AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’s not here yet. I place my leather notebook and recorder device on the table.
The hum of activity surrounds me as I sit at the reserved table in a VIP room in Club Sereno. I try not act normally in front of a girl that comes in to tell me that Mauro is delayed. Loud jazz music is playing, and I try to maintain my composure. There is a lot at stake.
The table is set with precision, a single candle flickering on the pristine white tablecloth. My fingers trace the rim of the wineglass, a subconscious attempt to ground myself in the moment. I can't help but glance around. There are massive statues in the four corners of the room and carpets made of animal fur.
The club is a tapestry of dimly lit corners, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive flowers and the distant clinking of glasses. Each passing moment feels difficult, and I find myself eyeing the door, my heart plummeting whenever someone walks in. I resist the urge to tap my feet, aware that any display of nerves could give away the facade I've donned for this meeting.
Instead, my hands rest calmly on the edge of the table, fingers tapping against the wooden surface. I can practically hear my heart beating louder with every second.
I look at my watch and scan the room again. A server approaches and pours me some more wine. I thank him with a nod, my attention never wavering from the door. I take a sip, the cool liquid doing little to quell the tension. I can't afford to let impatience cloud my judgment. I find myself revisiting the details of our plan. I've played my part. Now, I will wait for Mauro to show up.
The door swings open, and my heart skips a beat. It’s him. His eyes sweep the room, and for a moment I hold my breath, hoping to become invisible. A server escorts him to the table, and our eyes lock for a brief moment. His are big and droopy, and looks drunk.
I extend a polite smile, concealing the storm of emotions beneath the surface. As he takes his seat, the tension in the air becomes palpable, a silent overture to the interview about to begin. I watch as he settles into the chair across from me.
There's an unsettling intensity in his eyes, a predatory glint that sends a shiver down my spine. The air thickens as he leans back, a smirk playing on his lips.
"So, Ella," he drawls, his voice a low purr that sends a ripple through the hushed room. "A pleasure to meet you. Please call me Mauro. I must say, your invitation intrigued me. A private interview in such a charming setting, with such a charming woman." He takes a sip of his wine. His eyes trail over me, a slow, deliberate exploration that makes my skin crawl.
Asshole. I resist the urge to squirm, maintaining a composed exterior.
"Your clubs are known for their exclusiveness," I respond evenly, my tone polite despite the discomfort beneath it. "I think it is a perfect place for a conversation about your establishments and life in general."
His laughter resonates, and it reminds me of a donkey’s bray. "Ah, a woman who appreciates the finer things. I can see why you chose to interview me." His eyes remain fixed on mine, and I resist the urge to throw my wineglass at his partially bald head.
As the interview progresses, his questions take a turn, veering into the personal and inappropriate. It’s as if he is there to interview me.
“A girl like you must have a boyfriend, no?” he stares at me, his gaze traveling along my neck.
“I’m sorry?”
“Look at you. You are beautiful…trust me, I know women,” he grins.
“I-” I remind myself to maintain my calm.
“Does he keep you happy?” he asks again.
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend. Because it doesn’t look like it.” He smiles and I want to spit on his face.
“Let’s focus on you, I am sure that what you have to tell me is much more interesting. Now, shall we–”
“I could make you happy,” he smacks his lips and looks at my chest.
I steel myself against the discomfort, pushing back against his invasive questions.
His hand reaches for his wineglass, swirling the deep red liquid within. "More wine, Ella?" he offers, his fingers grazing the stem of the glass. I decline politely, but his attempts at flirting and his invasive eyes make it increasingly challenging to maintain composure.
Mid-interview, the jarring ringtone of Mauro's phone pierces the air. He pulls it out with deliberate slowness, and as he answers, his eyes lock onto mine. He keeps looking at me, conversing with someone on the other end. His shoulders and facial expression stiffen with every passing second.
Fuck. I am panicking. Can he tell?
The atmosphere grows heavier, a suffocating silence in the room. Unaware of who he is speaking to, I feel an unease settling in the pit of my stomach. I attempt to maintain composure for as long as possible, but eventually I shift in my seat to ease the tension that’s stiffening my muscles.
As Mauro ends the call, his focus shifts entirely back to me. The predatory look in his eyes intensifies, and his brows furrow. This is it. With slow, deliberate steps, he rises from his chair, closing the distance between us. The unease shifts to anxiety as he looms over me, his questions taking a more sinister turn.
“Do you, Ella, by any chance know Tommaso Verga?” I almost gasp.
