from my right and my annoyance immediately spikes up. A touch follows, and she won't like what she unleashes if she doesn't take her fucking dirty ass fingers off me.

  I turn my head ever so slightly, taking in her skimpy clothes supposed to attract attention, her fake hair and fake tits, and all I feel is disgust.

  Her fingers continue to move across my forearms in what she probably thinks is a sexy move.

  It's not.

  "Take your fucking hand off me before I break it." I look her dead in the eye as I say this. She just laughs, a screeching sound that might even break my whiskey glass. She comes closer, pushing her tits into me even more and I stifle the urge the throw her off me.

  "You're funny." She fake giggles. Using only my thumb and my pointer, I remove her hand off my person.

  "You're barking at the wrong tree, cara." I place an odd emphasis on the word cara, but she doesn't seem to get my meaning. "I don't care if you're a woman or not, I will break your wrist." Her eyes widen in understanding and she stumbles a step back, shocked. I shrug and wait for her to crawl back from wherever she came from. Taking out a handkerchief, I wipe my hand and my suit.

  Fucking whores.

  I stand up and head towards the bar, ordering another bottle of whiskey. I don't know how long Manolo will be gone, but I need something to dull my senses. The more the better, or else I might snap. My eyes trail around the room, scanning the different familiar figures. Yes, it would not do well to snap. It would destroy my perfectly polished image.

  Instead, I just fill my glass to the brim and light another cigarette.

  It's been five years since I've taken over this branch of the family business. The trade in art and artifacts is one of the most profitable avenues, if done right. There are countless pieces that might seem like trash for some people, but are in fact treasures to others — and those people will pay a fortune to acquire them.

  If I'm being honest, it's something I enjoy. There's some satisfaction out of handling
old artifacts or priceless pieces of art, and the more I learn about this, the more I see why some people are willing to pay millions of dollars to acquire them. But that's just a side benefit. No, the reason I love this job so much is that it allows me to be as far away from home as possible.

  After the debacle with my sister, Catalina, there's simply no reason to linger around — not when it means having to withstand my father's moods or my mother's comments. They don't even know that my only reason for coming to New York is to see my sister and niece — everyone else can go fuck themselves. Since Lina's been forced to live at Sacre Coeur with the nuns, though, it's even more convenient, as I don't even have to go home at all.

  I take another drag of the cigarette, noting Manolo strutting towards me, a sheepish smile on his face. My own lips curl in response, curiosity brimming inside of me. Six million? For an artifact? I'm very intrigued.

  "Come," he pats my shoulder, urging me towards the back of the casino. I take the bottle with me and follow his lead.

  We go down some stairs to a level even lower than the basement. Halting in front of a steel door, Manolo uses his finger to open it with biometrics. We step inside and the room is bathed in light. There're countless artifacts lying around, and even a few Egyptian sarcophagi in the very back. The middle of the room has a big table and a couple of people turn to look at us expectantly.

  "Here he is, the Agosti heir." Manolo exclaims, moving towards the table and nodding at the men. They are slowly assessing me, their eyes moving over my body in a scrutinizing manner.

  "You think he can do it?" One man raises an eyebrow, his voice full of skepticism.

  "I've been doing this for a long time." I answer, looking him straight in the eyes before gracing him with one of my better smiles. He doesn't seem immediately convinced, but he huffs, dropping the subject.

  Manolo motions me to take a seat before doing the introductions.

  "This is Professor Moore and Mr. Abruzzo. They've been working on authenticating this artifact for a very long time." Manolo's emphasis suggests they take their work seriously, and I should avoid questioning their academic capabilities. I give a brisk nod, my gaze settling on the briefcase in the middle of the table.