Page 42 of Lorenzo

Once I’m inside, I’m faced with a sea of music, color, and welcome fresh oxygenated air.

On the dance floor, men in suits dance with gorgeous women.

I run my eyes over the gorgeous black lacquered tables filled with prosperous-looking men. I had read these tables cost several thousand dollars a night.

The men look like they can afford it.

Standing at the fringes of these tables are seductive-looking women, looking like they’d like to be welcomed inside.

I continue to wind my way through the club.

At the end of the hallway, I see a door.

In front sits a host in a suit, checking in guests.

Once he finds them on the list, he gives them intricate, expensive-looking half-masks.

They are the sparkly kinds I’ve seen people wear at masquerade parties.

I realize that within Inferno, there is a secret club within the main club.

A waiter passes close enough that I hear the clink of glasses on his silver tray.

“Excuse me,” I say, stepping into his path.

He stops, his white-gloved hand steadying the tray. “Can I help you?”

“What’s behind that door?”

“The VIP Lounge.”

“Why the masks?”

He tilts his head toward the door and winks. “Walk in and see for yourself.”

Then he steps around me and disappears into the crowd.

Curious, I walk toward the VIP entrance, but the host stops me.

“Wait, please, miss. Are you on the list?”

I consider whether I should mention Lorenzo’s name or not.

Just then another suited man wearing a discreet headset rushes over and whispers something in the host’s ear.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he says, reaching into a velvet-lined box. He chooses a distinctive white half-mask, with small pink and blue crystals along the brow.

“Enjoy,” he says, handing it to me.

I take the mask, wondering what was being whispered.

Something in my gut makes me wonder if someone in the club found out I was Lorenzo’s wife.

Well, if that’s the case, I’ll find out soon enough.

Inside the room, the darkness is broken only by a deep ultraviolet light. It makes everything look luminous and strange.

Masked figures lean into each other on low velvet sofas, their voices swallowed by the music.