“Forgive me, Laura, but… are you jealous?”
I felt a shiver running down my spine. Was I that bad at pretending not to care? “I’m just losing my patience. I want this year to end and I want to go home. Now. What should I wear today?” I asked, changing the subject and turning away from the mirror.
Domenico smiled charmingly and turned to head back to the living room. “You can’t be jealous about a whore, you know. She’s only doing her job. And I’ve already prepared a dress for you.”
As he left, I collapsed, hiding my head in my hands, bent over the sink. If it was so clear that I couldn’t keep my wits about me, it would only become worse with time. Focus! I said to myself, slapping myself in the face.
“If this is your way of disciplining yourself, I can gladly hit you harder.”
I raised my eyes and saw Massimo sitting in an armchair behind me.
“You’d like to slap me in the face?” I asked, grabbing my eyeliner.
“If that’s your thing…”
I tried to focus on doing my makeup, but those piercing eyes of his were making everything harder. Even the easiest things, it seemed.
“You want something? If not, leave me.”
“Veronica is a prostitute. She comes over, sucks my dick, and sometimes I fuck her if I’m in the mood. She likes the violence and the money. And she works with the most discerning clients—myself included. All the girls working for me—”
“Do I have to listen to this?” I spun around and crossed my arms. “Would you like me to tell you how Martin used to fuck me? Or maybe you’d like to watch?”
His eyes darkened and his sly smirk vanished, leaving a face that could have been made of stone. Massimo got up and walked over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, lifting me, and perching me on the counter next to the sink.
“Everything you see here is mine.”
He seized me by the head and turned my face to the mirror. “Everything. You. See,” he hissed furiously. “And I’ll kill anyone who takes what’s mine.” He turned his back on me and left without another word.
Everything was his. The hotel, the whores, and the game. All of a sudden, I had a plan. I would punish Massimo’s hypocrisy. I went to the bedroom and glanced at the dress splayed on the bed—it was golden, bare backed, covered with sequins. A beauty. Regretfully, it wouldn’t do for my plan. I went to the closet and looked at all my dresses.
“You like whores? I’ll show you a whore…” I murmured in Polish.
I picked a dress and a pair of shoes, and then went back to the bathroom to redo my makeup. Thirty minutes later, as Domenico knocked on my door, I was fastening my boots.
“Fuck me,” Domenico breathed, nervously closing the door behind him. “He’ll kill you. And then he’ll kill me. You can’t go out like that.”
I laughed mockingly and went to the mirror. The flesh-colored dress with thin shoulder straps looked more like a slip than a full outfit. It revealed the entire back and the sides of my breasts. It didn’t really cover much at all, but that was the whole plan. As the dress had a high neckline, I hung the necklace—a large cross studded with black crystals—on my back, so nobody could miss my nakedness. I also picked thigh-high boots—they served to emphasize the fact that the dress barely covered my ass. It was hot outside, but fortunately Emilio Pucci, the designer of this particular pair, had foreseen everything. Women who loved high boots wanted to wear them all year round, so he had designed them to be airy, with laces going all the way up, and toeless. They were obscene. And obscenely expensive. I tied my hair into a very tight ponytail, on the top of my head. The sexy, simple, and lifting hairdo perfectly complemented the smoky eyes and bright, glossy lips.
“Who bought me all those things, Domenico? If he paid for them, he had to realize I’d wear them,” I said, adding, “You look pretty nice yourself. Are you coming with us?”
The Italian stood immobile, with his hands clutching at his head. His chest was heaving.
“I’m going with you because Massimo has some other business to attend to first. Do you realize I’ll be in big trouble if he sees you like that?”
“So you’ll tell him you tried to stop me but I overpowered you. Come on!”
I grabbed a black clutch bag and a tiny white fox bolero, passed Domenico with a happy smile, and left the apartment. He muttered something, which I didn’t catch, but followed.
As we left the elevator and crossed the hall, the staff all froze. Domenico nodded at them, and I just kept walking with a big grin on my face. We stepped into a limo parked by the entrance and drove to the party.
“This is the day I die,” Domenico said finally, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “Why are you doing this to me?” He drank it all in one gulp.
“Oh, Domenico, don’t be such a crybaby. I’m not doing this to you. I’m doing this to him. Besides, I think I look very stylish and sexy.”
The young Italian helped himself to another drink and poured the third. He looked especially dapper that evening in light-gray pants, similarly colored shoes, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was a beautiful golden Rolex shining from his wrist, paired with a set of bracelets—some wooden, some gold, and the other made of platinum.
“Sexy, that’s for sure, but stylish? I sincerely doubt that Massimo will appreciate this particular brand of elegance.”
CHAPTER 7
Nostro reflected Massimo’s personality perfectly. Two tall bouncers stood guard at the red-carpeted entrance. A flight of stairs led down, straight to the elegant, dark interior. Tables were nestled in alcoves divided with dark, heavy drapes. Walls of ebony and the dim light of candles gave the impression of sensuality, eroticism, and luscious appeal. There were two platforms, where scantily dressed women in masks writhed to the rhythm of Massive Attack.
The bartenders standing behind a long black bar covered in quilted leather were women. They were all dressed in tight-fitting bodysuits and wore high heels. Their wrists were adorned with leather straps imitating manacles. Yes, everything was unmistakably Massimo’s idea.
We passed the bar and the crowd of bodies lazily moving to the rhythm of the music. A massive bouncer who was making way for us drew another drape open, revealing another room—a cavernous hall. Massive dark wood sculptures shaped in the form of conjoined bodies dominated the space. I was awed by their sheer size rather than by what they depicted.
In the corner, on a pedestal, obscured by semitransparent curtains, was an alcove where we were led. It was decidedly larger than the other ones. I could only speculate as to what normally happened here—there was a dancing pole in the middle.
Domenico sat down, and before he touched the satin lining of the sofa, alcohol, appetizers and a tray covered with a silver dome were brought into the alcove. On instinct, I reached out for the tray, but Domenico caught my hand before it touched the metal surface, shaking his head. He passed me a glass of champagne.
“We won’t be alone today,” he said cautiously, as if afraid of what he had to say. “We’ll be joined by several people with whom we have to tend to some business.”
I nodded and repeated after him, “Some people, some business. Right. You boys will play gangsters.” I poured the content of the glass down my throat and stuck my hand out so Domenico could refill it.